All Debts Must be Paid

Summer 1993

Prologue: Padfoot

Clouds scudded across the evening sky. Although it was late, at this northern latitude the sun was only just setting, sending lance-like beams through the clouds, touching the grey and dirty white with gold. However, while it was light outside, inside the grim island fortress, darkness had long since fallen. Despite the summer season, the dusty corridors were cold with a chill that seared the souls of the prisoners who screamed and sobbed behind the barred doors that lined them. The corridors themselves were devoid of life except for a large black dog that skittered along one of them, tail between its legs. It was a miserable looking creature - woefully thin, with a scraggly, matted coat. It turned every now and then, looking behind it for pursuit, a hunter that was itself hunted.

The dog paused and sniffed the air - there was something in the corridor ahead of it. Out of the gloom a dark, dank shape glided. The dog shivered; its tail crept further between its legs, and a soft whine escaped from its throat. The shape stopped for a moment as if sensing the air then started to move towards where the dog was cowering. Suddenly the animal darted past the thing and didn't stop until it had turned a corner where it came to a halt. Up ahead, bars stretched across the corridor, blocking the way.

It walked up to the metal barrier and sniffed it. Then it turned and looked over its shoulder, whining again. The corridor was now full of hooded shadows. Quickly the dog pushed its head through the bars, and wriggled and squeezed, until eventually it was through. But scabrous hands unbolted the bars and the dark shapes followed. The dog fled, twisting and turning through the maze of corridors and passages.

For what seemed like hours, the hooded shadows chased the dog through the corridors. They never seemed quite able to catch it. While they could certainly sense the wrongness of its presence, the dog began to realise they never seemed to be able to quite pinpoint its position as long as it kept moving. The dog might stand a chance after all.

It turned into yet another corridor. Something about this one was different. The dog sniffed the air; above the scent of the creatures, which was everywhere, it could smell something else - a tang and a freshness, unremembered for years, but which told it its destination was near. Sure enough, the corridor ended in a wooden doorway, which surely must lead outside. The door was old and its timbers were knotted and warped. A draught swept under the gap at the bottom between the door and the flagstoned floor, source of the freshness it had smelt before. The dog walked up to the door and put a paw up to the handle for a moment, as if to try and turn it. But then it retreated back into the shadows and sat on its haunches, waiting. The briny smell was full of memory that helped the dog focus its concentration so that when the shadowy shapes glided forwards, although it still shivered, it forced itself to stand up and move around between them. As it had noticed before, this confused the creatures.

The moment the dog was waiting for came, and one of them put a grey, slimy hand on the door handle. The dog tensed, ready for action. But it had stopped moving, and just as the door was pulled open, it felt a hand grab it by the ruff of its neck. It gave a yelp, and instinctively turned and bit the creature. Even to canine senses the taste was vile, but the creature immediately released it and the dog bolted between the black cloaks and out of the door. The things did not follow.

It was almost as dark outside now as it was inside the building, and the cobbled roadway stretched like a dark canyon curving between high walls down a steep hill to a barred gateway. But before it could take stock of its new surroundings, the dog gave a whimper and emptied the contents of its stomach in the gutter in reaction to contact with the creatures. Then it huddled into the stonework of the wall, whining and made no further move to flee until high above, the clouds broke for a moment and the nearly full moon shone through. The dog looked up, feeling the moonlight wash over it, helping it to remember its purpose, and it climbed to its feet on shaky legs.

The bars on the gateway were similar to those that had barred the corridor inside the fortress. Here, their purpose seemed symbolic rather than anything else. But the dog wasn't interested in symbolism. It had stopped dead, now completely overwhelmed by the smell of salt on the air, brought through the bars by a gust of cold wind sweeping up from the dark expanse beyond. The wind ruffled its matted fur and the dog turned its head in surprise, having long forgotten the feel of the wind. It was cold but invigorating; unlike the still, soul chilling cold inside and the dog seemed to draw strength from it. It moved forwards, down to the gateway and began to push and wriggle its way through the bars.

With a last gasp, it was through, and it followed the curving roadway down to a dilapidated dock where it stood for a moment, watching the dark, white crested waters of the sea. Then as the moon broke through the clouds again it threw itself into the water and started swimming towards the southwest.