Tidetown (23 page)

Although the cold night air sends a chill through her thin nightdress, though the creaking stairs stop her in her tracks, something warm and persuasive deep inside her urges her onwards. As quietly as she can, she opens the back door and steps out onto the dewy grass of the lawn.

Next morning the twins sit together at the dining table, Perch having ushered Anna from the room with a withering look.

‘I heard you, when you thought I was sleeping,' says Perch, as she pours the steaming tea into the cup. Carp looks down at the tablecloth. There's a stain: like beetroot, like blood. ‘I saw you from the window as you disappeared into the woods. I know you followed the Spider boy.'

How does she know?
thinks Carp, looking for a sign in the stain, a shape held in by the edges.

‘I've seen him waiting,' says Perch, attuned to her sister's thoughts.

‘Come in,' says Mrs April when she sees Zakora standing in the arched doorway of the library. On the table where she sits is a pile of books. Open in front of her is one with exquisite illustrations.

‘What is this?' asks Zakora, pointing to a finely illustrated map. It shows a man about to embark on a journey over rugged hills and through treacherous forests, along craggy cliffs and across putrid swamps.

‘Ah, this is any man's meander through life,' she says mysteriously, tracing her finger along the crooked pathway of the map.

Zakora looks closely. ‘There are many dangers he will face, many obstacles to overcome.'

‘So for us all, Zakora. In any time, in any place.'

‘From where to where?'

‘Like our friend in this book,' she answers, ‘a journey from the city of destruction in this evil world to the celestial city in the world that is to come.'

Together their eyes follow the pathway of the pilgrim, each, in their own way and with their own experiences, imagining the journey to be had and the agonies and ecstasies along the way.

‘I saw them together on Monday,' says Mrs M to Joshua. ‘Look, there they are again,' she adds, pointing to the window. ‘Over by the coop. She's helping him collect the eggs.'

The chickens cluck and scratch around Spider's feet, never quite used to having their eggs stolen from them. But memories can be short, and they move away, pecking at the ground in the hope of grain.

‘How was it in the prison?' he asks.

Carp is taken aback. No one has ever asked her such a question.

‘I was with my sister. We had each other,' she says without looking at Spider.

‘Yes, I know that,' he replies, carefully stacking the last egg in the basket and standing upright, staring her in the eye. ‘But what was it like for you? How did you feel?'

‘Me?' she says, struggling to catch her breath, struggling with something indefinable.

‘Yes, Carp, you,' he says, cupping his hands around hers. ‘I want to know about you. What you think. What you feel. What you dream of … what it is you want.'

Carp does not resist the feel of his palms against the backs of her hands. Neither does she want to run away from what he has to say to her. She wants more. Then he lets go and as she opens up her hands she shows him the egg she was holding, the one she wanted to take back to her room to keep for herself.

When she first saw the old homestead on the Island of Good Hope, Perch realised it would be perfect. Across the causeway from Tidetown, hidden away in the woods, it offered the ideal setting to build and grow the Remnantic movement. A place where Carp could renew her faith, where they could be twins together again: in unity, in oneness. The house came with a large parcel of land that swept up a hillside where long ago shafts were dug deep in the ground in the vain hope of precious stones.

When the twins appeared at the offices of Spencer and Co in the High Road the solicitor and his clerk were amazed at their businesslike determination and acumen. It took less than an hour for them to complete the paperwork and to secure one of the few plots on the island not bequeathed to the monastery. The next day the funds to pay for the property were transferred from the bank, leaving a healthy balance remaining in their account from the family inheritance. That evening, unbeknown to the mayor and Angelica, Perch and Carp began to make plans to move out of the Mayoral Mansion.

Now, with all their possessions loaded onto the cart, Perch and Carp bid the mayor, who stands in the porch with Joshua Barnum and Angelica, a peculiar farewell.

‘You will be remembered at the Day of Reckoning for your right actions,' says Perch.

Carp sinks into the seat and remains silent, her confidence on the wane, doubt in the ascendancy. She finds herself thinking of Spider and their few moments together: the swing of an axe, the feel of a smooth new-laid egg in her hand. She glances around, but he is nowhere in sight. Her sister stares hard at Carp, whose hand is over her mouth, as if what she might say is better kept inside her.

The mayor nods to the twins, not wanting to delay their departure. They are dressed in black from head to foot: buckled leather shoes and thick woollen tights, toggled duffle coats and French berets. Joshua, his psyche more in tune with the twins than most, puckers his lips in acknowledgement of their shared baser instincts and inclinations.

‘Mind the windy road ahead,' he warns, turning up the corner of his mouth, waiting and looking for a glimmer of recognition from the sisters. He is not disappointed, as Perch fixes a stare on him that would shake a lesser mortal.

‘The windy road,' he repeats, grinning madly.

Perch turns to Angelica, oblivious to the tear forming in the corner of her eye.

‘It has not turned out quite as you expected, but it is becoming as it should be. Much more will be revealed in the fullness of time and we will call you to us.'

‘I think that is enough for now,' says the mayor, visibly worried by all this obscure and confusing talk. ‘I'm sure you need to be on your way, with much to do in your new home.'

The horses shuffle and shift in their harnesses; the wheels of the cart roll forward then back, as if compelled by an unseen force. The driver pulls on the reigns, holding them tight in his grip. The wind picks up, spinning leaves skyward, rippling the manes of the horses, freeing the tear from Angelica's eyelashes. Across the causeway, way into the woods, the front door of the twin's newly acquired house shifts on its hinges. At the same moment, far underground, in the deepest of all the mine shafts, a single stone falls from a wall, the more than ample opal at its heart screaming out to be found.

Something is shifting in Tidetown. The children walk freely in the streets, unencumbered. The adults stay indoors, fearful of mixing. Wary even of speaking to each other, in terror of something deadly in the breath and the wake of their words. Perch knows well how opportune this moment is. What power there is to be seized.

‘
Carpe diem
, Carp,' says Perch, in the bedroom of their new home on the island.

‘
Carpe diem
, Perch,' repeats Carp, eager to show enthusiasm, forcibly pushing the doubts from her mind. She watches her sister preparing her speech. It's as if she is seeing Perch anew. Seeing her apart from herself.

Perch is standing in front of the long mirror that reaches to the ground, gesticulating, silently mouthing words, watching her own lips move, her head tilted back, her arms folded defiantly across her chest.

What is it that Carp sees that is different? What strange emotions are stirred? She feels a sense of detachment, of separateness. It both excites and frightens her. It brings forward thoughts that she has pushed away for so long, stifled so deep. Of belief. Of intent.

‘I'm ready to address our people,' says Perch, turning away from the mirror, her reflection slithering from the glass. ‘Are you?'

Outside, gathered on the lawn, Angelica and Simone wait with a group of younger children. The Special Ones had been tasked with encouraging the children from the town to come to the meeting where Perch and Carp would tell them of their mission. Angelica had gone to the local youth club and managed to entice about a dozen young girls and boys along. The promise was a raspberry tart and a glass of lemonade, to be provided after the speeches.

Unseen by the crowd, Perch walks out onto the raised decking at the front of the cottage. It is as if she is about to address a horde of thousands. In her mind she has a quest to fulfil, divinely guided, uniquely placed. She is oblivious to the thin ranks of her congregation, intent as she is on delivering her message. Carp stands next to her, acutely aware of the indifference of the children, as they whisper and giggle to each other and shift impatiently from foot to foot.

‘Settle and listen,' commands Angelica. ‘Prepare to learn something important.'

As Carp watches her sister, the intensity of her, the total commitment to the cause imbued in her every action, the voice of uncertainty creeps back into Carp's mind.
You have never seen him
, it taunts.
You heard not a word
, it mocks.
Each line you wrote was a lie
, the voice accuses.

The night is dark. The moon is nowhere to be seen, stooped low below the horizon. The clouds stick to the sky, a flat motionless curtain blocking out the light of the stars. The trees stand still and tall, perfect guards of the crowd gathering in the hollow below. The children huddle together as if awaiting a pantomime. Are they scared? Are they cold? Some whisper, but most stay silent, awaiting orders.

From out of the shadows emerge Carp and Perch, head to toe in black, save for a satin sash of purple and gold. The crowd stands to attention, all eyes on the twins. Perch and Carp are on higher ground, flanked by Angelica and Simone, both also in black, with yellow armbands denoting status. The tall trees behind them stand out against the night sky. The twins survey the huddle of children.

‘Tonight is an auspicious night,' begins Perch. ‘We, for the first time, are dressed in the garb of the Remnant, as decreed to us in a message most profound by the Archangel Gabriel.'