‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Erasmus said, with a nod. ‘Forgive an old man’s vanity, I enjoy collecting every reminder of the human period of my life … But how did you discover my address? I didn’t think the Night Watch of London had that information.’
‘It wasn’t the Watch,’ I admitted. ‘I acquired the address from private sources …’
Erasmus waited.
‘Anna Tikhonovna works in our Watch …’
‘Anna!’ Erasmus exclaimed. ‘What a fool I am – I should have guessed …’ He gave me a sideways glance. ‘Well, does she still laugh when she remembers how she caught me?’
‘Pride and Prejudice …’ I said pensively.
‘What?’
‘She doesn’t find it amusing at all. She’s still distressed that your relations were severed so abruptly. Of course, she was interested in the story of the Tiger – she collects all sorts of oddities that are ignored by official science, but she enjoyed being in touch with you.’
Erasmus shrugged. Then he muttered: ‘I found it interesting too … she was so delicate in the way she made it clear that she was an Other, and she knew who I was … but at the same time she displayed such a deep knowledge of botany. The article she published in that journal was most interesting … a most agreeable lady, it was quite surprising that she was from Musco … I beg your pardon, of course, Antoine, but I didn’t really like Russian women before that.’
‘That’s quite all right, I’m not very taken by the English ones,’ I replied vengefully.
‘We really ought to have met,’ Erasmus went on. ‘We could have looked into each other’s eyes and understood each other better.’
‘Yes, the Internet doesn’t allow for genuine contact,’ I said profoundly.
‘What Internet, Antoine?’ Erasmus laughed. ‘It was more than thirty years ago! The USSR still existed then! Letters on paper – with just a little spell, so that the censor wouldn’t examine them and they would arrive more quickly …’
Yes, I’d really put my foot in it. Sometimes I forget just how recently all these mobile phones and computers appeared.
‘So the publication was in a real journal, then?’ I said, taking the point. ‘A scholarly one, on paper? And I thought it was a “live” journal …’
Erasmus laughed until he cried, and then he said: ‘There you are, Antoine. Even you will start feeling like a dinosaur soon, decorating your home with Soviet posters and red banners! Never mind, one can get accustomed to the way time flies … Well then, let me tell you about the Tiger. About my Tiger. And then you can explain to me what you’re so agitated about.’
CHAPTER 3
THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY was not an age well equipped to ensure a happy childhood. But then, it wasn’t all that great for an active prime of life and a peaceful old age either. It was easy to die, in fact it was very easy. Life was merely the prelude to death and the life after death – the existence of which only very few doubted.
Sometimes this prelude was a long one, but far more often it was short.
Both for humans and for Others.
‘Are you listening to me or sleeping, boy?’
Erasmus Darwin was fourteen years old, and in the twentieth century he would have been offended to be addressed as ‘boy’. But in the eighteenth century it was quite normal. As a matter of fact, someone from the twentieth or twenty-first century would have taken Erasmus for a child of ten or eleven. He might also have been perplexed by the fact that Erasmus’s trousers and jerkin were in no way different from those of his adult companion, but that was also a part of that time. Children were not special creatures, requiring different treatment, food and clothing. They were simply little human beings who might possibly be fortunate enough to become full-fledged adults. Even in the paintings of the finest artists of that time the bodies and faces of children were indistinguishable from the bodies and faces of adults – if the artist’s eye did detect the difference in proportions, his mind rejected the distinction. A boy was simply a little man. A girl was simply a little woman … indeed, girls changed their status and became women very quickly, and no one found that disconcerting. Leavened with the first yeast of civilisation, the human dough was seething and expanding. Humankind had to grow. And for that, there had to be as many births as possible, because it was beyond human power to reduce the number of deaths.
‘I’m not sleeping!’ Erasmus protested indignantly.
‘Then where is your spirit wandering?’ asked Erasmus’s companion, giving the boy a furious look. The man looked about thirty years old – a substantial age. If he had been human, that is. But he was an Other and only he knew how old he really was.
‘I was thinking … about this …’ said Erasmus, spreading his arms out self-consciously.
‘About this?’ Erasmus’s companion looked at the blossoming meadow in disgust. ‘Tell me, boy, are you a bee that gathers nectar?’
‘No …’
‘Then perhaps a witch who brews potions?’
Erasmus shuddered slightly. He was afraid of witches, although as things had turned out he didn’t need to fear them any more.
‘No, teacher …’
‘Or are you a peasant, who is going to pasture his cows here?’
Erasmus didn’t answer.
‘You are an Other,’ his companion said firmly. ‘You possess the great power of clairvoyance and prophecy. You have been granted a different fate from on high, and mundane matters should be of no concern to you.’
‘But is it truly from on high?’ Erasmus muttered to himself.
His companion heard but, contrary to his usual habit, did not fly into a rage. He shrugged and sat down on the ground, crushing the grass and the flowers. And he replied: ‘I have seen Others who shout that their power is from God: they observe the fasts, follow the Gospel and go to church often. I don’t know what they say at confession – perhaps they have their own priests … I have seen Others who believe that it was Lucifer, the luminiferous Prince of Darkness, who granted them their mighty power. At night they burn black candles made from the fat of corpses – you should see how they smoke and stink! They kiss a severed goat’s head and commit obscenities too abominable for me to speak of. But one thing I can tell you for certain – I have not seen God, or his servants, and I have not met Satan, or his vassals. Perhaps they are simply not concerned with us. Perhaps our Power is simply a power, like a bird’s ability to soar through the sky or a fish’s ability to breathe water.’
‘I don’t want to burn black candles or commit obscenities,’ Erasmus said, just to be on the safe side.
‘Then do not do either,’ his companion replied indifferently.
‘But I feel bored in church, teacher,’ Erasmus confessed. ‘And … and I once stole a penny … and in the evenings, when Betty brings the warming-pan to my bed, I ask her to lie down beside me …’
‘Maidservants are created to gladden their masters’ hearts,’ Erasmus’s companion replied magnanimously. ‘And you are more than just her master. You are an Other. Take your pleasure with Betty as you desire.’
The boy didn’t say anything. The man narrowed his eyes and peered at him. Erasmus moved his hand slowly above the crushed stalks of grass, and they straightened up, reaching for his fingers.
‘You have an affinity for the kingdom of plants,’ the man admitted reluctantly. ‘That is more fitting for a witch than a magician, but the Power always finds unexpected ways to manifest itself … Only do not forget that you are a Prophet. Who will be victorious in the battle on the hill?’