It was a woman’s voice, high-pitched and strong, tearing through the stiff fabric of silence

The wind was strengthening. I rose, buttoning my hood, and started back. The going was slower as I needed my wits about me to avoid careering into traffic. The temperature had dropped and huge clouds were forming. By the time I reached the back of the Icehotel, snow was falling soundlessly from a white sky.

I slipped inside, and paused to listen. No one was up. Yet as I stole along the corridors, following the signs to my room, I heard faint scratchings behind the curtains.

It was as I was nearing my corridor that I heard it – a scream that sent a jolt of fear through my body.

It was a woman’s voice, high-pitched and strong, tearing through the stiff fabric of silence. A second later, it was joined by another.

The screaming stopped as suddenly as it had started. And then chaos erupted.

People rushed out of rooms and ran down the corridor towards the sound. Others stood about, looking dazed. Instinctively, I joined the runners.

We rounded the corner, bursting on to the crowd. Karin and Marita were standing sobbing, their shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down their faces, smearing their make-up.

A woman in a sleepsuit was trying to soothe them. She had an arm round Marita who seemed in a worse state than Karin.

Shocked

I elbowed my way through the crush. Someone was holding back the curtain to one of the bedrooms and people were peering in, babbling to one another. I stood on my toes, craning my neck, and looked inside.

A tray and paper cups lay abandoned on the floor in a patch of reddish-purple mush. A sleeping bag, folded open, was spread neatly on the skins. And, on the floor at the side of the bed, a figure dressed only in a sleepsuit was lying on his back.

I felt a tightening in the pit of my stomach. It was a well-built man and, for one lurching moment, I thought it was Harry. Then I heard his voice. He was standing next to me, gazing into the room.

“It’s Wilson Bibby,” he said.

I looked through the bobbing heads at the figure. The blood had drained from his face, giving his skin the texture of parchment.

“He’s frozen stiff, my dear.” There was an unnatural calmness in Harry’s voice.

I stared at him, shocked that he seemed without emotion. He turned to look at me and smiled faintly.

The people in front were pushing their way out and we found ourselves at the entrance to the room. I saw the body clearly now.

It was like a waxwork in a horror show. Wilson’s head was turned to the side. In this position, the hooked nose was unmistakable and I wondered how I could have mistaken him for Harry.

His mouth was open and a dribble of saliva had run down his chin and solidified. Mercifully, his eyes were shut.

Then my mouth went dry. This was the face I’d seen when I’d touched the statue of the Templar. The fleshand-blood face. I shivered uncontrollably, grateful for Harry’s arm round my shoulders.

The crowd was growing, pushing us into the room. We fought our way out, but not before I’d taken a final glance around.

On the other side of the bed, a snowsuit and boots lay abandoned on the floor.

We stumbled into the corridor. Liz came running toward us, shock registering on her face.

She looked from Harry to me. “What’s happened?” Her voice was almost a whisper. “It’s Wilson Bibby,” I said. The colour left her face. She made to go into the room.

“No, my dear,” said Harry firmly, grabbing at her arm.

Dread

But he was too late. She was at the entrance, staring at the corpse. “Oh my God, Mags,” she whispered. “He’s dead. Wilson’s dead.”

“He must have fallen out of bed and frozen to death,” I said, licking my lips nervously. “Although –”

Harry interrupted me. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve never been good in crowds.”

He started to lead us away but I pulled back. Karin and Marita were huddled against the wall, shaking, their arms round each other. A feeling of dread stole over me.

What I saw in their faces was not shock, but fear. Karin’s sobbing was coming in small hiccups. Marita was gazing into space, wide-eyed, her mouth slack.

Harry took my arm. “There’s nothing we can do here, Maggie,” he said gently.

We joined the guests leaving the Icehotel. Some were in their nightwear, dragging their sleeping bags over the snow, others were partially dressed in outdoor clothes.

In a daze, I let the multilingual babble wash over me as we climbed the path to the Excelsior. I no longer felt tired.

The hotel manager was gibbering to the receptionist with the round glasses. They turned anxious faces towards us as we entered.

The manager rushed forward, ushering people towards the stairs. “Please do go up to the restaurant,” he shouted. “Breakfast is being served.”

A few guests drifted towards the stairs. A larger cluster formed near the front door. Neither Liz, Harry, nor I could face food, so we ordered coffee in the lounge.

Liz drained her espresso. “I needed that,” she said, massaging her temples. “I had too much of that damn drink last night.” She reached into her bag for aspirins. “Has anyone seen Mike?”

“He’s probably upstairs having breakfast,” I said listlessly.

She swallowed two tablets. “He may not know about Wilson. I’d better go up.”

She returned five minutes later, looking puzzled. “He wasn’t there. The manager checked his list. He’s not been in the restaurant all morning.”

Harry smiled. “I should think he’s in the gym, building that glorious body of his. He’ll be unaware of what’s happened.”

And I wondered what his reaction would be when he found out.

Tragic

“Do you think we’re allowed to smoke?” Liz said. She threw me an embarrassed smile. “Don’t look so surprised, Mags. I haven’t had a cigarette for a long time. But I could really do with one now.”

She ran a hand over her eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like that. It was simply dreadful. Poor Wilson.”

At the mention of Wilson, the memory of his corpse returned. That skin, like wallpaper paste. My stomach churned.

Leo Tullis hurried into the lounge. He called our group together. “Can everyone hear me? Right. You’ll know by now that there’s been a tragic accident.” He swallowed hard.

“Mr Wilson Bibby was found dead this morning, most likely from hypothermia. Clearly, this changes everything. The Icehotel has been placed out of bounds, so you’ll be sleeping in the Excelsior for the rest of the week.”

More tomorrow.