Weaveworld (31 page)

From outside the door she heard voices, raised in consternation. She didn’t care. Her consciousness was
in
and
of
the tide, her sight running to the edge of the menstruum’s reach and looking back at herself, wild-eyed, smiling a river. She was looking down from the ceiling too, where her liquid self was rising in spume.

Behind her, they were unlocking the door. They’ll come with cudgels, she thought. These men are afraid of me. And with reason. I’m their enemy,
and they’re mine.

She turned. The officer in the doorway looked pitifully frail, his boots and buttons a weak man’s dream of strength. He gaped at the scene before him – the furniture reduced to tinder, the light dancing on the walls. Then the menstruum was coming at him.

She followed in its wake, as it threw the man aside. Parts of her consciousness trailed behind her, snatching the truncheon from his hand and breaking it in pieces; other parts surged ahead of her physical body, turning corners, seeking under doors, calling Jerichau’s name –

2

The interrogation of the male suspect had proved disappointing for Hobart. The man was either an imbecile or a damn good actor – one minute answering his questions with more questions, the next, talking in riddles. He’d despaired of getting any sense from the prisoner, so he’d left him in the company of Laverick and Boyce, two of his best men. They’d soon have the man spitting the truth, and his teeth with it.

Upstairs at his desk he’d just begun a closer analysis of the book of codes when he heard the sound of breakage from below. Then Patterson, the officer he’d left guarding the woman, began yelling.

He was heading down the stairs to investigate when he was inexplicably seized by the need to void his bladder; an ache which became an agonizing pain as he descended. He refused to let it slow his progress, but by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs he was almost doubled up.

Patterson was sitting in the corner of the passageway, his hands over his face. The cell door was open.

‘Stand up, man!’ Hobart demanded, but the officer could only sob like a child. Hobart left him to it.

3

Boyce had seen the expression on the suspect’s face change seconds before the cell door was blown open, and it had almost broken his heart to see a smile so lavish appear on features he’d sweated to terrorize. He was about to beat the smile to Kingdom Come when he heard Laverick, who’d been enjoying a mid-session cigarette in the far corner of the room, say: ‘Jesus Christ’, and the next moment –

What had happened in that next moment?

First the door had rattled as if an earthquake was waiting on the other side; then Laverick had dropped his cigarette and
stood up, and Boyce, suddenly feeling sick as a dog, had reached out to take the suspect hostage against whatever was beating on the door. He was too late. The door was flung wide – brightness flooded in – and Boyce felt his body weaken to the point of near collapse. An instant later something took hold of him, and turned him round and round on his heels. He was helpless in its embrace. All he could do was cry out as the cool force made gushing entry into him through every hole in his body. Then, as suddenly as he’d been snatched, he was let go. He hit the cell floor just as a woman, who seemed both naked and dressed to him, stepped through the door. Laverick had seen her too, and was shouting something, which the rushing in Boyce’s ears – as if his skull was being rinsed in a river – drowned out. The woman terrified him as he’d only been terrified in dreams. His mind struggled to recall a ritual of protection against such terrors, one he’d known before his own name. He had to be quick, he knew. His mind was close to being washed away.

Suzanna’s gaze lingered on the torturers for only an instant – it was Jerichau that concerned her. His face was raw, and puffed up with repeated beatings, but smiling at the sight of his rescuer.

‘Quickly,’ she said, extending a hand to him.

He stood up, but he wouldn’t approach her. He’s afraid too, she thought. Or if not afraid, at least respectful.

‘We must go –’

He nodded. She stepped out into the corridor again, trusting that he’d follow. In the scant minutes since the menstruum had flowed in her she’d begun to exercise some control over it, like a bride learning to trail and gather the length of her train. Now, when she left the cell, she mentally called the wash of energy after her, and it came to her.

She was glad of its obedience, for as she began along the corridor Hobart appeared at the far end. Her confidence momentarily faltered, but the sight of her – or whatever he saw in her place – was enough to make him stop in his tracks. He seemed to doubt his eyes, for he shook his head violently. Gaining confidence, she began to advance towards him. The
lights were swinging wildly above her head. The concrete walls creaked when she laid her fingers on them, as though with a little effort she might crack them wide. The thought of such a thing began to make her laugh. The sound of her laughter was too much for Hobart. He retreated and disappeared up the stairs.

No further challenge was offered as they made their escape. They climbed the stairs, then crossed the abruptly deserted office. Her very presence threw mounds of paperwork into the air, that spiralled down around her like vast confetti.
(I’m married to myself
, her mind announced.) Then she was stepping through the doors into the evening beyond, Jerichau a respectful distance behind. There were no thanks forthcoming. He merely said:

‘You can find the carpet.’

‘I don’t know how.’

‘Let the menstruum show you,’ he told her.

The reply didn’t make much sense to her, until he extended his hand, palm up:

‘I never saw the menstruum so strong in anyone,’ he said. ‘You can find the Fugue. It and I –’

He didn’t need to finish his sentence; she understood. He and the carpet were made of the same stuff; the
Weave
was the
woven
, and vice versa. She seized hold of his hand. In the building behind them alarm bells had begun to ring, but she knew they would not come after her: not yet.

Jerichau’s face was a knot of anguish. Her touch was not kind to him. But in her head lines of force spiralled and converged. Images appeared: a house, a room. And yes,
the carpet
, lying in splendour before hungry eyes. The lines twisted; other images fought for her attention. Was that blood spilled so copiously on the floor?; and Cal’s heel slipping in it?

She let go of Jerichau’s hand. He made a fist of it.

‘Well?’ he said.

Before she could reply a patrol car squealed into the yard. The driver’s partner, alerted by the alarm, was already stepping from the car, demanding that the escapees halt. He began towards them, but the menstruum threw a ghost-wave
towards him which caught him up and washed him out into the street. The driver threw himself out of the car and fled towards the safety of bricks and mortar, leaving the vehicle free for the taking.

‘The book,’ said Suzanna as she slipped into the driver’s seat. ‘Hobart’s still got my book.’

‘We’ve no time to go back,’ said Jerichau.

Easily said. It hurt to think of leaving Mimi’s gift in the hands of Hobart. But in the time it would take her to find him and claim it back, the carpet might be lost. She had no choice; she’d have to leave it in his possession.

Odd as it seemed, she knew there were few hands in which it was more secure.

4

Hobart retired to the toilet and gave vent to his bladder before he filled his trousers, then went out to face the chaos that had turned his well-ordered headquarters into a battlefield.

The suspects had escaped in a patrol car, he was informed. That was some comfort. The vehicle would be easy to trace. The problem was not finding them again, but subduing them. The woman possessed the skill to induce hallucinations; what other powers might she evidence if cornered? With this and a dozen other questions in his head, he went down in search of Laverick and Boyce.

There were a few men lingering at the cell door, clearly unwilling to step inside. She’s slaughtered them, he thought, and could not deny a spasm of satisfaction that the stakes were suddenly so much higher. But it was not blood he smelt as he reached the door, it was excrement.

Laverick and Boyce had stripped off their uniforms, and smeared themselves from head to foot with the product of their own bowels. Now they were crawling around like animals, grinning from ear to ear, apparently well content with themselves.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Hobart.

At the sound of his master’s voice, Laverick looked up, and tried to get his tongue around some words of explanation. But his palate wasn’t the equal of it. Instead, he crawled into a corner and hid his head.

‘You’d better get them hosed down,’ Hobart told one of the officers. ‘We can’t have their wives seeing them like that.’

‘What happened, sir?’ the man asked.

‘I don’t know yet.’

Patterson had appeared from the cell where the woman had been held, tear-stains on his face. He had some words of explanation.

‘She’s possessed, sir,’ he said, ‘I opened the door and the furniture was half way up the wall.’

‘Keep your hysteria to yourself,’ Hobart told him.

‘I swear it, sir,’ Patterson protested, ‘I
swear
it. And there was this light –’

‘No
, Patterson! You saw nothing!’ Hobart wheeled round on the rest of the spectators, if any of you breathe a word of this, there’ll be worse than shit to eat.
You understand me?’

There were mute nods from the assembly.

‘What about
them?’
said one, glancing back into the cell.

‘I told you. Scrub them down and take them home.’

‘But they’re like children,’ someone said.

‘No children of mine,’ Hobart replied, and took himself off upstairs where he could sit and look at the pictures in the book in private.

V

THRESHOLD

1

hat’s the disturbance?’ van Niekerk demanded to know.

Shadwell smiled his smile. Though he was irritated by the interruption to the Auction, it had served to lend further heat to the buyers’ eagerness.

‘An attempt to steal the carpet –’ he said.

‘By whom?’ Mrs A. asked.

Shadwell pointed to the border of the carpet.

There is, you’ll observe, a portion of the Weave missing,’ he admitted. ‘Small as it is, its knots concealed several inhabitants of the Fugue.’ He watched the buyers’ faces as he spoke. They were utterly mesmerized by his story, desperate for some confirmation of their dreams.

‘And they came here?’ said Norris.

They did indeed.’

‘Let’s see them,’ the Hamburger King demanded, ‘if they’re here, let’s see them.’

Shadwell paused before replying. ‘Maybe one,’ he said.

He’d been fully prepared for the request, and had already planned with Immacolata which of the prisoners they’d display. He opened the door, and Nimrod, released from the Hag’s embrace, tottered onto the carpet. Whatever the buyers had expected, the sight of this naked child was not it.

‘What is this?’ Rahimzadeh snorted. ‘Do you think we’re fools?’

Nimrod looked up from the Weave underfoot at the puzzled
faces that surrounded him. He would have set them right on any number of matters, but that Immacolata had laid her fingers on his tongue, and he couldn’t raise a grunt from it.

This is one of the Seerkind,’ Shadwell announced.

‘It’s just a child,’ said Marguerite Pierce, her voice betraying some tenderness. ‘A poor child.’

Nimrod stared at the woman: a fine, big-breasted creature, he thought.

‘He’s no child,’ said Immacolata. She had slipped into the room unseen; now all eyes turned to her. All except Marguerite’s, which still rested on Nimrod. ‘Some of the Seerkind are shape-changers.’

‘This?
said van Niekerk.

‘Certainly.’

What crap are you trying to feed us, Shadwell?’ Norris said. ‘I’m not taking –’