Lost in a Good Book

Pearson, croquet pro Alf Widdershaine, who taught me how to ‘peg out’ all the way from the forty-yard line. Even the previously unknown Bonnie Voige was there, and—

‘Who’s this’’ I asked, pointing at a shimmering memory in front of me.

‘It’s the woman who called herself Violet De’ath,’ answered Landen. ‘Does she seem familiar?’

I looked at her blank features. I hadn’t given her a second thought at the time but something about her was familiar.

‘Sort of,’ I responded. ‘Have I seen her somewhere before?’

‘You tell me, Thursday.’ Landen shrugged. ‘It’s your memory—but if you want a clue, look at her shoes.’

And there they were. Bright red shoes that just might have been the same as those on the girl at the Skyrail platform.

‘There’s more than one pair of red shoes in Wessex, Land.’

‘You’re right,’ he observed. ‘I did say it was a long shot.’

I had an idea, and before Landen could say another word we were in the square at Osaka with all the Nextian-logoed Japanese, the fortune-teller frozen in mid-beckon, the crowd around us an untidy splash of visual noise which is the way crowds appear to the mind’s eye, the logos I remembered jutting out in sharp contrast to the unremembered faces. I peered through the crowd as I anxiously searched for anything that might resemble a young European woman.

‘See anything?’ asked Landen, hands on hips and surveying the strange scene.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘Wait a minute. Let’s come in a bit earlier.’

I took myself back a minute and there she was, getting up from the fortune-teller’s chair the moment I first saw him. I walked closer and looked at the vague shape. I squinted at her feet. There, in the haziest corner of my mind, was the memory I was looking for. The shoes were definitely red.

‘It’s her, isn’t it?’ asked Landen

‘Yes,’ I murmured, staring at the wraith-like figure in front of me. ‘But it doesn’t help; none of these memories is strong enough for a positive ID.’

‘Perhaps not on their own,’ observed Landen. ‘But since I’ve been in here I’ve figured out a few things about how your memory works. Try and superimpose the images.’

I thought of the woman on the platform, placed her across the vague form in the market and then added the spectre who had called herself De’ath. The three images shimmered for a bit before they locked together. It wasn’t great. I needed more. I pulled from my memory the half-shredded picture that Lamb and Slaughter had shown me. It fitted perfectly, and Landen and I stared at the result.

‘What do you think?’ asked Landen. ‘Twenty-five?’

‘Possibly a little older,’ I muttered, looking closer at the amalgam of my attacker, trying to fix it in my memory. She had plain features, a small amount of make-up and blonde hair cut in an asymmetric bob. She didn’t look like a killer. I ran through all the information I had—which didn’t take long. The failed SpecOps 5 investigations allowed me a few clues: the recurring name of Hades, the initials ‘A.H.’, the fact that she did resolve on pictures. Clearly it wasn’t Acheron in disguise but perhaps—

‘Oh, shit.’

‘What?’

‘It’s Hades.’

‘It can’t be. You killed him.’

‘I killed Acheron. He had a brother named Styx—why couldn’t he have a sister?’

We exchanged nervous looks and stared at the mnemonograph in front of us. Some of her features did seem to resemble those of Acheron now I stared at her. For a start, she was tall. And the way her lips were thin, and the eyes—they had a sort of brooding darkness to them.

‘No wonder she’s pissed off with you,’ murmured Landen ‘You killed her brother.’

‘Thanks for that, Landen,’ I said. ‘You always know how to relax a girl.’

‘Sorry. So we know the “H” in “A.H.” is Hades—what about the “A”?’

‘The Acheron was a tributary of the river Styx,’ I said quietly, ‘as were the Phlegethon, Cocytus, Lethe— and… Aornis.’

I’d never felt so depressed at having identified a suspect before. But something was niggling at me. There was something here that I couldn’t see, as if I were listening to a TV from another room, hearing dramatic music but having no idea what was going on.

‘Cheer up.’ Landen smiled, rubbing my shoulder. ‘She’s ballsed it up three times already—it might never happen!’

‘There’s something else, Landen.’

‘What?’

‘Something I’ve forgotten. Something I never remembered. Something about… I don’t know.’

‘It’s no good asking me,’ replied Landen. ‘I may seem real to you but I’m not—I can’t know any more than you do.’

Aornis had vanished and Landen was starting to fade.

‘You’ve got to go now,’ he said in a hollow-sounding voice. ‘Remember what I said about Jack Schitt.’

‘Don’t go!’ I yelled. ‘I want to stay here for a bit. It’s not much fun out here at the moment. I think it’s Miles’s baby, Aornis wants to kill me, and Goliath and Flanker—!’

But it was too late. I’d woken up I was still in bed, undressed, bedclothes rumpled. The clock told me it was a few minutes past nine. I stared at the ceiling in a forlorn mood, wondering how I could have got myself into such a mess, and then wondering whether there was anything I could have done to prevent it. I decided, on the face of it, probably not. This, to my fuddled way of thinking, I took to be a positive sign. So I slipped on a T-shirt and shuffled into the kitchen, filled the kettle and put some dried apricots in Pickwick’s bowl after trying and failing to get her to stand on one leg.

I shook the entroposcope just in case, was thankful to find everything as normal, and was just checking the fridge for some fresh milk when the doorbell rang. I trotted out to the hall, picked up my automatic from the table and asked:

‘Who is it?’

‘Open the door, Doofus.’

I put the gun away and opened the door. Joffy smiled at me as he entered and raised his eyebrows at my dishevelled state.

‘Half-day today?’

‘I don’t feel like working now that Landen’s gone.’

‘Who?’

‘Never mind. Coffee?’

We walked into the kitchen. Joffy patted Pickwick on the head and I emptied the old grounds out of the coffee jug. He sat down at the table.

‘Seen Dad recently?’

‘Last week. He was fine. How much did you make on the art sale?’

‘Over two thousand pounds in commission. I thought of using the cash to repair the church roof but then figured what the hell—I’ll just blow it on drink, curry and prostitutes.’

I laughed.

‘Sure you will, Joff’

I rinsed some mugs and stared out of the window.

‘What can I do for you, Joff?’

‘I came round to pick Miles’s things up.’

I stopped what I was doing and turned to face him.

‘Say that again.’

‘I said I came—’