I'm not quite sure how I feel to be here. I'd expected something like relief, the emotional equivalent of having come home after a long wet journey, or having a drink when you are thirsty. But I still ache for that kind of safe, fulfilled feeling, the feeling that I've achieved something by coming here. At the moment I feel rather as if I've dropped in on one of my university professors at home, on the weekend, when his wife is there. And worse: I know, and Burlem must suspect, that I read his mind to get here. What felt like a necessity at the time feels somehow wrong now. I didn't really come here for him: I came here for me. Then again, he must understand that I didn't have any other choice. But I know too much about him now, and we're both aware of that.
The kitchen area is around to the left and runs adjacent to the hallway.
"I'll make tea," Lura says, walking off towards the kitchen. I hear water running and then the click of the kettle being switched on.
Burlem motions for me to follow him to the large dining table. He folds the paper and puts it to one side. Then Lura comes and picks up his mug and takes it away. For a whole two or three minutes now no one has said anything.
"I'm sorry...," I begin.
"How did you find me?" Burlem says.
"Through Molly," I say.
"Molly doesn't know where I am," he says. "No one in my bloody family knows where I am. That's what you give up when you go into hiding like this. One of many things."
"Pedesis," I say. "I used Pedesis. I'm sorry. I've got the book."
He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds and then opens them again; then he runs a shaky hand through his dark hair.
"Fuck," he says again.
"I'm sorry...," I say again. There's a long pause. "They came after me and I didn't know what to do. I realized that the same thing must have happened to you, and so I logically thought that if I came to where you were I might be safe."
"The curse," says Burlem.
"Yeah," I say.
And I think we're both remembering his paper in Greenwich, where we both agreed that we'd read the book if we could, regardless of the curse. I know I'd do it again, but I don't know about him. His face looks rougher and more lined than when I last saw him, and he now has several streaks of white-gray in his hair. Or maybe he used to dye it and now he can't be bothered. What must it be like to have to leave your job like that? To leave behind a daughter?
"How is Molly?" he asks.
"She's doing normal teenage things," I say.
"But she's OK?"
I weigh this question in my mind. All right, so Molly's fucking an unsuitable guy, but then we all do that. When I was in her mind I didn't detect any obvious anorexia, self-harm, or drug abuse. But then, of course, she has the potential for all of that: I knew that from the connection I felt with her.
"She's fine," I say.
Burlem sighs. "Are you still smoking?" he asks.
"Yeah, why?"
"Can I have one?"
"Sure." I take my tobacco out of my bag. "Roll-ups," I say. "I'm a bit skint."
"Can you do it for me?" he asks. "I've lost the knack."
And his hands are shaking too, I notice. I roll two cigarettes and give one to him. We both light up.
"Oh, that feels better," he says. "Fucking weird, but better. Why don't we go over by the fire. You'd better tell me what's been going on. Let me know how terrified I should be."
We get up and walk over to the sofas. He takes the messy one and I take the other. It does feel amazing, sitting in a warm, comfortable room after everything that's happened. But somehow I don't feel quite comfortable. I don't sit back in the sofa, although it's soft and vast. I perch on the edge as though I'm having an interview. There aren't any ashtrays, but I notice that Burlem flicks his ash into the fire, so I do the same.
"You shouldn't have come here," he says.
I think I'm going to cry again. "I know ... But I ... I had..."
"But, well, it's good to see you again." He smiles now for the first time.
"Oh. Thanks, I..."
"And I'm sorry about the book." He sighs. "I feel responsible."
"Don't be," I say. "I'm sorry I freaked you out by coming here. But I honestly couldn't think of anything else to do. I mean ... Just to be in the same room as someone who has had the same experiences as me is..."
Burlem cuts me off. "How sure are you that you weren't followed?" he asks.
"A hundred percent," I say. "Or, well, maybe ninety-nine. But they only want the recipe, don't they? They can get that from me now. They wouldn't need to use me to get to you. They'd only need to get into my head. I've got all the information they need. I can promise you that after the last time I met them in the Troposphere—or MindSpace, as they seem to call it—I've got no intention of letting them anywhere near me, my mind, or my body. That's why I ran. That's why I came to find you. I can't go anywhere anymore. I can't go home; I can't go to work..."
"That's neat logic," he says. "That stuff about only needing to get into your mind for a few minutes to get the recipe. But they want all of us dead. You do know that?"
"No. I didn't know that. Well, I mean I know they're violent and they'll use force to get the recipe ... And maybe even for fun. But I thought that once they had the recipe they'd go away."
Burlem coughs and takes a drag on the roll-up. "When they sell the patent for the mixture—or cook it up illegally; I don't know what they've got planned—they won't want people like us coming along and undercutting their price. They'll want to get rid of any competitors. Well, I don't know for sure, but I expect they do want to sell it; that seems logical."
"They do," I say.
"How do you know?"
"I..."
Lura comes through the large room carrying a yellow tray with a teapot and mugs on it. Burlem quickly shifts some magazines and newspapers out of the way and she puts it down on the coffee table between two stacks of books. Then she sits down in the armchair and looks at me.
"Are you all right?" she asks me, peering over her silver glasses. "I'm sorry if I was rude at the door. We've been hiding for so long, and..."
"It's OK," I say. "I'm fine."
"Ariel knows about Project Starlight," Burlem says to Lura. "She knows what they want."
"Yes, I overheard that," Lura says. "How do you know? I couldn't find out anything about them on the occasions when I tried—well, beyond the very basics."
"I got into one of their minds," I say. "Martin Rose."
Burlem half laughs and half snorts. "How the fuck did you do that?"
"They were waiting for me in their car. I was in a priory and they couldn't come in, obviously, so they were kind of staking me out. I got into the Troposphere from inside the priory and ended up in one of their heads by accident. I didn't even know they were there before that."
"What were you doing in a priory?" Burlem asks.
"Hiding from them. It's a long story," I say.
Burlem pours the tea, spilling at least half a cup onto the tray.
"I think maybe now's the time to tell us all of it, if you don't mind. How you got the book, what happened next, and so on," he says.
"No, that's fine," I say. "But can I stay here, tonight at least? I don't want to impose, but..."