Clive Barker - Weave World

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.

XIII

A PROPOSAL

1

Hobart had seen the blaze of the Amadou too, though he was still two and a half miles from the spot. The night had brought disaster upon disaster. Richardson, still jittery after events at Headquarters, had twice driven the car into the back of stationary vehicles, and their route, which had taken them all over the Wirral, had been a series of cul-de-sacs.

But at last, here it was: a sign that their quarry was close. ‘What was that?' said Richardson. ‘Looked like something exploding.'

‘God knows,' said Hobart. ‘I wouldn't put anything past these people. Especially the woman.'

‘Should we call in some back-up, sir? We don't know their numbers.'

‘Even if we could -' Hobart said, switching off the white noise which had swallowed Downey hours ago, ‘-1 want to keep this quiet until we know what's what. Kill the headlights.' The driver did so, and they drove on in the murk that preceded daybreak. Hobart thought he could see figures moving in the mist beyond the grey foliage that lined the road. There was no time to investigate however; he would have to trust his instinct that the woman was somewhere up ahead.

Suddenly there was somebody in the road ahead of them. Cursing, Richardson threw the wheel over, but the figure seemed to leap up and over the car.

The vehicle mounted the pavement, and ran a few yards before Richardson brought it under control again.

‘Shit. Did you see that?'

Hobart had, and felt the same aching unease he'd felt back at Headquarters. These people were holding weapons that worked on a man's sense of what was real, and he loved reality more than his balls.

‘Didyou see?' said Richardson. The fucker just flew.'

‘No,' Hobart said firmly. ‘There was no flying. Understood?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Don't trust your eyes. Trust me.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘And if anything else gets in your way, run it down.'

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.