Weaveworld

3

After half an hour on the motorway the effects of a night without sleep, and all that the subsequent day had brought, began to catch up with Suzanna. The road in front of her blurred. She knew it was only a matter of time before she fell asleep at the wheel. She turned off the motorway at the first service stop, parked the car and went in search of a caffeine fix.

The cafeteria and amenities were thronged with customers, which she was thankful for. Amongst so many people, she was insignificant. Anxious about leaving the Weave a moment longer than she needed to, she purchased coffee from the vending machine rather than wait in a serpentine queue, then bought chocolate and biscuits from the shop and went back to the car.

Switching on the radio, she settled down to her stopgap meal. As she unwrapped the chocolate her thoughts went again to Jerichau, the thief-magician, producing stolen goods from every pocket. Where was he now? She toasted him with her coffee, and told him to be safe.

At eight, the news came on. She waited for some mention of herself, but there was none. After the bulletin there was music; she let it play. Coffee drunk, chocolate and biscuits devoured, she slid down in the seat and her eyes closed to a jazz lullaby.

She was woken, mere seconds later, by a knocking on the window. There was a period of confusion while she worked out where she was, then she was wide awake, and staring with sinking heart at the uniform on the other side of the rain-streaked glass.

‘Please open the door,’ the policeman said. He seemed to be alone. Should she just turn on the engine and drive away? Before she could reach any decision the door was wrenched open from the outside.

‘Get out,’ the man said.

She complied. Even as she stepped from the car she heard the sound of soles on gravel on all sides of her.

Against the glare of the neon, a man stood silhouetted.

‘Yes,’ was all he said, and suddenly there were men coming at her from all sides. She was about to dig for the menstruum, but the silhouette was approaching her, with something in its hand. Somebody tore the sleeve from her arm, she felt the needle slide into her exposed skin. The subtle body rose, but not quickly enough. Her will grew sluggish, her sight narrowed to a well-shaft. At the end of it, Hobart’s mouth. She tumbled towards the man, her fingers gouging the slime on the walls, while the beast at the bottom roared its hosannas.