Weaveworld. Клайв Баркер
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She left him to his ablutions. With her gone he stripped off his shirt and sluiced down his chest, neck and back with chilly water. She was back before he was done, with a pillow-slip.
‘Nearest thing I can find to a towel,’ she said.
She had set two chairs in the lower front room, and lit several candles there. They sat together, and talked.
‘Why did you come back?’ she wanted to know. ‘After yesterday.’
‘I saw something here.’ he said, cautiously. ‘And you? Why are you here?’
‘This is my grandmother’s house. She’s in hospital. Dying. I came back to look around.’
‘The two I saw yesterday,’ Cal said. ‘Were they friends of your grandmother’s?’
‘I doubt it. What did they want with you?’
Here Cal knew he got into sticky ground. How could he begin to tell her what joys and fears the last few days had brought?
‘It’s difficult …’ he said. ‘I mean, I’m not sure anything that’s happened to me recently makes much sense.’
‘That makes two of us,’ she replied.
He was looking at his hands, like a palmist in search of a future. She studied him; his torso was covered in scratches, as though he’d been wrestling wolves.
When he looked up his pale blue eyes, fringed with black lashes, caught her scrutiny. He blushed slightly.
‘You said you saw something here,’ she said. ‘Can you tell me what?’
It was a simple question, and he saw no reason not to tell her. If she disbelieved him, that was her problem, not his. But she didn’t. Indeed, as soon as he described the carpet her eyes grew wide and wild.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘A carpet. Of course.’
‘You know about it?’ he said.
She told him what had happened at the hospital; the design Mimi had tried to show her.
Now any lingering doubts about telling the whole story were forgotten. He gave her the adventure from the day the bird had escaped. His vision of the Fugue; Shadwell and his coat; Immacolata; the by-blows; their mother and the midwife; events at the wedding, and after. She punctuated his narrative with insights of her own, about Mimi’s life here in the house, the doors bolted, the windows nailed down, living in a fortress as if awaiting siege.
‘She must have known somebody would come for the carpet sooner or later.’
‘Not for the carpet,’ said Cal. ‘For the Fugue.’
She saw his eyes grow dreamy at the word, and envied him his glimpse of the place: its hills, its lakes, its wild woods. And were there maidens amongst those trees, she wanted to ask, who tamed dragons with their song? That was something she would have to discover for herself.
‘So the carpet’s a doorway, is it?’ she said.
‘I don’t know.’ he replied.
‘I wish we could ask Mimi. Maybe she –’
Before the sentence was out, Cal was on his feet.
‘Oh my God.’ Only now did he recall Shadwell’s words on the rubbish tip, about going to speak to the old woman.
He’d meant Mimi, who else? As he pulled on his shirt he told Suzanna what he’d heard.
‘We have to go to her,’ he said. ‘Christ! Why didn’t I think?’
His agitation was infectious. Suzanna blew out the candles, and was at the front door before him.
‘Surely Mimi’ll be safe in a hospital,’ she said.
‘Nobody’s safe,’ he replied, and she knew it was true.
On the step, she about-faced and disappeared into the house again, returning seconds later with a battered book in her hands.
‘Diary?’ he said.
‘Map,’ she replied.
1
Her killers had come and gone in the night, leaving an elaborate smoke-screen to conceal their crime.
‘There’s nothing mysterious about your grandmother’s death.’ Doctor Chai insisted. ‘She was failing fast.’
‘There was somebody here last night.’
‘That’s right. Her daughter.’
‘She only had one daughter; my mother. And she’s been dead for two and a half years.’
‘Whoever it was, she did Mrs Laschenski no harm. Your grandmother died of natural causes.’
There was little use in arguing, Suzanna realized. Any further attempt to explain her suspicions would end in confusion. Besides, Mimi’s death had begun a new spiral of puzzles. Chief amongst them: what had the old woman known, or been, that she had to be dispatched?; and how much of her part in this puzzle would Suzanna now be obliged to assume? One question begged the other, and both, with Mimi silenced, would have to go unanswered. The only other source of information was the creature who’d stooped to kill the old woman on her death-bed: Immacolata. And that was a confrontation Suzanna felt far from ready for.
They left the hospital, and walked. She was badly shaken.
‘Shall we eat?’ Cal suggested.
It was still only seven in the morning, but they found a cafe that served breakfast and ordered glutton’s portions. The eggs and bacon, toast and coffee restored them both somewhat, though the price of a sleepless night still had to be paid.
‘I’ll have to ’phone my uncle in Canada,’ said Suzanna. Tell him what happened.’
‘All of it?’ said Cal.
‘Of course not,’ she said. That’s between the two of us.’
He was glad of that. Not just because he didn’t like the thought of the story spreading, but because he wanted the intimacy of a secret shared. This Suzanna was like no woman he had ever met before. There was no facade, no games-playing. They were, in one night of confessionals – and this sad morning – suddenly companions in a mystery which, though it had brought him closer to death than he’d ever been, he’d happily endure if it meant he kept her company.
‘There won’t be many tears shed over Mimi,’ Suzanna was saying. ‘She was never loved.’
‘Not even by you?’
‘I never knew her,’ she said, and gave Cal a brief synopsis of Mimi’s life and times. ‘She was an outsider,’ Suzanna concluded. ‘And now we know why.’
‘Which brings us back to the carpet. We have to trace the house cleaners.’
‘You need some sleep first.’
‘No. I’ve got my second wind. But I do want to go home. Just to feed the pigeons.’
‘Can’t they survive without you for a few hours?’
Cal frowned. ‘If it weren’t for them,’