‘I'm sorry we have to part so quickly,' Suzanna said to de Bono, when they stood at the perimeter.
‘Why should we have to part?'
‘Because we came here to stop the Prophet,' Suzanna said, ‘and we're going to do that.'
‘Then I'll take you where he'll be.'
‘Where?' said Cal.
‘The Firmament,' de Bono replied with confidence. The old palace. That's what they were saying in the street. Didn't you hear them? And it stands to reason. He'd be bound to take the Firmament if he wants to be King.'
2
They'd not got far from Nonesuch when de Bono halted, and pointed across the valley to a pall of smoke.
‘Something burning,' he said.
‘Let's hope it's Shadwell,' said Cal.
‘I think I ought to know something about this bastard,' said de Bono. ‘If we're going to slaughter him in his boots.'
They told him what they knew, which was, when they came to summarize it, a piffling amount.
‘It's odd,' said Cal. ‘It seems like I've known him all my life. But, you know, it's less than a year since I first set eyes on him.'
‘Shadows can be cast in any direction,' said de Bono. That's my belief. Starbrook used to say there were even places close to the Gyre where the past and the future overlap.'
‘I think maybe I visited one of them,' said Cal, ‘last time I was here.'
‘What was it like?'
Cal shook his head.
‘Ask me tomorrow,' he said.
Their route had taken them into marshy territory. They picked their way across the mud from stone to stone, any hope of conversation cancelled by the clamour of frogs which rose from the reeds. Half way across, the sound of car engines met their ears. Putting caution aside they crossed to firmer ground by the most direct route, sinking up to their ankles in the water-sodden ground while the frogs - thumb-nail small, and poppy red - leapt before them in their many hundreds.
On the other side Cal shinned up a tree to get a better view. The vantage point offered him sight of a convoy of cars, heading towards the township. It had no need of roads. It was forging its way by dint of wheel and horsepower. Flights of birds rose before it; animals - those that were fast enough -scattered.
Suzanna called up to him:
‘What can you see?'
‘It's Hobart's mob, at a guess.'
‘Hobart?'
She was up the tree and beside him in seconds, edging out along the branch to be clear of the foliage.
‘It's him,' he heard her say, almost to herself. ‘My God, it's him.'
She turned back to Cal, and there was a wildness in her eyes he didn't much like.
‘You're going to have to go on without me,' she said.
They climbed down again, and picked up the argument at ground level.
‘I've got business with Hobart. You go on. I'll find you when I'm done.'
‘Can't he wait?' Cal said.
‘No,' she told him firmly. ‘No he can't. He's got the book Mimi gave me, and I want it back.'
She saw the perplexed look on his face, and could hear before he delivered them every argument he'd make against their parting. Shadwell was their true objective, he'd say; this was no time to be diverted from facing him. Besides, a book was just a book wasn't it?; it'd still be there tomorrow. All of which was true, of course. But somewhere in her belly she sensed that Hobart's cleaving to the book had some perverse logic about it. Perhaps the pages contained some knowledge she could put to good use in the conflict ahead, encoded in those Once upon a times. That was certainly Hobart's conviction, and what the enemy believed of you was probably true, or else why were you enemies in the first place?
‘I have to go back,' she said. ‘And that's all there is to it.'
‘Then I'll come with you.'
‘I can deal with him myself, Cal,' she said. ‘You two have to go on to the Firmament. I'll find my way to you once I've got the book.'
She spoke with unshakeable conviction; he sensed it would be fruitless to argue with her.
Then take care,' he said, wrapping his arms around her. ‘Be safe.'
‘And you, Cal. For me.'
With that, she was away.
De Bono, who'd been out of this conversation while he toyed with his radio, now said:
‘Aren't we going with her?'
‘No,' said Cal. ‘She wants to go alone.'
He pulled a quizzical face. ‘Love-affair, is it?' he asked.
‘Something like that.'
3
Suzanna retraced their steps to the township with an urgency, an enthusiasm even, she didn't entirely comprehend. Was it just that she wanted the confrontation over and done with? Or could it be that she was actually eager to see Hobart again; that he had become a kind of mirror in which she might know herself better?
As she stepped back into the streets - which the citizens, retreating behind their doors, had now left more or less deserted - she hoped he knew she was near. Hoped his heart beat a little faster at her proximity, and his palms sweated.
If not, she'd teach him how.
VI
THE FLESH IS WEAK
1
Though Shadwell had set his sights on occupying the Firmament - the only building in the Fugue worthy of one teetering on Godhood - once ensconced there he found it an unsettling residence. Each of the monarchs and matriarchs who'd occupied the place over the centuries had brought their own vision to its halls and ante-chambers, their one purpose to expand upon the previous occupant's mysteries. The result was part labyrinth, part mystical ghost-train ride.
He was not the first Cuckoo to explore the Firmament's miraculous corridors. Several members of Humankind had found their way into the palace down the years, and wandered there unchallenged by its makers, who had no desire to sour its tranquillity with hard words. Lost in its depths these lucky few had seen sights that they would take to their graves. A chamber in which the tiles on the walls had twice as many sides as a dice, and flipped forever over and over, each facet having its place in a fresco that never came to rest long enough for the eye to entirely comprehend it. Another room in which rain constantly fell, a warm spring night rain, and the floor gave off the smell of cooling pavements; and another which seemed at first quite plain, but was built with such sense-beguiling geometries a man might think his head swelled to fill it one moment, and the next be shrunk to the size of a beetle. And after an hour, or a day, of trespassing amongst these wonders, some invisible guide would lead them to the door, and they'd emerge as if from a dream. Later they'd try to speak of what they'd seen, but a failure of memory and tongue usually conspired to reduce their attempts to babble. In desperation, many went back in search of that delirium. But the Firmament was a movable feast, and it had always flitted away.
Shadwell was the first Cuckoo, therefore, who walked those rapturous corridors and called them his own. It gave him no pleasure, however. That was perhaps its most elegant revenge on its unwelcome occupant.
2
In the late afternoon, before the light dwindled too much, the Prophet made his way up to the top of the Firmament's watchtower, to survey his territories. Despite the demands of recent weeks - the masquerading, the rallies, the constant politicking - he didn't feel weary. All he'd promised his followers and himself had come true. It was as if his performance as a Prophet had lent him prophetic powers. He'd found the Weave, as he'd said he would, and claimed it from its guardians; he'd led his crusaders into the very heart of the Fugue, silencing with almost supernatural speed any and all who'd defied him. From his present elevated status there was no route to rise but towards Godhood, and the means to that advancement was visible from where he now stood.
The Gyre.
Its Mantle roiled and thundered, veiling its secrets from all eyes, even his. No matter. Tomorrow, when Hobart's battalion had finished its suppression of the natives, they would escort the Prophet to the doorway of the Gyre, the place the Kind called the Narrow Bright, and he would step inside.