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And it attacked.

Sherlock rolled over the edge of the pit. As he was falling he could hear screams from Scobell’s men and terrifying roars from the bear.

The impact with the floor of the pit drove the breath from his body in a whoosh. His vision filled with stars. It took him a moment to recover. He rolled over and stood up cautiously, looking around. The sides of the pit were about fifteen feet deep, and it was littered with bones. Some were old, but some were fresh and bloody. Sherlock could have sworn that some were human.

He climbed carefully back up the ramp. The bear had gone into Macfarlane’s main room, but five or six of Scobell’s men were lying on the ground just inside the doorway. It was hard to tell exactly how many there were, given the state they were in.

Cautiously Sherlock moved into the doorway.

Most of Macfarlane’s men had run. Macfarlane himself was still there, on the dais by his throne, with Rufus Stone, Matty, Amyus Crowe and Virginia clustered around him. They were watching what was happening in the centre of the room with horror.

The remainder of Scobell’s men had been pulled apart by the bear’s claws. They had obviously tried to stop it: their crossbows had been fired, and there were bolts sticking out of the bear’s fur, but that hadn’t helped them at all. Having dealt with them, the bear was rearing over Bryce Scobell. It was nearly twice his height. There was no trace of fear on Scobell’s face. There was no trace of pain either, despite the blood that was streaming from his right hand where the blade from the cane had sliced through it.

‘Get out of my way,’ he said with just a tinge of annoyance in his voice. ‘I have business to attend to.’

The bear swiped at Bryce Scobell with a deadly paw. The sharp claws caught in his chest, picking him up like a rag doll. He flew across the room and hit the wall. As Sherlock watched, his body slid, broken and crumpled, to the ground. His expression was as calm, as uninterested, as it had always been, and now would always remain.

The bear scented the group of people on the dais. It dropped to all fours and stalked towards them. The growl that rumbled deep in its chest reverberated through the floor.

Sherlock moved up behind it. He knew he had to stop it, but he didn’t know how. One of the crossbows dropped by Scobell’s men lay by his feet. It hadn’t been fired. He bent and scooped it up. Five or six bolts were already sticking out of the bear’s body, but maybe Sherlock could hit a vulnerable spot. Did bears even have vulnerable spots?

Gahan Macfarlane took a step forward, but Amyus Crowe put a hand on his shoulder. Macfarlane looked at the American, frowning. Crowe moved past Macfarlane, stepping off the dais. He walked forward, towards the bear. Matty and Rufus Stone were frozen. The bear padded towards Crowe, growling. Sherlock could see Virginia raise a hand to her mouth. Her face was shocked, her eyes wide. She could see her father’s death unfolding right in front of her.

Sherlock raised the crossbow, taking aim at the back of the bear’s neck. Maybe he could sever its spinal column. He knew his chances were very slim, especially given how much his hands were shaking. But he had to do something.

The bear reared up on its back legs. It loomed above Crowe, front legs stretched wide and paws spread. It raised its snout and let out a deafening roar.

And then Amyus Crowe did the most amazing thing Sherlock had ever seen. He threw his arms wide and his head back, and he roared as well. His voice echoed through the room. With his massive chest and his heavily muscled arms and legs he seemed suddenly larger than life. He was like a bear as well, but white instead of brown – a polar bear instead of a grizzly bear.

The bear dropped its head and gazed down at Crowe. It sniffed uncertainly.

‘Ah have eaten bigger bears than you for mah breakfast,’ Crowe said firmly. ‘Go back from whence you came, mah friend. Live for another day.’

Unbelievably, the bear