Whitstable was crying as he ran, every footstep agony. "Fucking kill you!" he screamed. "Fucking kill
both
of you!"
Alan stopped running for a moment, looking around. "Did you hear something?" he asked Sophie but she was utterly lost, humming loudly, her eyes vacant. "I definitely heard something," Alan said, searching the darkness for sign of company.
Whitstable appeared out of nowhere, only feet away, screaming and stabbing the air with his sharpened stake. "
Fucking kill you!
" he roared, the words mangled into little more than noise. Suddenly he was knocked to one side as something invisible collided with him. Alan stepped closer to Sophie, searching for what it was that had struck. Now that he had stopped running, he could feel a half-presence, a suspicion of something in the dark. A force collided with his already throbbing shoulder, knocking him off his feet and making him cry out in pain. Sophie stopped humming, reaching out in front of her.
"No," she said. "That is wrong. Stop it."
Alan got to his feet with a groan. He wasn't going to be able to stand for much longer, he was taking too much of a battering. Unfortunately Whitstable still had more fight in him and was crawling on all fours trying to find his weapon, mumbling obscenities. Deciding to do without it, he charged at Alan and Sophie, happy to tear them apart with his hands.The invisible force struck him again, sending him several feet backwards in the air. With a scream he hit the glass barrier, which shattered to reveal a wood-panelled corridor. Alan took Sophie's hand and pulled her through.
"The books," Carruthers mumbled, holding his head in his hands, "it must be the books."
"What about the books?" Penelope asked, trying not to panic.
"Eating," said Carruthers, "eating history. Oh, my Lord, but it hurts."
"Eating history?" Penelope asked, "what on earth do you mean, eating…" The penny dropped. Both Carruthers and Miles had left their biographies outside where the worms could graze on them, chewing great chunks of their written lives from the pages. The damage to the books was affecting their subjects. She grabbed Carruthers' lantern and stepped outside the tent. The worms were everywhere, rolling over Carruthers' camp, nibbling at the sheets and ropes, the wood of the shelves, the books… She bit her lip and ran into the middle of them, kicking at them with her bare feet, grimacing at the feel of their pale, slick skins. Some had grown bloated by their feast, rolling aimlessly as they tried to move on distended bellies.
She saw Carruthers' biography first; it had several wet holes in its cover, and its pages were soggy from saliva. She picked it up, kicking out at a particularly grotesque worm lying next to it. The worm's outer skin burst, too stretched to take even the lightest blow. Groaning in disgust she tried to wipe the ichor from her toes as she hopped away from the camp towards where Miles had thrown his volume. There were books everywhere, in various stages of ruin, from the odd serrated bite-mark to a scatological pulp of confetti and leather. Flipping each book over she hunted for the one with Miles' name on it. She tried not to notice how the worms were becoming aware of her, turning their fluted snouts towards her as if scenting her binding. She found it, but nearly dropped it again as one of the worms latched its mouth on to her heel. She kicked back, flinging it loose. The worms were wriggling towards her, dropping from the shelves all along the stack and inching their way in her direction, intrigued by the appearance of a new volume. She backed against the shelves, preparing to make a run for it, stamping every single one of them in her path if need be. Then the lamps in the walls began to softly glow as dawn crept into the library. The worms froze, twitching their snouts in the faint light. Then they began to move, wriggling away into the depths of the stacks to burrow and sleep.
Penelope dropped to the floor and rested her back against the shelves.
"It's safe," she shouted, "they're leaving."
A few moments later the sheet parted at the mouth of the tent and Miles shuffled out, shortly followed by Carruthers.
"The pain's fading," he said, rubbing at his temples, "and I think some things are coming back."
"What's your name?" Penelope asked.
"Miles," he said with a smile, "though it still feels strange, as if it's not quite a part of me."
"It was the most blessed thing," Carruthers added, "I could feel great chunks of me breaking away. People I knew, places I'd been. The important things – the essence of who we are – are not isolated incidents, they are something we carry with us at all times. Let us hope they are a little harder to destroy in a couple of mouthfuls."
"There are great chunks of my life they were welcome to," said Miles. "Can't say I would have missed them. One thing, though, who's he?" He pointed to a prone figure, lying quite still behind one of the tents. "I'm sure you'll laugh but I can't remember him for the life of me."
interlude
The renegade has fallen deeply in love with Constantinople. The city has such scope for excess. Where else can one drink a few beers and watch 60,000 people slaughtered?
The Byzantines have finally lost all patience with the Latin Europeans, and are routing them out with the sort of vigour only a deranged mob can achieve. He has lent a hand, naturally, stoked the flames a little. Now he is happy to sit back, enjoy the feel of the sun on his face and the screams in his ears. A small group of people gathers a few feet away and he wonders what new piece of street theatre is to be offered. They separate with a cheer, setting a dog to run through the streets, the head of Cardinal John – representative to the Pope here in the city – tied to its tail. It bounces behind the animal, its mouth popping open as if the holy man wishes to take a bite out of the hound's rump.
The renegade laughs along with the crowd. You can't beat a little light comedy to break up an afternoon's massacre; it's tiring work casting the bodies into the sea and everyone needs their spirits lifting. He drinks his beer and watches the reef of dead bodies building off shore.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sophie doesn't like any of this. In fact Sophie hates it. Everywhere Sophie looks there is something that makes her head shout. Her thoughts are like her father's car alarm, they go on and on and on and on. She wishes she could turn it off but she doesn't have the key. She has tried to empty herself but Alan will not let her. Alan needs her to stay still. Alan needs her to run. Alan needs her. Alan does need her. Alan does not look good. He is old – though more father old than grandfather old – and old people often do not look good. This is because they are nearly dead. Sophie hopes Alan does not die just yet, she would not like to be here without him, it is too Wrong. It is a place that needs company.
She had hoped for three but one of the three was not a good man. Now he is lying on the carpet and that serves him right. He can just stay there. He is pink and he shouts and he says the word that means "I have just hit my hammer with a thumb" or "You are not a very good driver" or "You shouldn't have left that toy on the stairs as now I've fallen over it". She knows this because her father has used the word too and she has figured out what it means. She looks at Alan. He is bent over and finding it hard to breathe. Perhaps, like her, he is finding this very wrong and it is making him sick. They have just stepped out of a mirror and that is wrong. Mirrors are for practicing your "I Understand" smile. They are not for walking through. Also, you do not break them. If you do then father will say that word again and he will say it Very Loudly.
Sophie decides she must be strong for Alan. She takes hold of his hand (she does not like holding hands but he does it a lot so he must like it so she does it to make him feel better). "Come with me, Alan," she tells him, "we will find a quiet place."
She leads him down the corridor. They should not be in a corridor. They should be in a jungle. She tries not to think about that as she has to be strong for Alan. She opens the first door they come to and walks him inside. She closes the door. The walls of this room have a lot of tiles. This means it must be a kitchen or it must be a bathroom. The tiles are blue so this is probably a bathroom. It is very big for a bathroom. Though it has a lot of water so that is good. There are towels in very tall stacks. There are benches on which to sit. This is not a bathroom, she understands. This is a swimming pool. That is why it has the sea in it. You can swim in the sea, it's allowed.
She locks the door. Which is confusing as bathrooms have locks but swimming pools do not have locks.She knows bathrooms have locks as sometimes she locks herself in them to stop other people being with her. This lock will stop the pink man from being with her. This is good. But Alan can stay. She likes Alan.
Alan sits down on one of the benches. Then he lies down. Something in his shoulder makes him yell. Sophie yells too even though there is nothing wrong with her shoulder. Sometimes she cannot help copying people when they do things she doesn't understand. Sometimes it helps her understand. Alan looks worried because she has yelled like him. She shows him her "I Understand" smile. He still looks worried but his eyes close and his face stops being worried and starts being about pain. Alan does not understand and it hurts him. He needs to go quiet for a while so she leaves him to do so.
She goes to look at the sea. It is the sea. She wasn't sure because she knows you don't have a sea in a house. It fills the world as far as she can see. It makes waves that push the long fluffy rugs up and down that lie at the edge of it. The rugs do not float out. The rugs stay. This is also wrong.
Sophie has an idea. Everything here is wrong. If everything is always wrong then perhaps it is right for here. This feels like a fact. This is good. She does not feel so bad now she knows that wrong can be right as long as it is always wrong.
She sits down on a dry part of the rug and watches the sea go in and out. She wonders if it would be good to swim. Sometimes she likes to swim. The water feels good. It holds her and bounces her like it is pleased with her. Sometimes she does not like to swim. The water feels bad. It pushes and shoves her like it is angry with her. Sophie wonders what mood the sea is in today.
Sophie thinks about the sea she nearly fell in when she found the box. That did not look like a happy sea. Its waves were bigger than this sea. This sea looks like it might be happy. She will try it.
She goes to get a towel and looks at Alan. She thinks Alan is now sleeping. This is not unusual. Sometimes when she is very upset she falls asleep too. Sleep is easy, nothing happens there.
She gets a towel. It is very big and very white and very nice. She holds it to her face and hopes the sea will be as happy as this towel.
She walks back to the edge of the water. She takes off some of her clothes. You do not take off all your clothes when you swim as it is Not Allowed. You keep your pants and bra on. It is a rule. And a fact. Sophie thinks all rules are facts. Unless you break them but Sophie would never do that. Sophie makes her clothes neat. Clothes are nice when they are neat. Socks next to each other, facing the same way, tidy feet waiting to walk.
Sophie steps into the water. It is not cold. This is good. If the water had been cold Sophie would not have gone in, cold water is angry water. Sophie goes a little further. The water is as far as Sophie's knees and it has not been angry. She thinks that if the water was going to be angry it would have done it by now. The water is happy with her so she gets in completely and starts to swim. Swimming is easy as long as you remember you can do it. Sometimes it is easy to forget. Especially when the sea is angry. When it throws a big wave that hits your face and steals your air. Then you can forget and you start sinking. Thinking about this, Sophie nearly forgets how to swim but she stands up in the water and remembers again. She wonders if any fish live in this sea. There should be fish. The sea is where fish live. She cannot see any fish and the water is clear. The water is clear like those pictures of the sea you see that ask you to go on holiday. The water is as clear as it is in the swimming pool. Underneath the water are tiles like in a swimming pool. This is wrong. This is good. Sophie is so glad she now knows that wrong can be right, it makes things much easier.
Sophie swims some more. Sophie wonders if France lives on the other side of the sea. It does where she lives but this is probably not the same sea. She looks back at Alan. He is still sleeping on the bench. Sophie decides she will look for France while she waits for him to wake up.
The throbbing in Alan's shoulder woke him up. He hoped he hadn't dislocated it. He'd seen people in movies pop a dislocated shoulder back into place but he didn't fancy trying it. He sat up and looked around. They had swapped one impossible room for another, jungles in the greenhouse and oceans in the bathroom. Where was Sophie? He looked around but couldn't see her anywhere. Then he spotted the clothes and looked out across the water. Dear Lord… please don't say she had…?
He pulled off his shoes, shirt and trousers and limped into the water. What had he been thinking? Leaving her on her own like that, it was obvious she couldn't fend for herself…
He swam as fast as he could, shouting her name above the gentle sound of the surf. He noticed the ground beneath the water was tiled; not the sea at all then, just a pool big enough to form waves. He dived beneath the surface, dreading catching sight of her sunken body. Surely she wouldn't have swum so far out? Though he had to admit it was easy going. He took a taste of the water; there was no salt, yet it seemed to carry him forward. It felt as if this was water you could never drown in, water to embrace you, to relax you, water that made you feel a part of it.