Stephen Donaldson - The Runes of the Earth

No. No . It was impossible. Such things had exhausted their reality for her ten years ago.

Nevertheless she believed it. Or she believed that Roger Covenant believed it.

And if he believed itHe smiled his vacant smile at her.

– then she could not afford to let him know that she had guessed his intent. If he realised that his plans were endangered, he might do something she would be unable to prevent.

Already she might have given away too much. He could have seen the ingrained movement of her hand.

People were going to die-

A heartbeat later, however, she recovered her courage. “I have it,” she answered. She did not mean to diminish herself with lies. And she would not disavow her loyalty to his father. “I’ve had it ever since he died.”

Roger nodded. “That’s why Sheriff Lytton didn’t find it.”

“Your father left it to me,” Linden stated flatly. “I intend to keep it.”

“It belongs to me,” he countered. “His will left everything to my mother. I inherited it yesterday.”

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. It came to me before he died. It isn’t part of his estate.”

In fact, Covenant had not handed her the ring directly: she had retrieved it when the Despiser had slain him with its argent fire. Nevertheless she considered it hers as much as if he had wedded her with it.

“I see.” Roger frowned again. “That’s a problem, Dr. Avery. I need it. I can’t take her place without it. Not entirely. And if I don’t take her place, she’ll never be completely free.” He seemed unconcerned that he had revealed so much. Perhaps he did not consider Linden discerning enough to understand him.

“But it’s not my problem,” she said precisely. “We’re done here. Good-bye, Mr. Covenant. The door is-”

“I know,” he interrupted. “The door is that way.

“ Doctor Avery”- now he sneered her title- “you have no idea what you’re interfering with.” Then he turned and strode away.

Oh, she had some idea. Despite his power to disturb his mother, he clearly understood nothing about the woman who opposed him. But she could not imagine that she had any advantage over him.

She could only guess what he might do next.

Urgently she wanted to know how he had earned his knowledge.

Her stomach clenched as she re-entered Joan’s room to explain the situation as best she could to Amy Clint.

By the time she returned to her office, her resolve had hardened, taken shape. She could not allow herself to be drawn into Roger Covenant’s mad designs, whatever they might be. She had made her life and her commitments here: people whom she had chosen to serve and love were dependent on her. And Joan deserved better than whatever her son might do to her.

Linden had to stop Roger now , before he carried his intentions any further.

To do that, she needed to know more about him.

She also needed help. Joan was not her only responsibility. She had other duties, other loves, which she did not mean to set aside.

Clearing space on her desk, she pulled the phone toward her and began to make calls.

First she contacted Bill Coty, the amiable old man who ran what passed for security at County Hospital. He was generally considered a harmless, ineffectual duffer; but Linden thought otherwise. She had often suspected that he might rise to a larger challenge if he ever encountered one. Certainly he had made himself useful during the crisis following Covenant’s death, when the hospital’s resources had been stretched by burn victims, concerned citizens, and hysterical relatives. His characteristic smile twisted with nausea, he had soothed some people and shepherded others while shielding the medical staff from interference. And he could call on half a dozen volunteer security “officers,” burly individuals who would rush to the hospital if they were needed.

“I know this is going to sound odd,” she told him when he came on the line, “but I think there’s a man in the area who might try to kidnap one of my patients. His name is Roger Covenant.

“You remember his mother, Joan. He thinks he can take care of her better than we can. And he doesn’t seem to care about legal niceties like custody.”

“That poor woman.” For a moment, Coty sounded inattentive, distracted by memories. Then, however, he surprised Linden by asking, “How violent do you think this Roger is?”

Violent-? She had not considered Joan’s son in those terms.

“I ask, Dr. Avery,” the old man went on, “because I want my guys ready for him. If he’s just going to break a window and try to carry her off, any one of us can stop him. But if he comes armed-” He chuckled humourlessly. “I might ask a couple of my guys to bring guns. I’m sure you know we aren’t bonded for firearms. But I don’t want a repeat of what happened ten years ago.”

Linden scrambled to adjust her assessment of Roger Covenant. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Mr. Coty. I just met him this morning. I don’t think he’s in his right mind. But nothing about him seemed violent,” apart from his emotional brutality toward his mother. “Guns might be an overreaction.”

Could she be wrong about Roger’s intentions? Was she inventing the danger? That was possible. If so, he hardly deserved to be shot for his dysfunction.

“Whatever you say, Doctor.” Bill’s tone suggested no disappointment. Apparently he did not fancy himself-or his volunteers-as gunslingers. “We’ll start to keep an eye on her room tonight. Unless he’s stupid, he won’t try anything during the day. I’ll make sure one of my guys is on duty all night.”

Grateful as much for his lack of scepticism as for his willingness to help, Linden thanked him and hung up.

Could she leave the matter in his hands? she asked herself. Did she need to do more?

Yes, she did. Joan was not Roger’s only potential victim. If something happened to Linden herself, Jeremiah would be lost. He was entirely dependent on her.

The simple thought of him made her glance out the window at her car. She felt a sudden yearning to forget Joan and go to him; make sure that he was all right-

Sandy would have called if he were not.

Roger did not know he existed.

Her hands trembled slightly as she dialled Megan Roman’s number.

Megan had been Thomas Covenant’s lawyer, and then his estate’s, for more than twenty years. During much of that time, her diligence-as she freely admitted-had been inspired by shame. His leprosy had disturbed her deeply. She had felt toward him a plain, primitive, almost cellular terror; an innominate conviction that his disease was a contagion which would spread through the county as it would through her own flesh, like wildfire.

But she was a lawyer, a thinking woman, dismayed by her own irrationality. While he had lived, she had waged a running battle with her alarm, continuing to work for him because she was ashamed of herself. And after his death she had become a staunch and vocal advocate for the kind of tolerance and social responsibility which had eluded her during his life. The bloody events that had brought about his murder should not have been allowed to happen. Like Julius Berenford, she had made a personal crusade out of trying to ensure that they never happened again.

Linden considered Megan Roman one of her few friends. Certainly Megan had always given Linden her assistance unstintingly. After Jeremiah’s maiming by his stricken mother, and his troubled history in the county’s various foster facilities, his adoption had posed a legal tangle that Linden could not have unsnarled for herself.

While she waited for Megan’s receptionist to put her call through, Linden had time to wonder why Megan had not already contacted her about Roger Covenant. As his father’s executor, she must have been dealing with him for years.