Weaveworld

2

Two days passed, and nobody came. Cal was getting better quickly; and it seemed that whatever rapture Nimrod had worked on the staff had indeed diverted them from making any report of their patient’s wound to the police.

By the afternoon of the third day Cal knew he was much improved, because he was getting restless. The television – Nimrod’s new love – could provide only soap opera and a bad movie. The latter, the lesser of the two banalities, was playing when the door opened, and a woman dressed in black stepped into the room. It took Cal a moment before he recognized his visitor as Apolline.

Before he could offer a welcome she said:

‘No time to talk, Calhoun –’ and, approaching the bed, thrust a parcel at Cal.

‘Take it!’ she said.

He did so.

‘I have to be away quickly,’ she went on. Her face softened as she gazed at him. ‘You look tired, my boy,’ she said. Take a holiday!’ And with that advice retreated to the door.

‘Wait!’ he called after her.

‘No time! No time!’ she said, and was away.

He took the string and brown paper from around his present, and discovered inside the book of faery-tales which Suzanna had found in Rue Street. With it, there was a scrawled note.

Cal, it read.

Keep hold of this for me, will you? Never let it out of your sight. Our enemies are still with us. When the time is safe, I’ll find you.

Do this for us all.

I’m kissing you.

Suzanna.

He read the letter over and over, moved beyond telling by the way she’d signed off: I’m kissing you.

But he was confounded by her instructions: the book seemed an unremarkable volume, its binding torn, its pages yellowed. The text was in German, which he had no command of whatsoever. Even the illustrations were dark, and full of shadows, and he’d had enough shadows to hurt him a lifetime. But if she wanted him to keep it safe, then he’d do so. She was wise, and he knew better than to take her instructions lightly.