Weaveworld

2

Shadwell was still beside her when she came round, his hold on her so fierce it had deadened her arm from elbow to fingertip. At first she thought the blow she’d sustained had affected her sight, but it was a fog that had closed off the world around them; a cold, clinging fog that seemed to encompass the entire hill. Through it Shadwell watched her, his eyes two slits in his filthied face.

‘You’re alive –’ he said.

‘How long have we been here?’

‘A minute or two.’

‘Where’s the Scourge?’ she asked him.

He shook his head. ‘It’s not reasoning any more,’ he said. ‘Hobart was right. It doesn’t know where it is. You’ve got to help me –’

‘That’s why you stayed.’

‘ – or else we’ll neither of us get out of here alive.’

‘So how?’ she said.

He gave her a small, twitching smile.

‘Placate it.’ he said.

‘Again: how?’

‘Give it what it wants. Give it the magicians.’

She laughed in his face.

‘Try again.’ she said.

‘It’s the only option. Once it’s got them it’ll be satisfied. It’ll leave us alone.’

‘I’m not going to give it anything.’

His grip strengthened. He crabbed his way through the muck to her side.

‘It’s going to find them anyway, sooner or later,’ he said. He was on the verge of sobbing like a baby. ‘There’s no chance they can survive this. But we can. If we can just make the bastards show themselves. It won’t want us once it’s got them. It’ll be satisfied.’ His face was inches away; every tic and tear was hers to scrutinize, ‘I know you hate me,’ he said, ‘I deserve it. So don’t do it for me, do it for yourself. I can make it worth your while.’ She looked at him with something close to awe, that even now he could bargain. ‘I’ve got stuff stashed away,’ he said. ‘A fortune. You name your price. It’s all yours. Whatever you want. Free, gratis and –’

He stopped.

‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ he said.

Somewhere in the fog, something had begun to howl: a rising wail which he recognized and feared. He seemed to decide that it was no use hoping she’d aid him, for he let her go and rose to his feet. The fog was equally dense on every side; it took him several seconds to elect an escape route. But once he had, he was away at a stumbling run, as the howl – which could only be Uriel – shook the hill.

Suzanna stood up, the fog and her aching head making the surroundings swim. The ground was so churned it was impossible to tell where the slope of the hill lay, so she couldn’t orient herself to get back to the wood. All she could do was run, as fast as possible, away from the howl, blood coursing down the back of her neck. Twice she fell; twice her body made contact with an earth that seemed ready to open up beneath her.

She was on the verge of collapse when a figure loomed from the fog ahead of her, calling her name. It was Hamel.

‘I’m here – ’ she yelled to him, over the din of the Scourge. He was with her in seconds, leading her over the treacherous ground and back towards the wood.