Weaveworld

II

SHELTER FROM THE STORM

1

here was a wood on the other side of the curtain through which Cal had been yanked, its thatch of branches so dense all but a sprinkling of snow had been kept from the ground, so that it was mossy and leaf-strewn underfoot. The place was dark, but he could see a fire burning some way off from him, its light welcome, its promise of warmth even more so. Of the man who’d dragged him out of the snow there was no sign; at least he failed to see anyone until a voice said:

‘Terrible weather we’re having,’ and he turned to find the monkey Novello, and its human companion, standing no more than two yards from him, camouflaged by stillness.

‘It was Smith who did it,’ said the monkey, leaning towards Cal. ‘Him who pulled you through. Don’t let them blame me.’

The man threw the animal a sideways glance.

‘He’s not speaking to me,’ Novello announced, ‘because I strayed outside. Well, it’s done now, isn’t it? Why don’t you come along to the fire? You’d better lie down before you fall down.’

‘Yes,’ Cal said, ‘… please.’

Smith led the way. Cal followed, his stupefied brain still grappling with what he’d just experienced. The Kind might be cornered, but they weren’t without a trick or two; the illusion that kept this wood from sight had survived close scrutiny. And once on the other side there was a second surprise: the season. Though the branches of the trees above him were bare, and it was last summer’s moss he was walking on, there was a scent of spring in the air, as if the ice that gripped the Spectred Isle from end to end had no hold here. Sap was rising; buds were swelling; things on every side were turning their cells to the sweet labour of growth. The sudden clemency induced a mild euphoria in him, but his frozen limbs hadn’t got the message. As he came within a few yards of the fire he felt his body lose its power to hold itself up. He reached out to one of the trees for support, but it stepped away from him – or so it seemed – and he fell forward.

He didn’t hit the ground. There were arms to catch him, and he gave himself over to them. They carried him to the vicinity of the fire, and he was gently laid down. A hand touched his cheek and he looked away from the flames to see Suzanna kneeling at his side, firelight on her face.

He said her name – or at least hoped he did. Then he passed out.