Weaveworld

VI

CAPRA’S HOUSE

1

n its way, Capra’s House was as great a surprise as anything Suzanna had seen in the Fugue. It was a low building, in a state of considerable disrepair, the off-white plaster that clad its walls falling away to reveal large hand-made red bricks beneath. The tiles of the porch were much weather-beaten; the door itself barely hanging on its hinges. Myrtle trees grew all around it, and in their branches the myriad bells they’d heard were hanging, responsive to the merest breath of wind. Their sound, however, was all but cancelled by the raised voices from within. It sounded more like a riot than civilized debate.

There was a guard at the threshold, squatting on his haunches, making a ziggurat of rocks in front of him. At their approach he stood up. He was fully seven feet tall.

‘What business have you got here?’ he demanded of Jerichau.

‘We have to see the Council –’

From within, Suzanna could hear a woman’s voice, raised dear and strong.

‘I will not lie down and sleep!’ she said. The remark was followed by a roar of approval from her supporters.

‘It’s vital we talk to the Council,’ said Jerichau.

‘Impossible,’ the guard pronounced.

‘This is Suzanna Parrish,’ said Jerichau. ‘She –’

He had no need to go on.

‘I know who she is,’ the guard said.

‘If you know who I am then you know I woke the Weave,’ said Suzanna. ‘And I’ve opinions the Council should hear.’

‘Yes,’ said the guard, ‘I can see that.’

He glanced behind him. The din had, if anything, worsened.

‘It’s bedlam in there,’ he warned. ‘You’ll be lucky if you’re heard.’

‘I can shout with the best,’ said Suzanna.

The guard nodded. ‘No doubt,’ he said, it’s straight ahead.’ He stood aside, pointing down a short hallway to a half-closed door.

Suzanna took a deep breath, looking round at Jerichau to see that he was still in tow, then she walked down the passage and pushed the door.

The room was large, but filled with people; some sitting, some on their feet, some even standing on chairs to get a better view of the debate’s chief protagonists. There were five individuals in the heat of it. One, a woman with wild hair and an even wilder look – whom Jerichau identified as Yolande Dor. Her faction were in a knot around her, egging her on. She was facing two men, one long-nosed individual whose face was beetroot with yelling, and his older companion, who had a restraining hand upon the first man’s arm. They were clearly the opposition. In between was a negress, who was haranguing both parties, and an oriental, immaculately dressed, who looked to be the moderator. If so, he was failing in this function. It could only be moments before the fists replaced opinions.

The presence of the interlopers had been noted by a few of the assembly, but the lead players raged on, deaf to each other’s arguments.

‘What’s the name of the man in the middle?’ Suzanna asked Jerichau.

‘That’s Tung,’ said Jerichau.

‘Thank you.’

Without another word Suzanna stepped towards the debators.

‘Mr Tung,’ she said.

The man looked towards her, and the fretfulness on his face turned to panic.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded to know.

‘Suzanna Parrish.’

The name was enough to hush the argument instantly. Those faces which were not already turned in Suzanna’s direction were now.

‘A Cuckoo!’ the old man said. ‘In Capra’s House!’

‘Shut up,’ said Tung.

‘You’re the one,’ said the negress. ‘You!’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you know what you’ve done?’

The remark ignited a fresh outburst, but this time it wasn’t confined to those at the centre of the room. Everybody was yelling.

Tung, whose calls for control went unheard, pulled a chair up, stood on it, and yelled:

‘Silence!’

The ploy worked; the din died down. Tung was touchingly pleased with himself.

‘Ha,’ he said, with a little pout of self-satisfaction. ‘I think that’s a little better. Now …’ he turned to the old man. ‘You have an objection, Messimeris?’

‘Indeed I do,’ came the reply. He jabbed an arthritic finger in Suzanna’s direction: ‘She’s trespassing. I demand she be removed from this chamber.’

Tung was about to reply, but Yolande was there before him.

‘This is no time for constitutional niceties,’ she said. ‘Whether we like it or not, we’re awake.’

She looked at Suzanna.

‘And she’s responsible.’

‘Well I’m not staying in the same room as a Cuckoo,’ said Messimeris, contempt for Suzanna oozing from his every word. ‘Not after all they’ve done to us.’ He looked at his red-faced companion. ‘Are you coming, Dolphi?’

‘I am indeed,’ he replied.

‘Wait,’ said Suzanna. ‘I don’t want to break any rules –’

‘You already have,’ said Yolande, ‘and the walls are still standing.’

‘For how long?’ said the negress.

‘Capra’s House is a sacred place,’ Messimeris murmured. It was clear that this was no sham: he was genuinely offended by Suzanna’s presence.

‘I understand that,’ said Suzanna. ‘And I respect it. But I feel responsible–’

‘And so you are,’ said Dolphi, working himself up into a fresh lather. ‘But that’s little comfort now, is it? We’re awake, damn you. And we’re lost.’

‘I know,’ said Suzanna. ‘What you say’s right.’

This rather deflated him: he’d been expecting argument.

‘You agree?’ he said.

‘Of course I agree. We’re all vulnerable at the moment.’

‘At least we can fend for ourselves now we’re awake,’ Yolande argued, instead of just lying there.’

‘We had the Custodians,’ said Dolphi. ‘What happened to them?’

‘They’re dead,’ Suzanna replied.

‘All of them?’

‘What does she know?’ Messimeris commented. ‘Don’t listen to her.’

‘My grandmother was Mimi Laschenski,’ said Suzanna.

For the first time since she’d entered the fray Messimeris looked her straight in the eye. He was no stranger to unhappiness, she thought; it was there in abundance now.

‘So?’ he said.

‘And she was murdered,’ Suzanna went on, returning his stare, ‘by one of your people.’

‘Never!’ said Messimeris, without a trace of doubt.

‘Who?’ said Yolande.

‘Immacolata.’

‘Not ours!’ Messimeris protested. ‘Not one of ours.’

‘Well she’s certainly no Cuckoo!’ Suzanna retorted, her patience beginning to wear thin. She took a step towards Messimeris, who took a firmer grip of Dolphi’s arm, as if he might use his colleague as a shield should push come to shove.

‘Every one of us is in danger,’ she said, ‘and if you don’t see that then all your sacred places – not just Capra’s House, all of them – they’ll be wiped away. All right, you’ve got reason not to trust me. But at least give me a hearing.’

The room had fallen pin-drop quiet.

‘Tell us what you know,’ said Tung.

‘Not all that much,’ Suzanna admitted. ‘But I know you’ve got enemies here in the Fugue, and God knows how many more outside.’

‘What do you suggest we do about it?’ said a new voice, from somewhere in Dolphi’s faction.

‘We fight,’ said Yolande.

‘You’ll lose,’ Suzanna replied.

The other woman’s fine features grew tight. ‘Defeatism from you too?’ she said.

‘It’s the truth. You’ve got no defences against the Kingdom.’

‘We have the raptures,’ said Yolande.

‘Do you want to make weapons of your magic?’ Suzanna replied. ‘Like Immacolata? If you do that, you may as well call yourself Cuckoos.’

This argument won some murmurs of assent from the assembly; and sour stares from Yolande.

‘So we have to re-weave,’ said Messimeris, with some satisfaction. ‘Which is what I’ve been saying from the outset.’

‘I agree,’ said Suzanna.

At this, the room erupted afresh, Yolande’s voice rising above the din: ‘No more sleep!’ she said. ‘I will not sleep!’’

‘Then you’ll all be wiped out,’ Suzanna yelled back.

The din subsided a little.

‘This is a cruel century,’ said Suzanna.

‘So was the last,’ somebody commented. ‘And the one before that!’

‘We can’t hide forever,’ said Yolande, appealing to the room. Her call received considerable support, despite Suzanna’s intervention. And indeed it was difficult not to sympathize with her case. After so much sleep, the idea of consigning themselves to the dreamless bed of the Weave could not be attractive.

‘I’m not saying you should stay in the carpet for long,’ said Suzanna. ‘Just until a safe place can be –’

‘I’ve heard all of this before,’ Yolande broke in. ’We’ll wait, we said, we’ll keep our heads low ‘til the storm blows over.’

There are storms and storms,’ said a man somewhere at the back of the crowd. His voice penetrated the clamour with ease, though it was scarcely more than a whisper. This in itself was enough to make the argument die down.

Suzanna looked in the direction of the sound, though she could not yet see the speaker. It came again:

‘If the Kingdom destroys you …’ the voice said, ‘… then all my Mimi’s pain was for nothing …’

The Councillors were stepping aside as the speaker moved through them towards the centre of the room. He came into view. It took Suzanna several seconds to realize that she’d seen this face before, and another beat to remember where: in the portrait on Mimi’s bedroom wall. But the faded photograph had failed to convey more than a hint of the man’s presence; or indeed of his physical beauty. It wasn’t difficult, seeing the way his eyes flickered, and his close-cropped hair flattered the curve of his skull, to understand why Mimi had slept beneath his gaze all her lonely life. This was the man she’d loved. This was –

‘Romo,’ he said, addressing Suzanna. ‘Your grandmother’s first husband.’

How had he known, sleeping in the Weave, that Mimi had taken a human husband? Had the air told him that tonight?

‘What do you want here?’ said Tung. This isn’t a public thoroughfare.’

‘I want to speak on behalf of my wife. I knew her heart better than any of you.’

‘That was years ago, Romo. Another life.’

Romo nodded.

‘Yes …’ he said. ‘It’s gone, I know. So’s she. All the more reason I speak for her.’

Nobody made any attempt to silence him.

‘She died in the Kingdom,’ he said, ‘to keep us from harm. She died without trying to wake us. Why was that? She had every reason to want the unweaving. To be relieved of her duties; and be back with me.’

‘Not necessarily –’ Messimeris said.

Romo smiled. ‘Because she married?’ he said. ‘I would have expected no less. Or because she’d forgotten? No. Never.’ He spoke with such authority, yet so gently, everyone in the room attended to him. ‘She didn’t forget us. She simply knew what her granddaughter knows. That it isn’t safe.’

Yolande went to interrupt, but Romo raised his hand.

‘A moment, please,’ he said. ‘Then I’m going. I’ve got business elsewhere.’ Yolande closed her mouth.

‘I knew Mimi better than any of you. As far as I’m concerned we parted only yesterday. I know she guarded the Weave as long as she had breath and wit to do so. Don’t waste her agonies by throwing us into the hands of our enemies just because you get a whiff of freedom in your nostrils.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ Yolande replied.

‘I want to live again as much as you do.’ Romo told her. ‘I stayed here because of my children, thinking – the way we all thought – that we’d be awake in a year or two. Now look. We open our eyes, and the world has changed. My Mimi died an old woman, and it’s the child of her child who stands in her place to tell us that we are as close to extinction as ever. I believe she speaks with Mimi’s blessing. We should listen to her.’

‘What do you advise?’ said Tung.

‘Advise?’ Yolande said. ‘He’s a lion-tamer, why should we listen to his advice?’

‘I suggest we re-weave,’ said Romo, ignoring her outburst. ‘Re-weave before the Cuckoos come amongst us. Then we find somewhere safe, somewhere we can unweave again in our own time, where the Cuckoos won’t be waiting at the border. Yolande’s right,’ he said, looking at her. ‘We can’t hide forever. But facing tomorrow morning in this chaotic state isn’t courage, it’s suicide.’

The speech was neatly argued, and it clearly impressed a good number of the assembly.

And if we do?’ said one of Yolande’s clan. ‘Who guards the carpet?’

‘She does,’ said Romo, looking at Suzanna. ‘She knows the Kingdom better than anyone. And it’s rumoured she’s got access to the menstruum.’

‘Is that true?’ said Tung.

Suzanna nodded. The man took a half step away from her. A swell of comments and questions now rose in the room, many of them directed at Romo. He was having none of them, however.

‘I’ve said all I have to say on the subject,’ he announced, ‘I can’t leave my children waiting any longer.’

With that, he turned and started back the way he’d come. Suzanna pursued him, as the controversy escalated afresh.

‘Romo!’ she called after him.

He stopped, and turned back.

‘Help me,’ she said. ‘Stay with me.’

‘There’s no time,’ he said, ‘I’ve got an appointment to keep, on your grandmother’s behalf.’

‘But there’s so much I don’t understand.’

‘Didn’t Mimi leave you instructions?’ he said.

‘I was too late. By the time I reached her, she couldn’t …’ She stopped. Her throat was tight; she felt the sorrow of losing Mimi rising up in her.’ … couldn’t speak. All she left me was a book.’

‘Then consult that,’ Romo said. ‘She knew best.’

‘It was taken from me,’ Suzanna said.

‘Then you have to get it back. And what answers you don’t find there, put in for yourself.’

This last remark lost Suzanna entirely, but before she could question it Romo spoke again.

‘Look between,’ he said. ‘That’s the best advice I can offer.’

‘Between what?’

Romo frowned. ‘Simply between.’ he said, as though the sense of this was self-evident, ‘I know you’re the equal of it. You’re Mimi’s child.’

He leaned towards her, and kissed her.

‘You have her look,’ he said, his hand trembling against her cheek. She suddenly sensed that his touch was more than friendly; and that she felt something undeniable towards him: something inappropriate between her and her grandmother’s husband. They both stepped back from the touch, startled by their feelings.

He began to walk towards the door, his goodnight delivered with his back to her. She went after him a pace or two, but didn’t try to delay him any longer. He had business, he’d said. As he pushed open the door there was a roar from the darkness and her heart jumped as beasts appeared around him. He was not under attack, however. He’d spoken of children, and here they were. Lions, half a dozen or more, welcoming him with growls, their golden eyes turned up towards him as they jockeyed for the place closest to his side. The door slammed, eclipsing them.

‘They want us to take our leave.’

Jerichau was standing in the passageway behind her. She stared at the closed door for a moment longer, as the sound of the lions faded, then turned to him.

‘Are we being thrown out?’ she asked.

‘No. They just want to debate the problem awhile,’ he said. ‘Without us.’

She nodded.

‘I suggest we walk a little way.’

By the time they opened the door, Romo and the animals had gone; about Mimi’s business.