Always Forever (26 page)

"You really know how to chat up a girl."

"Well?"

"How should I know? I've given up trying to work anything out any more."

They sat alone with their thoughts for a while until Laura said, "Did it
work?"

He knew exactly what she meant. "You saved her life. Who knows, you
might even have saved much more than that. I pointed her and that miserable
leader in the direction of the Western Isles to try to get the Golden Ones on our
side. They might even do it, if they can put a lifetime of failure behind them."

"The others?"

"Don't know."

There was another long silence before she asked the question they'd both
been avoiding. "So I've escaped a particularly horrible death to spend the rest of my life in a stinking warehouse with someone who doesn't know what soap is.
Or do you have anything approaching a plan?"

He stared blankly at the dirty floor. "No. No plans."

Church and Ruth stayed in the cabin until night had fallen. The air was tinged
with the fading warmth of the day and the scent of burning oil as the flickering
lantern in the corner sent shadows shivering across the wooden walls.

All their attempts at making head or tail of the eddies of mystery and
intrigue swirling around them had come to nothing, but so much was at stake
they couldn't afford to just sit back any longer.

"We have to find the Walpurgis-he's the key," Church said eventually.
"There's something very strange going on here, on this ship. These days I trust
my instinct more than anything, and sometimes it's almost like I can feel deep,
powerful currents moving just beneath my feet. I don't know if the death of
Hellawes has anything to do with it, but Cormorel's murder is right at the heart.
I don't understand why the gods in the furnace are stockpiling weapons, what
the meaning is of all the strange looks and half-heard comments the other gods
are making. Whatever it is, I know it's going to affect us, even if it's only that
we're definitely not going to get any help from the Tuatha De Danann until the
suspicion has been taken off us."

"How do you expect to find the Walpurgis if Manannan's massed ranks
can't?"

"I don't know, but I know I've got to try. He's down there somewhere."

"I don't know." She shook her head worriedly. "The Malignos are still
roaming around. You cross them, you won't be coming back up again." She
sucked on her lip thoughtfully. "I'd better come with you."

"No," he replied forcefully. "I'm not being chivalrous, it's just good tactics.
If I don't come back, at least there'll be one of us left to try to hold it all
together." The shadows had pooled in her eyes so he couldn't read her expression. "You still think it's going to end in tears?"

"Oh yeah."

They were interrupted by a cry from the deck, strangely lonely in the still
of the night. Church got up and peered out of the window. "Another island." A
couple of lights glimmered in the sea of darkness. A rumbling ran through the
walls as the crew prepared to drop anchor.

"More delays," Ruth said with irritation.

Church watched the lights for a moment longer, then said, "I think we
should try to get on the landing party again. Any information we can pick up
is going to help us."

"Do you really think they're going to let us after the last one?"

"We can get Baccharus to help-he seems to like our company."

"Or Niamh."

Church agreed uncomfortably, "Or Niamh."

Ruth looked away.

"We have to-"

"I know." Curling up on the bed, she rested her head in the crook of her arm
and tucked her knees up to her chest. "We have to do what we can to make
things right, however unpleasant. It's war."

The rocking of the ship changed its tempo as Wave Sweeper came to a
gradual halt. Chains rumbled and clanked dimly, followed by a splash as the
anchor hit the water. Then there was only a gentle swaying as the boat bobbed
at its tether.

Church left the window and returned to the bed, sitting in the small space at
the end that Ruth's long limbs weren't occupying. Her feet touched his thigh; she
didn't move them away. "Do you remember, just after Beltane, sitting by the
campfire?" She shifted slightly, put her feet on top of his legs. "That was a funny
time. We'd already been through so much, had this massive blow, yet we felt-"

"So close."

"Exactly. This year hasn't been like anything else in my life. I know that's
stating the obvious, but I mean on an emotional level. It's been so ... potent.
I've never felt more alive." He cupped the top of her pale foot in his hand. It felt
so cool, the skin as smooth as vellum. "And it makes me feel guilty."

"What, we'd be better off moping around?" She stretched lazily. "There was
a lot missing from the life everyone led before. Nobody was living at all."

"Now people are living, but they're dying too. That's not right." He moved
his hand up her leg to stroke the gentle curve of her calf through her jeans.

"We'd forgotten how to feel anything. We were wasting our lives, and it
must be one of the great ironies of the moment that when there was a chance we
all might lose everything, we finally started to appreciate things."

"You don't know what you've got until you're in danger of losing it." His
hand moved over her knee to her thigh; she didn't flinch, or make any attempt
to push it away.

"Let's face it: this is the place where memories are made. How many people
can say that?"

"Is that enough?"

"'Course it is." She smiled, put her hand on the back of his. But instead of
pushing it off her leg, she pulled it towards her, over her hip, on to her side, and
up, until he was overbalanced and falling on top of her. She manoeuvred herself until she was on her back, looking into his face. Her smile was open and honest
and for an instant he was back in those early days, just after Albert Bridge, when
they had spent their time piecing together the first clues about the unfolding
nightmare. And with that remembrance came a blinding revelation: he had felt
strongly about her from almost the moment he had seen her, as if they were of
one kind, one heart. But in his despairing mood after Marianne's death any emotion had been muffled. Even when that had finally cleared, his feelings had been
in such chaos that nothing made sense. But now he saw it clearly.

He loved her.

And he could see in the opal shimmer of her eyes that she loved him too;
secretly he'd always known it. But the difference now was that she could see his
feelings as well.

She pulled his head down and kissed him gently on the lips; she tasted faintly
of lemon, her skin smelled clean, her dark hair felt silky in his fingers. And her
smile was strong, with so much in it; it was all so heady. She was right; the end of
the world didn't matter, the conflicts and power games of other people, all the
petty concerns of the outside world. Inside was all that mattered; inside their
heads, inside their relationships. The places where memories were made.

Ruth felt like crying, she felt like laughing. She'd managed to convince herself
it was a package of sensations she'd never ever appreciate, except by proxy, in
books and films and the wilting, easily discounted conversations of friends: that
ocean swell of the senses, filling her throat, her head. She'd told herself that
failure to feel wouldn't be so bad; there were always things to do and see. And
now she could see how ridiculous that had been. A life touched by this could
never be filled by anything ever again; except more of it, and more, and more,
and more. She could keep the fear at bay now; not a fear of being alone, in a
holding hands in the park way; she was too strong and confident to need
someone to fill her time. But of being alone in the human race; we weren't made
that way, she thought.

And here it was. If the world fell apart, and the stars rained into the void,
it was all right. It was all all right.

They stripped the clothes from each other with a sensuality that was slow and
measured; unfocused passion would let it all slip through their fingers too
quickly. It was something to be savoured, not just by the body but by the mind,
and that was how they knew it was exactly right. Church wondered how he had
never known that before.

They knew each other's shape from embraces, but the fiery skin beneath the clothes made it all new and different. They were each surprised at how hard their
bodies were, freed of the fat of lazy living by their punishing existence on the
road. As he penetrated her, they kissed deeply, filling each other with soft darkness illuminated by purple flashes that reminded Church of the view across space
from the Watchtower. He moved slowly at first, then harder as she enveloped him
with her legs, and her arms, and her kisses, and her thoughts. His mind had one
brief instant of complete awareness and then it switched off so there was only
everything he felt, wrapped tightly in the moment; as timeless as Otherworld.

They lay together in silence while the sweat and semen dried on their bodies,
listening to their breathing subside, their hearts slow down. Their thoughts
were like the movement of luminescent fish in the deepest, darkest fathoms,
slow yet graceful under the gargantuan pressure, struggling with the immensity
of what they had felt. After a while, Ruth fumbled for Church's hand and he
took it. Two, as one, passing through time.

A movement somewhere in the shadows of the cabin roused them from their
introspection; a mouse, they both thought. But then something that at first
sight was a large spider scurried into the flickering circle of lantern light. It was
a human figure barely half an inch tall. Ruth recognised Marik Bocat, the Portune she had encountered after escaping the Malignos.

She rolled over to cover herself. "How long have you been there?"

"I have more to do than watch you make the beast with two backs," he said
sharply. He sprinted to the edge of the bed where he looked up at Church's
bemused face. "Ho, Simple Jack! Heave me up and mind how you do it!"

Church leaned down so Marik Bocat could clamber on to his palm. Once the
tiny man was level with their eyes it was obvious concern lay heavy on his
brown, wizened face.

"What is it?" Ruth asked.

"I come out of respect for fellow denizens of the Fixed Lands, and, of course,
in respect for your exalted roles as champions of our home." He raised one
minuscule finger. "A warning, then. Danger is abroad and your lives may be at
risk. The door lies open, the cage is empty." He paused while he looked from
one face to the other. "Callow is gone. The Malignos have freed him."

Away across the water, the Islands of the Dead breathed steadily and silently
and the night was filled with the terrible chill of their exhalation.

arik Bocat told them little, although they were both convinced he knew
more than he was saying. His people had the run of the ship, he
explained, and witnessed many things: secrets and slanders, matters of great
importance and minor betrayals. The freeing of Callow had been the latest
example of their surveillance at work.

"The Portunes will, of course, maintain their vigilance, and if information
regarding this situation comes to light I will relate it to you," he said in an
oddly formal manner.

"Why are you helping us?" Ruth asked.

"Horses and teeth," he cautioned, before half turning from them and
motioning to be put back down on the floor. But as Church lowered him, his
voice floated back: "We are all fellows of the flesh in the Great Village."

Church limped off the end of the bed and dressed, surprised at how quickly
his leg was healing. He could already walk without the aid of a stick. "That bastard will be coming for us when we least expect it, so we have to expect it all
the time."

"Like we haven't got anything else to do."

A thought came to Church as he ransacked a chest in the corner where he
had come across a number of seafaring implements, including a bill-hook and a
short dagger used for cutting rope, which he stuffed into his belt. "Can you help
me find the Walpurgis?" he said turning back to Marik Bocat.

"Now why would you be looking for that bundle of rags?" Church could tell
from the suspicion in his voice that the Portune had some information.

"He can help us. He was helping us before he ran away."

"I'll ask around." He eyed Church askance.

"You can trust me."

"So it seems."

Church dug down to the bottom of the chest, but there remained only oily
rags, sand and dried seaweed. When he turned back to prompt Marik Bocat further he discovered the Portune had already departed.

Ruth dressed quickly and a little nervously. Their bonding had been truncated and there was still so much they had to discuss.

Now was not the time, Church thought. "We really need to find the
Walpurgis," he said redundantly.