display cases and samples, quiet dinner parties and lecture tours. Well, he was going to have to learn⦠He grabbed the revolver from where it was beginning to stick in the major's blood and moved to the door. He looked out, could just see Haywood and Helen crossing towards the main gate. He didn't trust his aim. If he missed then Haywood would have all the time he needed to shoot Helen. He was only likely to get one chance at this so he'd better be damn sure it was the right one.
  "We follow them," he said to Walsingham, "what else can we do?"
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8.
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Helen Walsingham stumbled ahead of Haywood, screwing her face against the cold wind as she stepped off the wooden steps and into the thin coating of snow in the courtyard. Behind her Haywood showed none of the same signs of discomfort â madness was the warmest outfit of all. "Keep walking," he said, "go to the gate."
  She shuffled forward, her toes suddenly colliding with something on the floor. In the light of the torches she could see it was a small wooden box, the one Spencer had handed to her husband â for certainly she had been watching, eye pressed against the crack in the shutter, she hadn't intended to let them out of her sight for any longer than she needed to. If it's so important, she thought, then it can come with me. She stooped and grabbed it, moving as quickly as she could so as not to antagonise Haywood.
  "What was that?" he asked, not quite delusional enough to have missed it.
  "Dropped something," she replied, saying no more and walking quickly towards the gate and the monk that stood guard against it.
  "Help me?" she asked quietly. Whether the wind was too loud for him to hear or he just didn't understand she couldn't be sure.
  "Don't talk to him," Haywood insisted, having jogged up behind her, the barrel of the rifle pressing into the small of her back. "We want to leave," he shouted at the monk. Again the Tibetan made no response. Haywood pointed at the gate. "Open it!"
  Still no response. Helen suspected the monk knew only too well what Haywood wanted but was disinclined to give it to him.
  Glancing over his shoulder, only too aware even in his drugged state that they would be followed soon enough, Haywood lost his patience. With a yell he swung the rifle's butt at the monk's head, clubbing him to the floor. "Open it!" he screamed at Helen, pointing the gun at her once more.
  She did as she was told, straining as she pulled the heavy bolt to one side and pushed at the gate. Haywood surged forward, the barrel of the rifle nearly cutting her cheek as he came alongside her and threw his own weight against the door. It swung open and he kicked out at her, forcing her outside.
  "We'll freeze to death out there!" she insisted. You before me though, she thought, there's that slim chance.
  "Need to think!" Haywood roared, raising the rifle as if he meant to shoot her here and now, no more deliberation.
  She turned on her heels and moved out onto the mountainside, moving as quickly as her legs could manage.
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9.
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Ashe took the time to pull on his warm clothing and insisted that Walsingham did the same. "We're no use to her if we're crippled by exposure," he insisted. "If he wanted to shoot her he'd have done it already, we just have to hope she doesn't do anything to antagonise him."
  "This is my wife we're talking about," Walsingham moaned, pulling on his coat and gloves despite his protestations. "She does little else but antagonise people."
  "I think you'll find most people can be polite when at the end of a gun," Ashe replied, tugging his hat over his head and ushering Walsingham out of the door.
  They moved quickly down the steps, Ashe scanning the ground beneath the balcony, hoping for sign of the box. There was none. Kusang walked towards them. "Your friend just clubbed one of the monks down," he said, "and
  "We follow them," he said to Walsingham, "what else can we do?"
Â
8.
Â
Helen Walsingham stumbled ahead of Haywood, screwing her face against the cold wind as she stepped off the wooden steps and into the thin coating of snow in the courtyard. Behind her Haywood showed none of the same signs of discomfort â madness was the warmest outfit of all. "Keep walking," he said, "go to the gate."
  She shuffled forward, her toes suddenly colliding with something on the floor. In the light of the torches she could see it was a small wooden box, the one Spencer had handed to her husband â for certainly she had been watching, eye pressed against the crack in the shutter, she hadn't intended to let them out of her sight for any longer than she needed to. If it's so important, she thought, then it can come with me. She stooped and grabbed it, moving as quickly as she could so as not to antagonise Haywood.
  "What was that?" he asked, not quite delusional enough to have missed it.
  "Dropped something," she replied, saying no more and walking quickly towards the gate and the monk that stood guard against it.
  "Help me?" she asked quietly. Whether the wind was too loud for him to hear or he just didn't understand she couldn't be sure.
  "Don't talk to him," Haywood insisted, having jogged up behind her, the barrel of the rifle pressing into the small of her back. "We want to leave," he shouted at the monk. Again the Tibetan made no response. Haywood pointed at the gate. "Open it!"
  Still no response. Helen suspected the monk knew only too well what Haywood wanted but was disinclined to give it to him.
  Glancing over his shoulder, only too aware even in his drugged state that they would be followed soon enough, Haywood lost his patience. With a yell he swung the rifle's butt at the monk's head, clubbing him to the floor. "Open it!" he screamed at Helen, pointing the gun at her once more.
  She did as she was told, straining as she pulled the heavy bolt to one side and pushed at the gate. Haywood surged forward, the barrel of the rifle nearly cutting her cheek as he came alongside her and threw his own weight against the door. It swung open and he kicked out at her, forcing her outside.
  "We'll freeze to death out there!" she insisted. You before me though, she thought, there's that slim chance.
  "Need to think!" Haywood roared, raising the rifle as if he meant to shoot her here and now, no more deliberation.
  She turned on her heels and moved out onto the mountainside, moving as quickly as her legs could manage.
Â
9.
Â
Ashe took the time to pull on his warm clothing and insisted that Walsingham did the same. "We're no use to her if we're crippled by exposure," he insisted. "If he wanted to shoot her he'd have done it already, we just have to hope she doesn't do anything to antagonise him."
  "This is my wife we're talking about," Walsingham moaned, pulling on his coat and gloves despite his protestations. "She does little else but antagonise people."
  "I think you'll find most people can be polite when at the end of a gun," Ashe replied, tugging his hat over his head and ushering Walsingham out of the door.
  They moved quickly down the steps, Ashe scanning the ground beneath the balcony, hoping for sign of the box. There was none. Kusang walked towards them. "Your friend just clubbed one of the monks down," he said, "and
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