Weaveworld

‘How close?’ he said.

Cal knew the voice, though the man was much changed.

‘Nimrod?’

The golden eyes glanced at Cal without registering anything, then looked away, before returning with recognition in them. Apolline had been right, Cal thought; he must look bad. Nimrod stretched his arm in front of Suzanna and clasped Cal’s hand tightly. As he broke contact again the girl at the perimeter let out the tiniest exclamation, and Nimrod’s question – ‘How close?’ – was answered.

Shadwell and Hobart had appeared at the top of the hill. Though the sky at their backs was dark, they were darker still against it, their ragged silhouettes unmistakable.

‘They found us,’ Nimrod breathed.

‘Not yet,’ said Suzanna.

Very slowly, she stood up, and as if on that signal a tremor – the twin to the rumour that had first hushed the wood – ran through the trees. The air seemed to darken even further.

‘They’re strengthening the screen,’ Nimrod whispered.

Cal wished he had some useful role to play in this, but all he could do was watch the hill and hope the enemy would turn its back and go searching elsewhere. He’d known Shadwell too long to believe this likely, however, and he wasn’t surprised when the Salesman started down the slope towards the field. The enemy was obstinate. He’d come to give the gift of Death he’d spoken of in Chariot Street, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d done so.

Hobart, or the power inside him, was lingering on the brow of the hill, where it could better survey the terrain. Even at this distance the flesh of its face flared and darkened like embers in a high wind.

Cal glanced behind him. The Kind were just visible, standing at regular intervals between the trees, their concentration focused on the rapture that stood between them and slaughter. Its redoubled effect was strong enough to invade his eyes, though he stood within the walls. For a moment the darkness of the wood grew tenuous, and it seemed he could see through it, to the snow on the other side.

He looked back at Shadwell, who had reached the bottom of the slope and was scanning the landscape ahead of him. It was only now, seeing the man dearly, that Cal’s thoughts returned to the jacket that Shadwell had lost or thrown away, and which he too had abandoned in his travels. It was out there somewhere in the field behind Rayment’s Hill, where his frozen fingers had let it fall. As Shadwell started to walk towards the wood, he stood up, and whispered:

‘ … the jacket …’

Suzanna was close to him, her answer barely audible.

‘What about it?’

Shadwell had stopped walking again, and was scrutinizing the snow in front of him. Was some vestige of Cal’s and Novello’s tracks still visible?

‘Do you know where the jacket is?’ Suzanna was saying.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘On the other side of the hill.’

The Salesman had raised his eyes once more, and was staring at the scene in front of him. Even from a distance it was clear the expression on his face was one of puzzlement, even suspicion. The illusion was apparently holding; but for how long? On the hill above him Uriel spoke, its words carrying on the snow-laden wind.

‘I smell them,’ it said.

Shadwell nodded, and took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting it beneath the flap of his coat. Then he returned his gaze to the scene in front of him. Was it the chill that made him squint, or was he seeing a ghost of something against the glare of snow?

‘We’re just going to get weaker,’ said Suzanna. ‘Unless we get help.’

‘From the jacket?’ Cal said.

‘It had power once,’ she replied. ‘Maybe it still does. Can you find it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s not the answer we need.’

‘Yes. I can find it.’

She looked back towards the hill. Shadwell had decided to rejoin Uriel, and was climbing the slope once more. The Angel had sat Hobart’s body in the snow, and was staring up at the clouds.

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Nimrod.

‘They’ll be able to see us from up there.’

‘We’ll make a detour. Get out round the back.’ He looked at Suzanna. ‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Go on, while there’s still time.’

He was away at speed, Cal in tow, weaving through the trees and the Kind standing between them. The strain of keeping the shield up against the sight of man and Angel was taking its toll; several of the rapturers had collapsed; others were plainly near it.

Nimrod’s sense of direction was faultless; they came out on the far side of the wood, and instantly threw themselves face down in the snow. The depth of the fall was in their favour; they could practically tunnel through it, keeping the drifts between them and the hill as much as possible. But the snow could not protect them all the way; there were patches of open ground that had to be crossed if they weren’t to follow a route so hopelessly circuitous they’d not, reach their target before dawn. The wind was blowing sheets of loose snow before it, but in the gaps between them they had a clear view of the hill, and those on the summit – should they chance to look down – had a clear view of them. They’d caught the rhythm of the wind however, laying low when it died down and making a run when a gust gave them cover. By this means they crept within thirty yards of the flank of the hill unseen, and it seemed the most dangerous part of the route was over, when the wind suddenly dropped, and in the lull Cal heard Shadwell’s triumphant voice.

‘You!’ he said, pointing down at them. ‘I see you!’

He stepped down the side of the hill a few yards, then went back up to alert Uriel, who was still gazing at the sky.

‘Run for it!’ Cal yelled to Nimrod, and giving up any attempt at concealment they both ploughed on through the snow, Cal leading now as he went in search of what he’d lost. A glance up at the summit showed him that Shadwell had roused Hobart, who had stood up. The man was stark naked – indifferent to the blizzard – his body blackened by fire and smoke. Any moment. Cal knew, that same fire would find Nimrod and himself.

He began to run again, expecting the flame at any moment. Three stumbling steps, and still it didn’t come. Now four, and five; six, seven. Still there was no avenging flame.

Bafflement made him look once more towards the hill. Shadwell was still at the summit, imploring the Angel to do its damnedest. But in the window between one gust of snow and the next Cal saw that Uriel had other business, distracting it from its role as executioner.

He started to run again, knowing that he and Nimrod had been granted a precious chance at life, but unable to stop himself mourning the sight of Suzanna, climbing the hill to meet the Angel’s gaze.

III

ON THE HILL

1

he had no plan in mind. But as she’d watched Numrod and Cal creeping towards the hill it had become perfectly apparent that unless there was some diversion they’d be sighted and killed. She was not about to ask for volunteers. If anyone was going to distract the Angel’s fire it surely had to be her; after all, she and Hobart had played this game of Dragons before; or a variation upon it.

Rather than step directly out through the screen, and so give Shadwell his target, she slipped through the trees and out at the flank, moving from drift to drift until she was some distance from the wood. Only then did she move out into full view of the Dragon.

Had she been faster she might have prevented Shadwell from seeing Cal and Nimrod at all; as it was she heard his accusing cry moments before she emerged from hiding. Twenty seconds later and Shadwell would have succeeded in rousing Hobart, and the death inside him, to action. But when the Salesman climbed back up the hill