Sacrament (24 page)

Just about everyone got high, except for Jack, who had become self-righteously sober the year before (after two
decades of chemical excess) and Casper, who was forbidden to smoke the weed because Jack couldn't. Drew
became democratically flirtatious under the influence, then, realizing where his best hopes of gratification lay,
followed Will into the kitchen and offered up a graphic description of what he wanted to do when they got back
to Sanchez Street.
As it turned out, by the time the party broke up, Drew was so much the worse for weed and beer he said he
needed to go home and sleep it off. Will invited him back to the house, but he declined. He didn't want anyone,
especially Will, watching him throw up in the toilet, he said: it was a private ritual. Will drove him home, made
sure he got to his apartment safely, and then went home himself. Drew's verbal foreplay had left him feeling
horny, however, and he contemplated a late-night cruise down to The Penitent to find some action, But the
thought of getting geared up for the hunt at such a late hour dissuaded him. He needed sleep more than a
stranger's hand. And Drew would be sober tomorrow.

Again, he seemed to wake, disturbed by sirens on Market, or a shout from the street. Seemed to wake, and
seemed to sit up and study the shadowy room, just as he had two nights before. This time, however, he was wise
to the trick his sleeping mind was playing. Resisting the urge to sleepwalk to the bathroom, he stayed in bed,
waiting for the illusion of wakefulness to pass.
But after what seemed to be minutes, he grew bored. There was a ritual here, he realized, that his
subconscious demanded he enact, and until he played it out he wouldn't be allowed to dream something more
restful. Resigned to the game, he got up and wandered out onto the landing. There was no shadow on the wall
this time to coax him down the stairs, but he went anyway, following the same route as he had when he'd last
come into the company of Lord Fox: along the hallway and into the file-room. Tonight, however, there were no
lights spilling from the photographs on the ground. Apparently the animal wanted to conduct the dream debate in darkness.

'Can we get this over with as quickly as possible?' Will said, stepping into the murk. 'There's got to be a better
dream than-'

He stopped. The air around him shifted, displaced by a motion in the room. Something was moving towards
him, and it was a lot larger than a fox. He started to retreat; heard a hiss; saw a vast, grey bulk rise up in front of
him, the slab of its head gaping, letting on to a darkness that made the murk seem bright

A bear! Christ in Heaven! Nor was this just any bear. It was his wounder, coming at him with her own wounds
gouting, her breath foul and hot on his face.

Instinctively, he did as he would have done in the wild: he dropped to his knees, lowered his head and presented
as small a target as possible. The boards beneath him reverberated with the weight and fury of the animal; his
scars were suddenly burning in homage to their maker. It was all he could do not to cry out, even though he
knew this was just some idiot dream; all he could do not to beg it to stop and let him alone. But he kept his
silence, his palms against the boards, and waited. After a time, the reverberations ceased. Still he didn't move,
but counted to ten, and only then dared to move his head an inch or two. There was no sign of the bear. But
across the room, leaning against the window as nonchalantly as ever, was Lord Fox.

'There are probably a plethora of lessons here,' the creature said, 'but two in particular come to mind.' Will
gingerly got to his feet while the fox shared his wisdom. 'That when you're dealing with animal spirits and that's
what you've got on your hands, Willy, whether you like it or not -it's best to remember that we're all one big
happy family, and if I'm here then I've probably got company. That's the first lesson.'

'And ... what's the second?'

'Show me some respectl' the fox barked. Then, suddenly all reason: 'You came in here saying you want to get it
over with as quickly as possible. That's insulting, Willy.'

'Don't call me Willy.'

'Ask me politely.'

'Oh for fuck's sake. Please don't call me Willy.'

'Better.'

'I need something to drink. My throat's completely dry.'

'Go get yourself something,' the fox said, 'I'll come with you.'

Will went into the kitchen, and the fox padded after him, instructing him not to turn on the light. 'I much prefer
the murk,' the animal said. 'It keeps my senses sharp.'

Will opened the fridge and got out a carton of milk. 'You want something?'

'I'm not thirsty,' the fox said. 'But thank you.'

'Something to eat?'

'You know what I like to eat,' the fox replied, and the image of Thomas Simeon lying dead in the grass entered
Will's head with sickening clarity.

'Jesus,' Will said, letting the fridge door slam closed.

'Come on,' the fox said, 'where's your sense of humour?' He stepped out of the deep shadows into a wash of
grey light from the window. He looked, Will thought, more vicious than he had last time they'd met. 'You know,
I think you should ask yourself,' he said, 'in all seriousness, if perhaps you're not coming apart at the seams. And
if you are, what the consequences are going to be for those around you. Particularly your new lover-boy. I
mean, he's not the most stable of characters, is he?'

'Are you talking about Drew?'

'Right. Drew. For some reason, I was thinking his name was Brad. I think in all fairness you should let him go,
or you'll end up dragging him down with you. He'll go nuts on you, or try to slit his wrists, one of the two. And
you'll be responsible. You don't want that on your plate. Not with the rest of the shit you've got to deal with.'
'Are you going to be more specific?'

'It's not his war, Will. It's yours and yours alone. You signed on for it the day you let Steep take you up the
hill.'

Will set down the carton of milk and put his head in his hands. 'I wish I knew what the hell you wanted,' he
said.

'In the long view,' the fox said, 'I want what every animal wants in its heart - except maybe for the dogs - I
want your species gone. To the stars, if you can get there. To rot and ruin, more likely. We don't care. We just
want you out of our fur.'

'And then what?'

'Then nothing,' the fox replied with a shrug. His voice went to a wistful murmur. 'The planet keeps going
round, and when it's bright it's day and when it's not it's night, and there's no end to the simple bliss of things.'
'The simple bliss of things,' Will said.

'It's a pretty phrase, isn't it? I think I got it from Steep.'

'You'd miss all of that, if we were gone-'

'Words, you mean? I might, for a day or two. But it'd pass. In a week I'd have forgotten what good
conversation was and I'd be a happy heart again. The way I was when Steep first clapped eyes on me.'
'I know I'm just dreaming this, but while you're here ... what do you know about Steep?'

'Nothing you don't,' the fox said. 'There's a good part of him in you, after all. You take a long look at yourself,
one of these days.' The fox approached the table now, lowering his voice to an insinuating whisper. 'Do you
really think you'd have wasted most of your natural span taking pictures of tormented wildlife if he hadn't put that knife in your hands? He shaped you, Will. He sowed the hopes and the disappointments, he sowed the guilt, and the yearning.'

'And he sowed you at the same time?'

'For better or worse. You see, I'm nothing important. I'm just the innocent fox who ate Thomas Simeon's
private parts. Steep saw me trotting away and he decided I was a villain. Which was very unfair of him, by the
way. I was just doing what any fox with an empty belly would do, seeing a free meal. I didn't know I was eating
anybody important.'

'Was Simeon important?'

'Well, obviously he was to Steep. I mean Jacob really took this dickeating business to heart. He came after
me, like he was going to tear off my head. So I ran, I ran so far and so fast-' This wasn't Will's memory of the
event, as he'd witnessed it through Steep's eyes, but Lord Fox was on a roll, and Will didn't dare interrupt. 'And
he kept coming after me. There was no escaping him. I was in his memory, you see? In his mind's eye. And let
me tell you, he'd got a mind like a steel trap. Once he had me there was no tricking my way out. Even death
couldn't spring me from his head.' A raw sigh escaped the animal. 'Let me tell you,' he said, 'it's not like being in
your head. I mean, you've got a messed-up psyche, no doubt about it, but it's nothing compared with his.
Nothing.'

Will knew bait when it was being trailed. But he couldn't help himself; he bit. 'Tell me,' he said.

'What's he like? Well ... if my head's a hole in the ground and yours is a shack - no offence intended - then
his is a fucking cathedral. I mean, it's all spires and choirs and flying buttresses. Incredible.'

'So much for the simple bliss of things.'

'You're quick, aren't you?' the fox said appreciatively. 'Soon as you see a little weakness in a fellow's argument, you're in.'

'So he's got a mind like a cathedral?'

'That makes it sound too sublime. It isn't. It's decaying, year by year, day by day. It's getting darker and colder
in there, and Steep doesn't know how to stay warm, except by killing things, and that doesn't work as well as it
used to.'

Will's fingers remembered the velvet of the moth's wings, and the heat of the fire that would soon consume
them. Though he didn't speak the thought, the fox heard it anyway. 'You've had experience of his
methodologies, of course. I was forgetting that. You've seen his madness at first hand. That should arm you
against him, at least a little.'

'And what happens if he dies?'

'I escape his head,' the fox said. 'And I'm free.'

'Is that why you're haunting me?'

'I'm not haunting you. Haunting's for ghosts and I'm not a ghost. I'm a ... what am I? I'm a memory Steep
made into a little myth. The Animal That Devoured Men. That's who I am. I wasn't really interesting as a common or garden fox. So he gave me a voice. Stood me on my hind legs. Called me Lord Fox. He made me just as he made you.' The admission was bitter. 'We're both his children.'

'And if he lets you go?'

'I told you: I'm away free.'

'But in the real world you've been dead for centuries.'

'So? I had children while I was alive. Three litters to my certain knowledge. And they had children, and their
children had children. I'm still out there in some form or other. You should sow a few oats yourself, by the way,
even if it does go against the grain. It's not as if you don't have the equipment.' He glanced down at Will's groin.
'I could feed a family of five on that.'

'I think this conversation's at an end, don't you?'

'I certainly feel much better about things,' the fox replied, as though they were two belligerent neighbours who'd
just had a heart to heart.

Will got to his feet. 'Does that mean I can stop dreaming now?' he said.

'You're not dreaming,' the fox replied. 'You've been wide awake for the last half-hour

'Not true,' Will said, evenly.

'I'm afraid so,' the fox replied. 'You opened up a little hole in your head that night with Steep, and now the wind
can get in. The same wind that blows through his head comes whistling through that shack of yours-'

Will had heard more than enough. 'That's it!' he said, starting towards the door. 'You're not going to start
playing mind-games with me.'

Raising his paws in mock surrender, Lord Fox stood aside, and Will strode out into the hallway. The fox
followed, his claws tap-tapping on the boards.

'Ah, Will,' he whined, 'we were doing so well-'

'I'm dreaming.'

'No, you're not.'

'I'm dreaming.'

'Nol'

At the bottom of the stairs, Will reeled around and yelled back, 'Okay, I'm not! I'm crazy! I'm completely
fucking ga-gal'

'Good,' the fox said calmly, 'we're getting somewhere.'

'You want me to go up against Steep in a strait-jacket, is that it?'

'No. I just want you to let go of some of your saner suppositions.'

'For instance?'

'I want you to accept the notion that you, William Rabjohns, and I, a semimythical fox, can and do co-exist.'

'If I accepted that I'd be certifiable.'

'All right, try it this way: you recall the Russian dolls?'

'Don't start with them-'

'No, it's very simple. Everything fits inside everything else-'

'Oh, Christ...' Will murmured to himself. The thought was now creeping upon him that if this was indeed a
dream - and it was, it had to be - then maybe all that had gone before, back to his waking, was also a dream; that
he never woke, but was still comatose in a bed in Winnipeg

His body began to tremble.

'What's wrong?' the fox said.

'Just shut up!' he yelled, and started to stumble up the stairs.

The animal pursued him. 'You've gone very pale. Are you sick? Get yourself some peppermint tea. It'll settle
your stomach.'

Did he tell the beast to shut up again? He wasn't sure. His senses were phasing in and out. One moment he was
falling up the stairs, then he was practically crawling across the landing, then he was in the bathroom, puking,
while the fox yattered on behind him about how he should take care, because he was in a very delicate frame of
mind (as if he didn't know) and all manner of lunacies could creep up on him.

Then he was in the shower, his hand, ridiculously remote from him, struggling to grasp the handle. His fingers
were as weak as an infant's; then the handle turned suddenly and he was struck by a deluge of icy water. At least
his nerve-endings were fully operational, even if his wits weren't. In two heartbeats his body was solid goose
flesh, his scalp throbbing with the cold.

Despite his panic, or perhaps because of it, his mind was uncannily agile, leaping instantly to the places where
he'd felt such numbing cold before. In Balthazar, of course, as he lay wounded on the ice; and on the hill above
Burnt Yarley, lost in the bitter rain. And on the banks of the River Neva, in the winter of the ice-palace