Weaveworld

2

The light that had blinded Cal blinded Shadwell too. He fell from the back of his human horse, and scrabbled around in the dirt until the world began to come back into focus. When it did two sights greeted him. One, that of Norris, lying on the ground sobbing like an infant. The other, Suzanna, accompanied by two of the Kind, emerging from the rubble of Shearman’s house.

They weren’t empty-handed. They were carrying the carpet. God, the carpet! He looked about him for the Incantatrix, but there was no-one near to aid him except the horse, who was well past aiding anybody.

Stay calm, he told himself, you’ve still got the jacket. He brushed off the worst of the dirt he’d acquired, centred the knot of his tie, then walked over to intercept the thieves.

‘Thank you so much,’ he said as he approached them, ‘for preserving my property.’

Suzanna gave him a single glance, then told the carpet-bearers:

‘Ignore him.’

That said, she led them towards the road.

Shadwell went after them quickly, and took firm hold of the woman’s arm. He was determined to preserve his politeness as long as possible; it always confused the enemy.

‘Do we have a problem here?’ he wondered.

‘No problem,’ Suzanna said.

‘The carpet belongs to me. Miss Parrish. I insist that it remain here.’

Suzanna looked around for Jerichau. They’d become separated in the last minutes of her briefing at Capra’s House, when Messimeris had taken her aside to offer her some words of advice. He had still been in full flow when the Weave had reached the doorstep of Capra’s House: she had never heard his final remarks.

‘Please …’ said Shadwell, smiling. ‘We can surely come to some arrangement. If you wish, I’ll buy the item off you. How much shall we say?’

He opened his jacket, no longer directing his spiel at Suzanna but at the two who were carrying the carpet. Strong armed they might be, but easy fodder. Already they were staring into the folds of the jacket.

‘Maybe you see something you like?’ he said.

‘It’s a trick,’ said Suzanna.

‘But look –’ one of them said to her, and damn it if she instinctively didn’t do exactly that. Had the night not brought so many exhausting diversions she would have had the strength to avert her sight immediately, but she wasn’t fast enough. Something glimmered in the mother-of-pearl lining, and she could not quite unhook her gaze.

‘You do see something –’ Shadwell said to her. ‘Something pretty, for a pretty woman.’

She did. The raptures of the jacket had seized her in two seconds flat, and she couldn’t resist its mischief.

At the back of her head a voice called her name, but she ignored it. Again, it called. Look away, it said, but she could see something taking shape in the lining, and it tantalized her.

‘No, damn you!’ the same voice shouted, and this time a blurred figure came between her and Shadwell. Her reverie broke, and she was thrown from the jacket’s soothing embrace to see Cal in front of her, throwing a barrage of punches at the enemy. Shadwell was much the bigger of the two men, but the heat of Cal’s fury had momentarily cowed him.

‘Get the fuck out of here!’ Cal yelled.

By now Shadwell had overcome his shock, and launched himself upon Cal, who reeled before the retaliation. Knowing he’d lose the bout in seconds, he ducked beneath Shadwell’s fists and took hold of the Salesman in a bear-hug. They wrestled for several seconds: precious time which Suzanna seized to lead the carpet-carriers through the rubble and away.

Their escape came not a moment too soon. In the time she’d been distracted by the jacket, day had almost come upon them. They’d soon be easy targets for Immacolata, or indeed anyone else who wanted to stop them.

Hobart, for instance. She saw him now, as they reached the edge of Shearman’s estate, stepping out of a car parked in the street. Even in this dubious light – and at some distance – she knew it was he. Her hatred smelt him. And she knew too, with some prophetic sense the menstruum had undammed in her, that even if they escaped him now, the pursuit would not stop here. She’d made an enemy for the millennium.

She didn’t watch him for long. Why bother? She could perfectly recall every nick and pore upon his barren face; and if the memory ever grew a little dim all she would have to do was look over her shoulder.

Damn him, he’d be there.