“I hear it,” Peter said. “It’s like a choir, a church choir.” He raised his head. “It’s beautiful.”
It was beautiful. I had never heard tunes like them before. “Peter’s wrong, though,” I said. “Church choirs are normally men grating and women shouting out the words, with at least one person coughing and hacking in the middle. That is far nicer.”
“It’s like angels singing,” Peter said. “A heavenly choir.”
“It may be a choir,” Dougie said, “but it’s not from heaven. More likely, the other place.”
“It’s far too sweet for that,” Peter said. “I want to go and listen.”
“It’s a siren call,” Dougie said. “And it’s coming from Chapelinch where the light is.”
“What’s a siren call?” Peter asked, taking a step closer to the church.
“It’s an old Greek legend.” Dougie proved himself better educat
