Boneland. Part 23

'Does it make any difference?' said Meg. 'With your mind, and your work and what you've said, the question shouldn't worry you. "What were the fairy tales, they will come true."'

'You're not laughing at me,' said Colin.

'I never laugh at. That's not my job. And what's the point? But don't be too clever, Colin. You must not let yourself be prisoner to deep place; to the Edge. Or Ludchurch.' She stood and gave him a hand up. 'And hold fast on that stone. You've not done yet. At least we know now why you smashed the gla.s.s. Don't forget your hat.'

I have a Story, he said.

Tell me, said the other.

When Crane set the Stone Spirit to send eagles to feed the stars and went back to fly for ever between Earth and Sky the world grew full of life; and the Stone Spirit made the Hunter to walk beneath to watch the herds, and the Bull to go before him to show the way. Then the Stone Spirit reached to the Hill of Death and Life and took red earth and shaped it to be people and opened their mouths so that they might eat, and gave them legs and hands so that they might hunt. And it parted the people, each to hold the other, so that they would grow more. Then it gave to the people spirits of the beasts, so that they would keep those spirits safe; and those beasts they did not eat. Nor could the people hold people that were of their spirit, for that would wrong the world.

What is your spirit? said the other.

I am of Crow and of Crane, and I call to Wolf.

What is your song?

To dance in Ludcruck to cut the rock and to keep the sun from death.

That is a true Story, said the other.

'-"to light you to bed."-' Colin lifted the axe from the corner, wiped the edge of the blade with a rag, picked up an empty basket and went out to the log stack. '-"And here comes a chopper to chop off your head."' By the stack there was a treadle grindstone. He set one foot on the plate and pressed down, letting the plate lift at the end of the turn. When the stone was at the right speed Colin held the blade against it to lie with the spin, moving the steel to firm the shoulder. The noise clattered in the rocks, rang on the quarry side. Then he moved the blade to balance the shoulder, tested the blade with his thumb, and took a whetstone from his pocket and fined the edge. He looked along the line to check the curve.

He pulled logs out from the stack, ash, holly, thorn, and put them next to a block of elm, criss-crossed by hatchings of old cuts. He placed a log on end with care to firm it on the block, braced his legs apart, breathed in, and out, and in, loosened his shoulders, gripped the helve, and swung.

'Chip.'

The log split into equal parts, each falling aside. He picked one and stood it upright, and swung.

'Chop.'

He set the other, and swung.

'Chip.'

He gathered the four pieces, dropped them into the basket and put another log on the elm.

'Chip. Chop. Chip.'

He held and swung the axe so that it fell in an arc and its own weight did the work.

'Chip. Chop. Chip. Chip. Chop. Chip. Chip. Chop. Chip. Stone. Dead.'

He went on until the basket was full. He took the axe back to the hut and brought in the basket and settled it by the hearth. He wiped the axe head and the helve and dribbled fine oil along the blade and smoothed it over with his fingers. Then he placed the axe back in its corner and cleaned his hands.

Colin lifted a toolbox from a shelf and left the hut. He went to the dishes, and stood before one of the focus rings. He looked at it for a long time, and smiled. 'Hah. Yes. OK. Right. Now then.' He opened the toolbox and picked two spanners, fitted them against a nut and bolt at the base and put pressure on to slacken the thread. 'That's the way to do it.'

'Hang about, Colin. Half a sec.'

Colin let go of the spanners and jolted back.

'You?'

''Fraid so, my love. You're coming good, son. But not yet. You can't disconnect yet. It's not Time yet; for you.'

'What? Meg? Is it? Meg?'

'I couldn't tell you until you made your mind up. But you're acting a bit previous. You're not there yet.'

'Meg. What do you mean? What's happening?'

'You don't need me now. You had to find it for yourself. I'm only a mirror. Think of the moon, Colin. That's my job. It's what I am. It's all I can be.'

'No. I do need you. I need you a lot.'

'Not any more. It's over and out now, my darling. The last bit's all yours. I can't go there.'

'Meg. No.'

'Colin. Yes. You're OK. You've done us proud. And Colin, you just think on. Think on. If the Sleeper wakes, the Dream dies.'

'Meg. Meg. Meg. You don't say goodbye. You said.'

Silence.

Colin ran to the hut. He jabbed the telephone.

'The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please check and try again.'

He jabbed.

'The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please check and try again.'

Again.

'The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please check and try again.'

'Shut up, you stupid cow!'

Colin laid the telephone down until he had control of his breathing. He picked it up and pressed each number firmly, and paused, with care.

'The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please check and try again.'

'd.a.m.n you!'

Colin looked at the telephone file. He put in Bert's number.

'The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please check and try again.'

He scrabbled among the papers on his dresser, but could not find Bert's card.

'h.e.l.lo. h.e.l.lo. Oh, come on! h.e.l.lo.'

'Directory Enquiries. Kay speaking, Professor Whisterfield. There is a charge for this call. How can I help you?'

'Please. I want the number of High Forest Taxis, Macclesfield. Please. Hurry.'

'Bear with me one moment, sir.'

'Hurry. It's important.'

'Bear with me, sir.'

'Of course. I'm sorry.'

Colin scrabbled on the dresser again.

'h.e.l.lo, sir.'

'Yes. Yes.'

'I'm afraid no such firm is listed.'

'It is! It must be! I've used it! Often! All the time!'

'It may have gone out of business. I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I can't help you.'

He threw the telephone from him.

'h.e.l.lo, sir? h.e.l.lo?'

Colin ran his bicycle through the quarry and mounted at the track. He did not have his helmet. He bounced over the ruts and stones and potholes and cobbles, pedalling hard, onto the road and along past Beacon Lodge and the Castle Rock lay-by to the drop at Armstrong Farm, crouched over his handlebars, to the bend at Whinsbrow by the notice THIS HILL IS STILL DANGEROUS straight down from Rockside to the roundabout at London Road. He braked and trailed his foot to veer to the right, among the flocks of cars. He stood on the pedals. Tyres squealed. He went over the station bridge and into Brook Lane, to Row-of-Trees, by Lindow Moss, along Seven Sisters Lane to Toft.

He turned onto the drive without looking. The gates were closed. He skidded and hit the woodwork sideways, but did not fall. He dropped the bicycle to open the gate. It was chained, and an unclasped padlock joined the links. Then he saw the board. Meller Braggins Established 1836. FOR SALE OR TO LET. And the estate agent's address and telephone number.

Colin opened the gate and wheeled his bicycle through. He walked down the drive. Weeds had taken over the gravel. The bushes were unkempt and the rhododendrons were invading the front door, reaching into the porch. The windows were shuttered.

He left his bicycle and went around the house. He walked clockwise. The lawns were seeding gra.s.s. The flowerbeds had flowers that he remembered, but they were losing against invading growth. He came to the French windows of the library. They too were shuttered. He looked out at Beeston bluff.

He went on, and came to the greenhouse and the stable block. He stopped. There was a white van in the yard. Someone was whistling. Colin knew the tune. The wind, the wind, the wind blows high- There was a man on a ladder, painting the transoms and mullions of a window.

'Excuse me,' said Colin.

The man wiped his brush and laid it across the paint can hanging from a rung.

'Eh up, squire. Are you all right? What can we do for you?'

'I don't want to disturb you,' said Colin.

'You're not,' said the man.

'What's happening here?'

'Not a lot.'

'What are you doing?'

'Oh, just giving the old place a lick and a promise.'

'Who lives here?'

'n.o.body.'

'No one?'

'Not while I've been looking after it.'

'How long is that?'

'Must be a three year, give or take. I do the odd bit of bodging here and there so it doesn't get any worse than it is. But, between you and me, it's n.o.bbut a hindrance. Too big for living, too small for business or flats. And the gardens are in s.h.i.+t order. They're neither use nor ornament.'

'Who was here last?'

'You'd best ask the office. What's up wi' thee? What's mithering you?'

'I know this place,' said Colin. 'I was here a few days ago. And someone else was here. They were. They were here too.'

'Well, they're not now, anyroad,' said the man. 'You want to take more water with it.'

'Would it be possible for me to see inside?' said Colin. 'I don't wish to waste your time. It would take only a moment. Just the hall and the library will be enough.'

'I'm the governor of this gang,' said the man, 'and we're not on piece work. Help yourself. It's all fetching night.' He came down from the ladder, took a bunch of keys from his overalls and unlocked the back door. Colin went with him into the closed house. They pa.s.sed through the kitchen.

'I know this,' said Colin. 'It's the hall.'

'You're not wrong,' said the man. 'Here.' He switched on a maintenance light.

'And this door's to the library,' said Colin. 'It is. It has to be.'

'Correct.' The man opened the door and pressed another switch.

The curtains were drawn across the shutters. He knew them. The furniture was draped with dustsheets, but he could see the shapes: the chaise longue and the deep chair on either side of the fireplace; the low table, the drinks cabinet, the clock. The chandeliers hung in cotton covers. The walls were lined with empty shelves; they had no books.

'You OK, mate?'

'Yes. Yes. Thank you. Thank you. I've seen what I have to,' said Colin.

'You're looking badly,' said the man. 'Let's get you outside and sit you down.'