Marek Huberath - Nest of Worlds

Gavein shrugged. “He won’t give it to me, though he promised he would.”

“If only he’d read on. But he seems to always open to the same place, the beginning. I don’t want him going nuts.”

“He said something once. That the book was active, not passive, that it changed each time. That’s why he reads it in a circle. He keeps going back to page one, experimenting.”

“He told me that too. But sometimes I think it’s the book that’s experimenting. Is this a kind of insanity?”

“I don’t know. You might want to talk to a psychiatrist. Insanity has a chemical basis. If they give him the right pill, that might stop the problem.” Gavein led Brenda to the door.

“Maybe you could take the book away from him, play the bad boss,” Ra Mahleiné suggested after Brenda left.

Gavein nodded. It was not a bad idea.

They were silent. The blue eyes she raised from her knitting were filled with warmth. “Don’t be stiff with me. I didn’t really mean what I said, about not having the chance. She was expecting something like that. She wanted to hear that other women would have done the same. She was lying, of course: she had to marry another man when her husband left.”

“When you said good-bye to me at the airport, my little manul, you gave me a look that reminded me of a look I got from a girl once. I was young, in school. I said no to her. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

“If you hadn’t rejected the first girl,” Ra Mahleiné pointed out, “then the second would never have been able to give you that look. Ah, I see,” she added, understanding, “you only said that to get back at me. It was a jab.”

“A jab for a jab. But that wasn’t what I intended to say.”

“I’ll have to practice making looks in a mirror,” she said. “The first look, hopelessly infatuated teenager. No, the second, because some hussy stole the first look before we met. She was also a blonde? No doubt, because you’re a one-color man.” And she gave him a look that made him melt.

“Yes, also a blonde. I should have been born earlier. That would have made things simpler.”

“You’re joking. Then I wouldn’t have given you the time of day. Even now, sometimes, you seem…” She laughed to herself. “I grew up, Gavein, I matured. That’s the price of our staying together.”

“You were grown up already in Lavath. And I knew you were smarter than me. My only advantage was experience. Now I have no advantage. Some tea?”

“Herbal. But cover it with a saucer, so it steeps.”

“What kind?”

“How about St. John’s wort?” She lowered her head over her work.

He put the tea ball into the glass.

She liked her tea bitter, her herbs bitter. He liked to sit in the chair next to hers and be idle with her.

For the next two days Wilcox did not come to work. Prying the book from his hands turned out to be harder than they thought. Laila’s condition worsened; the infection spread, and she developed a high fever. Fatima spent day after day at her bedside.

A gentleman in a gray jacket and velveteen trousers paid a visit to the Throzzes. He was Captain Frank Medved, Tobiany’s superior. Gavein imagined that this policeman would be from the same mold as the other, a giant with a bucket head and fleshy ears. Nothing of the sort: Medved was shorter than Gavein and had a pale, sensitive face.

He sat cross-legged on the rug because the Throzzes as yet had no desk, and he needed to use his laptop.

“I wanted to ask you a couple of questions in the matter of Tonescu.”

“I thought everything about that had been answered.”

“Yes and no. We determined that Haifan indeed committed the murders.”

“So?” asked Ra Mahleiné. That she had not offered coffee meant that Medved was not welcome. But only Gavein read this signal.

“I’d like to speak with you also, ma’am, but later,” said the policeman.

“My wife and I are both at a loss,” said Gavein. “If it’s known who committed the murders, then what is the problem?”

“The problem is motive, and the circumstances. Some things remain unclear. I’m counting on your cooperation.”

“I know little.”

“Please tell me, in detail, everything that happened—from the moment you rented a room at the Eislers.”

“Ah! So that’s what this is about.” Gavein broke into a laugh.

There was no chance now that Ra Mahleiné would offer Medved coffee.

“Edda told you her stupid theory of Death stalking her house. Her idea of me as Death’s pointing finger. And you believed her?”

“It’s my job, you know, to check out stupid theories. Tell me everything. I’ll take notes.” He nodded at the keyboard. “This is not an interrogation, merely an interview, which means, say whatever occurs to you and with as many facts as you can supply.”

“If it’s merely an interview and not official, then I have nothing to add. I said everything during the investigation. If you want to find out something new, then please go to a little trouble and obtain a warrant.”

Medved sighed and left. Gavein didn’t care to enter into a long account of his life in Davabel, and Medved, without a court order, couldn’t make him.

For two days, the press of events seemed to let up. Laila’s fever fell, and her parents checked her out of the hospital.

“So much for Edda,” Gavein said, dusting his hands. “Her fears didn’t materialize, though the infection came from dirty water and Laila’s Significant Name is Fluedda and, in addition, I was present the whole time. And? And nothing, the girl will live.”

Gavein took the book from Wilcox. Without opening it, he put it on a shelf at home. Actually, not on a shelf but on the rug with the other books, because they hadn’t purchased a bookshelf yet. Brenda telephoned to thank him for saving her marriage. Helga moved out—taking Edda’s theory seriously. The house was quieter now, the Throzzes being the sole tenants, not counting the Hougassians, who lived in the kitchen for only eighty packets a month. In exchange, the Hougassians helped with the housework.

Laila’s infection got better, but a skin graft was out of the question, since she was now experiencing in full the discomfort of the first stage of pregnancy. Zef walked about proudly, until he got pasted by Beanpole. He took it out on Earthworm, who was weaker. Zef cleaned his jacket, and it no longer stank. He continued putting studs in it and took to embroidering skulls on his pants. He said he was preparing his wedding outfit.

Ra Mahleiné went to local hospital number 5357, to the ob-gyn ward run by Dr. Elava Nott. Gavein had seen the doctor on television and chose the hospital based on that. Dr. Nott was about fifty, had an energetic gleam in her eyes, a bony profile, and an incongruously fleshy chin. She inspired confidence, though the wattle that quivered under her jaw made her look like a chicken.

In the hospital, no notice was taken that Ra Mahleiné was white. Gavein’s money saw to that. She was to stay a week there, for observation. Gavein visited her every day, on his way home from work.

Both apartments were unsealed, on orders from Medved. The insurance money covered the cost of repainting the rooms and putting down new carpet. The Wilcoxes moved into the Tonescu apartment. Edda, afraid that the history of these apartments would frighten off potential tenants, set a low price, and Brenda jumped at the chance.

The Hanning apartment was taken by Edgar and Myrna Patrick, an old couple preparing to move to Ayrrah. Their daughter, Lorraine, worked at the airport, ate in town, and came home late.

The news on television was bad: at the main terminal of the Davabel airport, a large passenger plane leaving for Lavath plowed into the building for arrivals. Carrying several dozen tons of fuel, the colossus exploded, and the building was engulfed in flame. Coverage of the tragedy went on for the entire day. The firefighters worked until the middle of the night. More and more bodies were found. Edgar and Myrna sat glued to the screen. At intervals the name of an identified victim was given. Edgar Patricks had tried calling the airport but couldn’t get through.