Weaveworld

2

He wasn’t alone there. Several dozen Seerkind had chosen to step out into the Kingdom. Some stood alone watching their home consumed by the Weave, others were in small groups, debating feverishly; yet others were already heading off into the gloom before the Adamaticals came looking for them.

Among them, lit by the blaze of the Weave, a face he recognized: that of Apolline Dubois. He went to her. She saw him coming, but offered no welcome.

‘Have you seen Suzanna?’ he asked her.

She shook her head. ‘I’ve been cremating Frederick, and setting my affairs to rights,’ she said.

She got no further. An elegant individual, his cheeks rouged, now appeared at her side. He looked every inch a pimp.

‘We should go. Moth,’ he said. ‘Before the beasts are upon us.’

‘I know,’ Apolline said to him. Then to Cal: ‘We’re going to make our fortunes. Teaching you Cuckoos the meaning of desire.’

Her companion offered a less than wholesome grin. More than half his teeth were gold.

‘There are high times ahead,’ she said, and patted Cal’s cheek. ‘So you come see me one of these days,’ she said. ‘We’ll treat you well.’

She took the pimp’s arm.

‘Bon chance,’ she said, and the pair hurried away.

The line of the Weave was by now a good distance from where Cal stood, and the numbers of Seerkind who’d emerged was well into three figures. He went amongst them, still looking for Suzanna. His presence was largely ignored; they had more pressing concerns, these people, delivered into the late twentieth century with only magic to keep them from harm. He didn’t envy them.

Amongst the refugees he caught sight of three of the Buyers, standing dazed and dusty, their faces blank. What would they make of tonight’s experiences he wondered. Would they pour the whole story out to their friends, and endure the disbelief and contempt heaped on their heads; or would they let the tale fester untold? The latter, he suspected.

Dawn was close. The weaker stars had already disappeared, and even the brightest were uncertain of themselves.

‘It’s over …’ he heard somebody murmur.

He looked back towards the Weave; the brilliance of its making had almost flickered out.

But suddenly, a shout in the night, and a beat later Cal saw three lights – members of the Amadou – rising from the embers of the Weave at enormous speed. They drew together as they rose, until, high above the streets and fields, they collided.

The blaze of their meeting illuminated the landscape as far as the eye could see. By it Cal glimpsed Seerkind running in all directions, averting their eyes from the brilliance.

Then the light died, and the pre-dawn gloom that followed seemed so impenetrable by contrast that Cal was effectively blind for a minute or more. As, by slow degrees, the world re-established itself about him, he realized that there had been nothing arbitrary about the fireworks or their effect.

The Seerkind had disappeared. Where, ninety seconds ago, there had been scraggling figures all around him, there was now emptiness. Under the cover of light, they’d made their escape.