Sacrament

CHAPTER IX

i

The climb was not arduous for Will; not with Jacob at his side. All the man had to do when the way became too steep or slippery was to lay his bare hand lightly on the back of Will's neck, and a portion of Jacob's strength would pass from fingers to nape, enabling Will to match him stride for stride. Sometimes, after a touch like this, it seemed to Will he was not climbing at all, but gliding over the snow and rock, effortlessly.

The wind was too strong for words to be exchanged, but more than once he felt Jacob's mind moving close to his. When it did, his thoughts went where they were directed: up the slope, where their destination could be glimpsed on occasion; and down, into the valley they'd escaped, its petty perfection visible when the gusts dropped. Will was not shocked by this intimacy, mind with mind. Steep was unlike other people; Will had realized that from the very beginning. Living and dying, we feed the fire; that was not a lesson that just anybody could teach. He'd joined forces with a remarkable man, whose secrets would slowly be uncovered as they grew to know each other in the years to come. Nor would there be any limit to their knowing: that thought was clearer in his head than any other, and he was certain Steep had read it there. Whatever this man asked of him, he would supply. That was how it would be between them from now on. It was the least he could do, for someone who had already given him more than any other living soul.

ii

Down in the Courthouse, Rosa sat in the dark, and listened. Her hearing had always been acute; sometimes distressingly so. There were times - days, weeks even - when she would deliberately drink herself into a mild state of befuddlement (usually on gin, but scotch would do) in order to muffle the sounds that came at her from every direction. It didn't always work. In fact it had several times backfired on her, and instead of dimming the din of the world it had simply stripped her of her power to control her own wits. Those were terrible times; sickening times. She would rage around, threatening to do herself harm - pricking out her ears or plucking

out her eyes - and might have done it too, if Jacob hadn't been there to soothe her with a fuck. That usually did the trick. She'd have to be careful with the drinking in future, she mused, at least until she found someone to couple with her in Steep's place. It was a pity the boy was so young, otherwise she might have toyed with him for a while. She'd have worn him out, of course, all too quickly. When on occasion she'd taken any man besides Steep to her bed, she'd always been disappointed. However virile, however heated they appeared to be, none of them had ever shown a smidgen of Jacob's staying power. Damn it, but she would miss him. He had been more than a husband to her, more than a lover; he'd been a goad to excess, calling forth all manner of behaviour she'd never have dared indulge, much less enjoy, in any other company, man or beast.

Beast. Now there was a thought. Maybe she would be wiser looking for a fuck-mate outside her own species. She'd dallied with this before; a stallion called Tallis had been the lucky creature. But she hadn't given the affair full rein, so to speak; it had seemed at the time a cumbersome way to be serviced, not to say unsanitary. With Jacob gone, however, she would certainly need to broaden her palate. Maybe with a little patience she'd find a creature the equal of her ardour, out in the wild.

Meanwhile, she listened: to the snow, falling on the Courthouse roof and on the step, on the grass, on the road, on the houses, on the hills; to a dog, barking; to cattle, lowing in a byre; to the babble of televisions, and the bawling of children, and somebody old and phlegmatic (she couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman; age eroded the distinctions) talking nonsense in his or her sleep.

Then, somebody closer. Footfalls, on the icy road; a breath, snatched from chapped lips. No, it wasn't one breath, it was two, both male. After a moment, one spoke.

'What about the Courthouse?' It was a fat man's voice, she judged.

'I suppose we could take a look,' said the other, without much enthusiasm. 'If the kid had some sense, he'd get out of the cold.'

'If he'd had some sense, the little bugger wouldn't have run away in the first place.'

They're coming in here, Mrs McGee thought, rising from the judge's chair. They're looking for the child - compassionate men, how she loved compassionate men! - and they think maybe they'll find him in here.

She brushed the hair back from her brow, and pinched some colour into her cheeks. It was the least she could do. Then she started to unbutton her dress, so as to hold their attention when they entered. Perhaps after all she would not have to stoop to barnyard couplings; perhaps two would replace the departed one, at least for tonight.