"For Christ's sake ..."
"Who is this?"
"Oh, Judith ... God, God... Judith? ... It's Oscar...."
"Where are you?" she said. He was very clearly not locked up in his house.
"They're dead, Judith."
"Who are?"
"Now it's me. Now it wants me."
"I'm not getting this, Oscar. Who's dead?" "Help me... you've got to help me.... Nowhere's safe." "Come to the Hat then." "No ... you come here...." "Where's here?"
"I'm at St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Do you know it?" "What the hell are you doing there?" "I'll be waiting inside. But hurry. It's going to find me. It's going to find me."
The traffic around the square was locked, as was often the case at noon, the breeze that had brought gooseflesh an hour before too meek to disperse the fog of countless exhausts and the fumes of as many frustrated drivers. Nor was the air inside the church any less stale, though it was pure ozone beside the smell of fear that came off the man sitting close to the altar, his thick hands knitted so tightly the bone of his knuckles showed through the fat.
"I thought you said you weren't going to leave the house," she reminded him.
"Something came for me," Oscar said, his eyes wide. "In the middle of the night. It tried to get in, but it couldn't. Then this morning—in broad daylight—I heard the .parrots kicking up a din, and the back door was blown off its hinges."
"Did you see what it was?"
"Do you think I'd be here if I had? No; I was ready, after the first time. As soon as I heard the birds I ran for the front door. Then this terrible din, and all the lights went out...."
He divided his hands and took light hold of her arm.
"What am I going to do?" he said. "It'll find me, sooner or later. It's killed all the rest of them—"
"Who?"
"Haven't you seen the headlines? They're all dead. Lionel, McGann, Bloxham. Even the ladies. Shales was in his bed. Cut up in pieces in his own bed, I ask you, what kind of creature does that?"
"A quiet one."
"How can you joke?"
"I joke, you sweat. We deal with it the best way we know how." She sighed. "You're a better man than this, Oscar. You shouldn't be hiding away. There's work to do."
"Don't tell me about your damn Goddess, Judith. It's a lost cause. The tower'll be rubble by now."
"If there's any help for us," she said, "it's there. I know it. Come with me, won't you? I've seen you brave. What's happened to you?"
"I don't know," he said. "I wish I did. All these years I've been crossing over to Yzordderrex, not giving a damn where I put my nose, not caring whether I was at risk or not, as long as there were new sights to see. It was another world. Maybe another me, too."
"And here?"
He made a baffled face. "This is England," he said. "Safe, rainy, boring England, where the cricket's bad and the beer's warm. This isn't supposed to be a dangerous place."
"But it is, Oscar, whether we like it or not. There's a darkness here worse than anything in Yzordderrex. And it's got your scent. There's no escaping that. It's coming after you. And me, for all I know."
"But why?"
"Maybe it thinks you can do it some harm."
"What can I do? I don't know a damn thing."
"But we could learn," she said. "That way, if we're going to die, at least it won't be in ignorance."
12
DESPITE OSCAR'S PREDICTION, the Tabula Rasa's tower was still standing, any trace of distinction it might have once owned eroded by the sun, which blazed with noonday fervor at well past three. Its ferocity had taken its toll on the trees that shielded the tower from the road, leaving their leaves to hang like dishrags from their branches. If there were any birds taking cover in the foliage, they were too exhausted to sing.
"When were you last here?" Oscar asked Jude as they drove into the empty forecourt.
She told him about her encounter with Bloxham, squeezing the account for its humorous effect in the hope of distracting Oscar from his anxiety.
"I never much liked Bloxham," Oscar replied. "He was so damn full of himself. Mind you, so were we all...." His voice trailed away, and with all the enthusiasm of a man approaching the execution block, he got out of the car and led her to the front door.
"There's no alarms ringing," he said. "If there's anybody inside, they got in with a key."
He'd pulled a cluster of his own keys out of his pocket and selected one.
"Are you sure this is wise?" he asked her.
"Yes, I am."
Resigned to this insanity, he unlocked the door and, after a moment's hesitation, headed inside. The foyer was cold and gloomy, but the chill only served to make Jude brisk.
"How do we get down into the cellar?" she said.
"You want to go straight down there?" he replied. "Shouldn't we check upstairs first? Somebody could be here."
"Somebody is here, Oscar. She's in the cellar. You can check upstairs if you want to, but I'm going down. The less time we waste the sooner we're out of here."
It was a persuasive argument, and he conceded to it with a little nod. He dutifully fished through the bunch of keys a second time and, having chosen one, went over to the farthest and smallest of the three closed doors ahead. Having taken his time selecting the right key, he now took even longer to get it into the lock and coax it into turning.
"How often have you been down there?" she asked him while he worked.
"Only twice," he replied. "It's a pretty grim place."
"I know," she reminded him.
"On the other hand, my father seemed to make quite a habit of exploring down there. There's rules and regulations, you know, about nobody looking through the library on their own, in case they're tempted by something they read. I'm sure he flouted all that. Ah!" The key turned. "That's one of them!" He selected a second key and started on the other lock.
"Did your father talk to you about the cellar?" she asked him.
"Once or twice. He knew more about the Dominions than he should have done. I think he even knew a few feits. I can't be sure. He was a cagey bugger. But at the end, when he was delirious, he'd mutter these names. Patashoqua, I remember. He repeated that over and over."
"Do you think he ever crossed into the Dominions?"
"I doubt it."
"So you worked out how to do that on your own?"
"I found a few books down here and smuggled them out. It wasn't difficult to get the circle working. Magic doesn't decay. It's about the only thing"—he paused, grunted, forced the key—"that doesn't." It began to turn, but not all the way. "I think Papa would have liked Patashoqua," he went on. "But it was only a name to him, poor sod."
"It'll be different after the Reconciliation," Jude said. "I know it's too late for him—"
"On the contrary," Oscar said, grimacing as he bullied the key. "From what I hear, the dead are just as locked up as the rest of us. There's spirits everywhere, according to Peccable, ranting and raving."
"Even in here?"
"Especially in here," he said.
With that, the lock gave up its resistance, and the key turned.
"There," he said. "Just like magic."
"Wonderful." She patted his back. "You're a genius."
He grinned at her. The dour, defeated man she'd found sweating in the pews an hour ago had lightened considerably now there was something to distract him from his death sentence. He withdrew the key from the lock and turned the handle. The door was stout and heavy, but it opened without much resistance. He preceded her into the darkness.
"If I remember right," he said, "there's a light here.
No?" He patted the wall to the side of the door. "Ah! Wait!"
A switch flipped, and a row of bare bulbs, strung from a cable, illuminated the room. It was large, wood-paneled, and austere.