Clive Barker - Weave World

‘We should wake them,' she said, and reached to shake the sleepers.

"This is no dream,' Suzanna realized, as she pictured Lilia's

hand approaching her shoulder. She felt herself rising from sleep; and as the girl's fingers touched her, she opened her eyes.

The curtains had been pulled apart as she'd imagined they'd been. The street lamps cast their light into the little room. And there, standing watching the bed, were the five: her dream made flesh. She sat up. The sheet slipped, and the gaze of both Jerichau and the child Nimrod flitted to her breasts. She pulled the sheet over her and in so doing uncovered Cal. The chill stirred him. He peered at her through barely open eyes.

‘What's going on?' he asked, his voice slurred by sleep.

‘Wake up,' she said. ‘We've got visitors.'

‘I had this dream ....' he muttered. Then, ‘Visitors? He looked up at her, following her gaze into the room.

‘Oh sweet Jesus ...'

The child was laughing in Jerichau's arms, pointing a stubby finger at Cal's piss-proud groin. He snatched up a pillow and concealed his enthusiasm.

‘Is this one of Shadwell's tricks?' he whispered.

‘I don't think so,' said Suzanna.

‘Who's Shadwell?' Apolline wanted to know.

‘Another Cuckoo, no doubt,' said Frederick, who had his scissors at the ready should either of these two prove belligerent.

At the word Cuckoo, Suzanna began to understand. Immaco-lata had first used the term, speaking of Humankind.

‘... the Fugue ...' she said.

Naming the place had every eye upon her, and Jerichau demanding:

‘What do you know about the Fugue?'

‘Not much,' she replied.

‘You know where the others are?' Frederick asked.

‘What others?'

‘And the land?' said Lilia. ‘Where is it all?'

Cal had taken his eyes off the quintet and was looking at the table beside the bed, where he'd left the fragment of the Weave. It had gone.

‘They came from that piece of carpet,' he said, not quite believing what he was saying. ‘That was what I dreamt.' ‘I dreamt it too,' said Suzanna.

‘A piece of the carpet?' said Frederick, aghast. ‘You mean we're separated?' ‘Yes.' Cal replied.

‘Where's the rest?' Apolline said. ‘Take us to it.' ‘We don't know where it is.' said Cal. ‘Shadwell's got it.' ‘Damn Cuckoos!' the woman erupted. ‘You can't trust any of them. All twisters and cheats!'

‘He's not alone.' Suzanna replied. ‘His partner's one of your breed.'

‘I doubt that.' said Frederick. ‘It's true. Immacolata.'

The name brought an exclamation of horror from both Frederick and Jerichau. Apolline, ever the lady, simply spat on the floor.

‘Have they not hanged that bitch yet?' she said. ‘Twice to my certain knowledge.' Jerichau replied. ‘She takes it as flattery.' Lilia remarked. Cal shuddered. He was cold and tired; he wanted dreams of sun-lit hills and bright rivers, not these mourners, their faces riddled with spite and suspicion. Ignoring their stares, he threw away the pillow, walked over to where his clothes lay on the floor and started to pull on his shirt and jeans.

‘And where are the Custodians?' said Frederick, addressing the entire room. ‘Does anyone know that?' ‘My grandmother ...' said Suzanna. ‘.... Mimi....' ‘Yes?' said Frederick, homing in, ‘where's she?' ‘Dead, I'm afraid.'

There were other Custodians.' said Lilia, infected by Frederick's urgency. ‘Where are they?' ‘I don't know.'

‘You were right.' said Jerichau, his expression almost tragic. ‘Something terrible has happened.' Lilia returned to the window, and threw it open. ‘Can you sniff it out?' Frederick asked her. ‘Is it nearby?'

Lilia shook her head. ‘The air stinks,' she said. ‘This isn't the old Kingdom. It's cold. Cold and filthy.'

Cal, who'd dressed by now, pushed his way between Frederick and Apolline, and picked up the bottle of whisky.

‘Want a drink?' he said to Suzanna.

She shook her head. He poured himself a generous measure, and drank.

‘We have to find this Shadwell of yours,' Jerichau said to Suzanna, ‘and get the weave back.'

‘What's the hurry?' said Apolline, with a perverse nonchalance. She waddled over to Cal. ‘Mind if I partake?' she said. Reluctantly, he handed her the bottle.

‘What do you mean: what's the hurryT Frederick said. ‘We wake up in the middle of nowhere, alone -'

‘We're not alone,' said Apolline, swallowing a gulletful of whisky. ‘We've got our friends here.' She cocked a lopsided smile at Cal. ‘What's your name, sweet?' ‘Calhoun.' ‘And herT ‘Suzanna.'

‘I'm Apolline. This is Freddy.' Cammell made a small formal bow.

‘That's Lilia Pellicia over there, and the brat is her brother, Nimrod —' ‘And I'm Jerichau.'

‘There,' said Apolline. ‘Now we're all friends, right? We don't need the rest of them. Let ‘em rot.'

‘They're our people,' Jerichau reminded her. ‘And they need our help.'

‘Is that why they left us in the Border?' she retorted sourly, the whisky bottle hovering at her lips again. ‘No. They put us where we could get lost, and don't try and make any better of it. We're the din. Bandits and bawds and God knows what else.' She looked at Cal. ‘Oh yes,' she said. ‘You've fallen amongst thieves. We were a shame to them. Every one of us.' Then, to the others:

‘It's better we're separated. We get to have some wild times.' As she spoke Cal seemed to see flashes of iridescence ignite

in the folds of her widow's weeds. There's a whole world out there,' she said. ‘Ours to enjoy.'

‘Lost is still lost.' said Jerichau.

Apolline's reply was a bullish snort.

‘He's right,' said Freddy. ‘Without the weave, we're refugees. You know how much the Cuckoos hate us. Always have. Always will.'

‘You're damn fools,' said Apolline, and returned to the window, taking the whisky with her.

‘We're a little out of touch,' Freddy said to Cal. ‘Maybe you could tell us what year this is? 1910? 1911?'

Cal laughed. ‘Give or take eighty years,' he said.

The other man visibly paled, turning his face to the wall. Lilia let out a pained sound, as though she'd been stabbed. Shaking, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘Eighty years ...' Jerichau murmured.

‘Why did they wait so long?' Freddy asked of the hushed room. ‘What happened that they should wait so long?'

‘Please stop talking in riddles -' Suzanna said, ‘- and explain.'

‘We can't.' said Freddy. ‘You're not Seerkind.'

‘Oh don't talk such drivel.' Apolline snapped. ‘Where's the harm?'

‘Tell them, Lilia.' said Jerichau.

‘I protest,' Freddy said.

‘Tell them as much as they need to know.' said Apolline. ‘If you tell it all we're here ‘til Doomsday.'

Lilia sighed. ‘Why me?' she said, still shaking. ‘Why should I have to tell it?'

‘Because you're the best liar.' Jerichau replied, with a tight smile. ‘You can make it true.'

She threw him a baleful glance.

‘Very well.' she said; and began to tell.

III

WHAT SHE TOLD

‘We weren't always lost,' she began. ‘Once we lived in a garden.'

Two sentences in, and Apolline was interrupting.

‘That's just a story,' she informed Cal and Suzanna.

‘So let her tell it, damn you!' Jerichau told her. ‘Believe nothing,' Apolline advised. This woman wouldn't know the truth if it fucked her.'

In response, Lilia merely passed her tongue over her lips, and took up where she'd left off.

‘It was a garden,' she said. ‘That's where the Families began.' ‘What Families?' said Cal.

‘The Four Roots of the Seerkind. The Lo; the Ye-me; the Aia and Babu. The Families from which we're all descended. Some of us came by grubbier roads than others, of course -' she said, casting a barbed glance at Apolline. ‘- but all of us can trace our line back to one of those four. Me and Nimrod; we're Ye-me. It was our Root that wove the carpet.'