Weaveworld

I

THE MESSENGER

1

pring was late that year, the March days murky, the nights frost-bitten. It sometimes seemed winter would never end; that the world would go on like this, grey upon grey, until entropy claimed its little life entirely. The weeks brought bad times for Suzanna and Jerichau. It wasn’t Hobart that caused them: indeed she even got to thinking that a reminder of their jeopardy might usefully shake them from their complacency.

But, while she suffered from lethargy and ennui, Jerichau’s response to these weeks was in its way far more alarming. The pleasure he took in the inconsequentia of the Kingdom, which had been a source of amusement to them both, now took on the quality of an obsession. He lost entirely his capacity for stillness, which had initially drawn her to him. Now he was full of spurious energy, spouting advertising catch-phrases and jingles which he soaked up – Babu that he was – like a sponge, his talk an imitation of the flipness of television detectives and game-show hosts. They argued often, sometimes bitterly; he’d more often than not walk out in the middle of such exchanges, as if anger were not worth his sweat, only to return with some booty – usually drink – which he’d consume in sullen solitude if he couldn’t get Suzanna to join him.

She tried to satisfy his restlessness by keeping them on the move, but it only exacerbated the disease.

Privately she began to despair, as she pictured history repeating itself two generations on, with her cast in Mimi’s role.

And then, not a moment too soon, the weather began to improve, and her spirits started to rise. She even dared entertain the hope that the chase had actually stopped; their pursuers given up and gone home. In a month or so, perhaps, they could with some confidence go in search of a haven to begin the unweaving again.

But then came the glad tidings.