Weaveworld

2

They had been two days in Newcastle, in a small hotel on Rudyard Street. The rain had been falling steadily for a week now, and they’d been talking over the possibility of leaving the country, going somewhere sunnier. Serious problems attended such an option however. For one, Jerichau had no passport, and any attempt to get him one would put them both under scrutiny; for another, it was possible Hobart had alerted ports and airports to their existence. And third, even if they could travel, the carpet would be more difficult to transport. They’d almost certainly be obliged to let it out of their sight, and this Suzanna was not willing to do.

The argument went back and forth while they ate their pizza and drank their champagne and the rain lashed against the window.

And then, the fluttering began in her lower belly, that she’d come to recognize as an omen. She looked towards the door, and for a sickening moment she thought the menstruum had been too late with its warning, for she saw the door open and there was Hobart, staring straight at her.

‘What is it?’ Jerichau said.

His words made her realize her error. The ghost she saw was more solid than she’d ever seen before, which probably meant the event it foreshadowed was imminent.

‘Hobart,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think we’ve got much time.’

He made a pained face, but didn’t question her authority on the matter. If she said Hobart was near, then near he was. She’d become the augurer; the witch: reading the air, and always finding bad news.

Moving was an elaborate business, because of the carpet. At each stopping-place they had to convince either the proprietor or the manager that the carpet came with them to their room. When they left, it had to be manhandled back into whichever vehicle they’d commandeered that day. All of which drew unwelcome attention. There was no alternative however. Nobody had ever promised that Heaven would be a light load to carry.