Free Supping With Panthers by Tom Holland

for him. ‘light another match,’ I said, whispering, for by now the suspense of our situation was playing the devil with my nerves. ‘See if you can find anything that might be of help.’
    ‘Very good, sir.’
    He removed a second match, and again there was a spurt of light. He looked round the cell, which I observed now was a rough-stoned, evil-looking place. He peered into the darkness of the far comer and then, just as the match was flickering to nothingness, I heard him gasp. ‘What is it, Sergeant-Major?’ I asked, as I saw him bend down. ‘Found anything?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ he answered. ‘I rather think I have.’ He walked over to me and took out a third – the final – match; he Ht it and then held something up to the wash of the flame. It was a key.
    ‘What the deuce…’ I whispered.
    The Sergeant-Major returned to Eliot. He fitted the key and twisted it; the manacles slipped from Eliot’s wrists. ‘Extraordinary,’ I muttered, staring at him. Then the match went out. At the same time from beyond the cell we heard footsteps coming down towards the door.
    ‘Cuff, Eliot,’ I ordered through my teeth, ‘back against the wall!’ I heard them move; I prayed they were placing their wrists by the chains, but I had no time to check with them, for by now a key was scraping in the dungeon door, and the next thing I knew early-morning light was blinding me.
    I blinked. A creature was standing in the doorway. There were several other human forms on the steps behind him, but it was this particular monster which made me frown and brace myself. He was pale, as all the others had been, and his eyes I couldn’t see, for he kept them half-shut, but I knew at once that he was a different breed of thing from the creatures by his back. He seemed as chill as a statue carved from ice and yet, although his face looked flinty and cruel, there was also a softness in it, like a spoiled woman’s perhaps, and it gave me the impression of an awful, shameless power. For all that, he reminded me of someone I had seen before and I frowned as I studied him, racking my brains. Then I remembered – his was the face I had seen up on the wall, staring down at me just before I went out cold. Eliot, I sensed, recognised him too, for I heard him start and then try to recompose himself. The creature took a step forward and I was certain now of who he was, for I recognised his stench. I remembered the priest, the old brahmin I had shot in the leg, and recalled that he too had stunk in the very same way.
    The creature walked further into the cell, and three other figures followed him. Their eyes were as dead as all the others’ had been; but their leader opened his own eyes wide now and I saw that they were not dead at all but almost twinkling. He scanned the wrists of Eliot and Cuff; for a moment I thought we were found out, but then the creature bent down by my side and I saw him draw forth a stake from his cloak. He stared into my face and drew the stake up, so that I imagined he was preparing to drive it into my heart. Then he winked at me; he turned; he threw himself against one of the figures behind his back.
    The two forms rolled across the floor, and the others moved to join in the fray. But they were slow, and I saw how the man with the stake was forcing his adversary into the light where his movements were growing gradually ever more dull.
    Eliot too, I realised, had thrown off his chains; he was wrestling with one of the creatures and calling out to Cuff to join him in the fight. ‘Don’t let them draw your blood,’ he called, as he pinned his adversary against the sunlit steps.
    Then I heard a scream, long and gurgling, and saw a veritable geyser of blood spouting up against the roof. One of the creatures lay dead, a stake through his heart, as his blood splashed upwards and then seeped across the floor. His slayer rose to his feet and took the stake from the dead monster’s chest; he crossed to where Cuff had pinned