Weave World

‘You're putting words in my mouth.'

Again, the sour civility: Then please... speak for yourself.'

‘I've nothing to say.'

‘We've witnesses that'll testify that you and the nigger -'

‘Don't keep calling him that.'

That you and the nigger were at the centre of the riot. Who supplies your chemical weapons?'

‘Don't be ridiculous.' she said. That's what you are. You're ridiculous.'

She could feel herself flushing, and tears threatened. Damn it, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

He must have sensed her determination, because he gave up that line of questioning and tried another.

Tell me about the code,' he said.

This perplexed her utterly. ‘What code?'

He took Mimi's book from the pocket of his jacket, and laid it on the table between them, his wide, pale hand placed proprietorially across it.

‘What does this mean?' he said.

‘It's a book ....'

‘Don't take me for a fool.'

‘I don't,' she thought. ‘You're dangerous, and you make me afraid.'

But she replied: ‘Really, it's just a book of faery-tales.'

He opened it, flicking through the pages.

‘You read German?'

‘A little. The book was a present. From my grandmother.'

He paused here and here, to glance at the illustrations. He lingered over one - a dragon, its coils gleaming in a midnight forest - before passing on.

‘You realize, I hope, that the more you lie to me the worse things will get for you.'

She didn't grace the threat with a reply.

‘I'm going to take your little book apart -' he said.

‘Please don't-'

She knew he'd read her concern as confirmation of her guilt, but she couldn't help herself.

‘Page by page,' he said. ‘Word by word if I have to.'

There's nothing in it,' she insisted. ‘It's just a book. And it's mine.'

‘It's evidence,' he corrected her. ‘It means something.'

‘.... faery-tales ...'

‘I want to know what.'

She hung her head, so as not to let him enjoy her pain.

He stood up.

‘Wait for me, would you?' he said, as if she had any choice in the matter. ‘I'm going to have a word with your nigger friend. Two of this city's finest have been keeping him company -' he paused to let the sub-text sink in,'- I'm sure by now he'll be ready to tell me the whys and the wherefores. I'll be back in a little while.'

She put her hand over her mouth to stop herself begging him to believe her. It would do no good.

He rapped on the door. It was unbolted; he stepped out into the corridor. The door was locked behind him.

She sat at the table for several minutes and tried to make sense of the feeling that seemed to narrow her wind-pipe and her vision, leaving her breathless, and blind to everything but the memory of his eyes. Never in her life had she felt anything quite like it.

It took a little time before she realized that it was hate.

IIII

SO NEAR, SO FAR

1

The echoes that Cammell had spoken of were still loud and clear in Rue Street when, as evening drew on, Cal and his passengers arrived there. It was left to Apolline, using pages torn from the atlas spread out like playing cards on the bare boards of the upper room, to compute the carpet's present location.

To Cal's untutored eye it seemed she did this much the same way his mother had chosen horses for her annual flutter on the Derby, with closed eyes and a pin. It was only to be hoped that Apolline's method was more reliable; Eileen Mooney had never chosen a winner in her life.

There was a burst of controversy half way through the process, when Apolline - who appeared to have entered a trance of some kind - spat a hail of pips onto the floor. Freddy made some scathing remark at this, and Apolline's eyes snapped open.

‘Will you keep your damn silence?' she said. This is bloody hard work.'

‘It's not wise to use the Giddies,' he said. They're unreliable.'

‘You want to take over?' she challenged him. ‘You know I've got no skill with that.' Then bite your tongue,' she snapped. ‘And leave me to it, will you? Go on!' She got to her feet and pushed him towards the door. ‘Go on. Get out of here. All of you.' They withdrew to the landing, where Freddy continued to complain. The woman's lazy.' he said. ‘Lilia didn't need the fruit.'

‘Lilia was special,' said Nimrod, sitting at the top of the stairs, still wrapped in his tattered shirt. ‘Let her do it her way, will you? She's not stupid.'

Freddy sought solace with Cal. ‘I don't belong to these people.' he protested. ‘It's all a terrible error. I'm not a thief.'

‘What is your profession then?'

‘I'm a barber. And you?'

‘I work in an insurance company.' It seemed odd to think of that; of his desk, the claim forms piling up in the tray; of the doodles he'd left on the blotting paper. It was another world.

The bedroom door opened. Apolline was standing there, with one of the pages from the atlas in her hand. ‘Well?' said Freddy. She handed the page to Cal. ‘I've found it.' she said.

2

The trail of echoes led them across the Mersey, through Birken-head, and over Irby Hill, to the vicinity of Thurstaston Common. Cal knew the area not at all, and was surprised to find such rural territory within a hop, skip and a jump of the city.

They circled the area, Apolline in the passenger seat, eyes closed, until she announced:

‘It's here. Stop here.'

Cal drew up. The large house they had arrived outside was in darkness, although there were several impressive vehicles in the driveway. They vacated the car, climbed the wall, and approached.

This is it.' Apolline announced. ‘I can practically smell the Weave.'

Cal and Freddy made two complete circuits of the building, looking for an entrance that wasn't locked, and on the second trip found a window which, while too small for an adult, offered easy access to Nimrod.

‘Softly, softly does it,' Cal counselled, as he hoisted Nimrod through. ‘We'll wait by the front door.' ‘What are our tactics?' Cammell enquired. ‘We get in. We take the carpet. We bugger off again,' said Cal.

There was a muffled thump as Nimrod leapt or tumbled from the sill on the other side. They waited a moment. There was no further sound, so they returned to the front of the house, and waited in the darkness. A minute passed; and another, and yet another. Finally, the door opened, and Nimrod was standing there, beaming. ‘Lost my way,' he whispered.

They slipped inside. Both lower and upper floors were unlit, but there was nothing restful about the darkness. The air was agitated, as if the dust couldn't quite bear to settle.

‘I don't think there's anyone here,' said Freddy, going to the bottom of the stairs.

‘Wrong,' Cal whispered. There was no doubting the origin of the chill in the air.

Freddy ignored him. He had already climbed two or three steps. It passed through Cal's head that his foolhardy show of indifference to danger, which was more than likely compensation for his cowardice at Chariot Street, would do no good to anyone. But Apolline was already accompanying Freddy upstairs, leaving Cal and Nimrod to investigate the ground floor.

Their route led them through a murky assault course, which Nimrod, being much the smaller, negotiated with more ease than Cal.

Toll's right,' Nimrod whispered as they passed from room to room. The Weave's here. I can feel it.'

So could Cal; and at the thought of the Fugue's proximity he felt his courage bolstered. This time he wasn't alone against Shadwell. He had allies, with powers of their own, and they had the element of surprise on their side. With a little luck they might steal the Salesman's booty from under his nose.

Then there was a cry from the upper landing. It was unmistakably Freddy; his voice anguished. The next moment came the stomach-turning sound of his body tumbling down the stairs. Two minutes in, and the game was up.