Sacrament

Will didn't like the sound of this at all. 'What madness?' he said.

'You can't see all that you've seen, you can't know what we now both know, without something souring.' He put his thumb to the middle of his skull. 'You've supped from here, wunderkind, and neither of us can ever be the same. Don't look so frightened. You were brave enough to come with me this far-'

'But only because you were with me-'

'What makes you think we can ever be apart after this?'

'You mean we can still go away together?'

'No, that won't be possible. I'll have to keep you at a distance - a great distance - for both our sakes.' 'But you just said-'

'That we'd never be apart. Nor will we. But that doesn't mean you'll be at my side. There would be too much pain for both of us, and I don't wish that for you any more than you wish it for me.'

He was talking the way he would to an adult, Will knew, and it soothed a little of the disappointment. This talk of pain between them, of places where Jacob didn't want to look: this was the vocabulary one man would use talking to another. He would diminish himself in Jacob's eyes if he answered like a petulant child. And what was the use? Plainly, Jacob wasn't going to change his mind.

'So ... where will you go now?' Will said, attempting to be casual. 'I'll go about my work.'

'And what's that?' Will said. Jacob had spoken of his work several times, but he'd never been specific about it. 'You already know more than's best for either of us,' Jacob replied. 'I can keep a secret.'

'Then keep what you know,' Jacob said. 'There-' he put his fist to his chest '-where only you can touch it.' Will made a fist of his numb fingers and echoed Jacob's gesture. It earned him a wan smile. 'Good,' he said. 'Good. Now ... go home.'

Those were the words Will had hoped so hard not to hear. Hearing them now, he felt tears pricking his eyes. But he told himself he wasn't to cry - not here, not now - and they receded. Perhaps Jacob saw the effort he'd made, because his face, which had been stern, softened.

'Maybe we'll find each other again, somewhere down the road.'

'You think so?'

'It's possible,' he said. 'Now, go off home. Leave me to meditate on what I've lost.' He sighed. 'First the book. Then Rosa. Now you.' He raised his voice a little. 'I said go!'

'You lost a book?' Will said. 'Sherwood's got it.' Will waited, daring to hope the information might give him a reprieve. Another hour in Jacob's company, at least.

'Are you sure?'

'I'm sure!' Will said. 'Don't worry, I'll go get it from him. I know where he lives. It'll be easy.'

'Now don't be lying to me,' Jacob warned.

'I wouldn't do that,' Will said, offended at the accusation, 'I swear.'

Jacob nodded. 'I believe you,' he said. 'You would be of great service to me if you put the book back in my hand.'

Will grinned. 'That's all I want to do. I want to be of service.'

CHAPTER XII

i

There was no magic in the descent: no sense of anticipation, no strengthening hand laid on Will's nape to help him negotiate the snow-slickened rocks. Jacob had done all the touching he intended to do. Will was left to fend for himself, which meant that he fell repeatedly. Twice he slithered several yards on his rump, bruising and scraping himself on buried boulders as he tried to bring his careening to a halt. It was a cold, painful and humiliating journey. He longed for it to be over quickly.

Halfway down the hill, however, his misery was made complete by the reappearance of Rosa McGee. She appeared out of the murk calling for Jacob, sufficient alarm in her voice that he told Will to wait while he spoke to her. Rosa was plainly agitated. Though Will could hear nothing of the exchange, he saw Jacob lay a reassuring hand on her, nodding and listening, then replying with his head close to hers. After perhaps a minute, he returned to Will and told him: 'Row's had a little trouble. We're going to have to be careful.'

'Why?'

'Don't ask questions,' Jacob replied, 'just take my word for it. Now-' he pointed down the hill '-we have to hurry.'

Will did as he was told, and headed on down the slope. He cast one backward glance at Rosa, and saw that she'd squatted down on a flattopped rock, from which she seemed to be staring back towards the Courthouse. Had she been ousted, he wondered? Was that what all her distress was about? He would probably never know. More weary and dispirited by the stride, he continued his descent.

There was, he saw, a good deal of activity in the streets of the village: several cars with their headlamps blazing; people gathered in groups here and there. The doors of many of the houses stood open, and people were standing on the steps in their nightclothes, watching events.

'What's going on?' Will wondered aloud.

'Nothing we need concern ourselves with,' Jacob replied.

'They're not looking for me, are they?'

'No, they're not,' Jacob said.

'It's her, isn't it?' Will said, the mystery of Rosa's distress suddenly solved. 'They're after Rosa.'

'Yes, I'm afraid they are,' Jacob replied. 'She's got herself in some trouble. But she's perfectly capable of looking after herself. Why don't we just stop for a moment and examine our options?' Will duly stopped, and Jacob descended the slope a stride or two, until they stood just a couple of yards apart. It was the closest he'd been to Will since the wood. 'Can you see where your friends live from here?'

'Yes.'

'Point it out to me, will you?'

'You see past where the police car's parked, there's a bend in the road?'

'I see.'

'There's a street just round the bend, going left?'

'I see that, too.'

'That's Samson Road,' Will said. 'They live in the house with the junkyard beside it.'

Jacob was silent for a few seconds while he studied the lay of the land.

'I can get the book for you,' Will reminded him, just in case he was thinking of going on alone.

'I know,' Jacob said. 'I'm relying on you. But I don't think it'd be very wise for us to just walk through the middle of the village right now.'

'We can go around the back,' Will said. He pointed out a route that would take them another half-hour to complete but would keep them out of the way of witnesses.

'It seems the wisest option,' Jacob said. He teased off his right-hand glove, and reached into his coat to take out his knife. 'Don't worry,' he said, catching Will's anxious glance, 'I won't taint it with human blood unless it's strictly necessary.'

Will shuddered. An hour ago, climbing the hill with Jacob, he'd felt happier than he'd felt in his life before; the feel of that blade had made his palm tremble with pleasure, and the little deaths he'd caused filled him with pride. Now all that seemed like another world, another Will. He looked down at his hands. He'd never finished scrubbing them clean, and even in the murk he could see that they were still stained with the bird's blood. He felt a spasm of self-disgust. If he could have fled then and there, he might well have done so. But that would have left Jacob searching for the book on his own, and Will didn't dare risk that. Not while Steep was carrying that knife of his. Will knew from experience how self-possessed it could be; how eager to do harm.

Turning his back on man and knife, he resumed his descent, no longer leading directly into the village but around it, so as to bring them undiscovered to the Cunninghams' doorstep.

ii

When Frannie woke, the clock beside the bed said five twenty-five. She got up anyway, knowing her father, who had always been an early riser, would also be up in the next fifteen minutes.