Penult (11 page)

She finally showed up about an hour
after I went downstairs to pace the front walk. She seemed a bit
more glum than usual, if that was possible. Our eyes met briefly,
before her gaze fluttered back down to her feet.

“
No luck, I take
it?”

She shook her head. “The house is
vacant. No furniture. Curtains. It seems Papa has
moved.”

“
What about
Gwen?”

“
She was not at the school.
She did not come home for lunch so I went inside and spied in the
classrooms. There is no sign of her name anywhere. But her house is
still there and her family is still living there. But I did not
dare to speak with her mother. I think maybe they sent her away
someplace. Maybe with Izzie?”

“
What are you thinking,
like a nunnery?”

“
A convent? I have no idea.
They are building such places, I know but … I don’t know
where.”

I was on the verge of telling her
about the Golgotha monastery but I was afraid she would want to go
there. It would be a shot in the dark. And being trapped on an
island with those people scared the crap out of me. So I kept
mum.

“
So what do we do
now?”

Karla shrugged. “I don’t know. But I
think … we are done with Inverness.”

***

That night, Karla barely slept. She
kept getting up and sitting at the armchair by the window, staring
out towards the river. The window was speckled with a million tiny
droplets. The drizzle had resumed.

“
Hey. Come back to
bed.”

“
I am wondering if I will
have better luck finding her in Root. Together.”

“
What makes you think she’s
there?”

“
If you had her life, would
you want to keep it?”

“
Who even knows what her
life is like. Maybe she’s happy.”

Karla snapped. “How could she be happy
with these maniacs?”

“
Who says she’s with them?
We don’t know that.”

“
I feel it is the most
likely explanation.”

“
Yeah, well. We don’t know
for sure. Maybe … after the funeral … we can go on
looking.”

“
Where? Here?”

“
Yeah. Maybe.”

“
Why not Root? Why won’t
you come to Root with me?”

I squirmed out from under the covers
“You know why. We’ve talked about this. I’ve sort of … lost the
knack.”

“
You don’t want to go,
that‘s the problem.”

“
It’s not necessarily … a
problem.”

“
James! I am begging you to
help me find my sister.” Tears now streaked her cheeks.

“
Hey. And I will. As soon
as I can. I’ll cross with you. I promise. I’m just … not there
yet.”

“
You promise?”

“
Yeah. I’ll find a way. I
will! Come back to bed. Try and get some rest. We have another long
day of traveling tomorrow.

She rose up off the chair, silhouetted
by the window, and glided to the bed like a specter, collapsing,
crumpling onto the sheets beside me.

Chapter 9:
Manchester

We drank loads of coffee that morning
with our black pudding, beans and tattie scones. The hedges outside
our window still dripped from three days of accumulated drizzle.
The sky was still grey but brighter. Thin patches in the clouds
filtered the sun and washed the city the city with a subdued glow.
I don’t think I could have handled a day with blue
skies.

Karla hadn’t slept much and it showed.
She looked ten years older. I could see traces of the woman she
would become if she lived past thirty. I hate to say it, but the
hollowness in her cheeks reminded me of those heroin addicts I used
to see near the bus station in Fort Pierce.

As for me, who knows how I looked. I
avoided mirrors as much as I could. But I was ashamed to feel so
refreshed, and guilty for not feeling as distraught over Sturgie’s
death. He had been much closer to Karla, the only friend she had
outside the church in the real world when she still lived with her
dad. To me, he wasn’t much more than a passing acquaintance though
I had heard so much about him from Jessica and Helen. How he had
basically grown up on the goat farm with Renfrew, spending every
summer vacation with his uncle from the time he was
seven.

I also felt bad for not having the
same level of emotional investment in the search for Isobel. But I
had confidence in a more positive explanation for her disappearance
than the worst case scenarios that haunted Karla. Isobel was a
capable girl. In some ways she was even more robust and resilient
than Karla. Given what she was up against, maybe she was simply
savvy enough to be lying low. She was aware of the forces about
this world who wanted to do her harm.

When we checked out of the hotel, I
paid the bill with that bottomless black credit card. We planned to
hop yet another train that morning to follow Sturgie’s remains back
down to Wales, which were apparently traveling by lorry. His dad
was already in Inverness making the arrangements.

Karla perked up a bit as we walked to
the station. I was glad to hear her singing under her breath and
she rewarded my little quips and jibes with a few smiles. Those
right there—those smiles—they were little slices of heaven to me.
For such moments … in such moments … I lived.

Once we got onboard and found our
seats, Karla zonked out with her head slumped over in my lap,
snoring most of the way to Manchester. I kept as still as I could
to not wake her up. A full bladder and pins and needles in my leg
were well worth the price of having her get some rest.

She woke from her nap in time to have
some tea before we changed trains in Manchester. Nasty place, that
Manchester, or at least the parts I could see from the train. Its
music scene was legendary, nothing I saw from the window made me
want to spend any time there.

When we exited onto the platform, I
made my usual scan of the station. It was mid-day and the place was
crowded. I saw nothing unusual but a watchful man wearing glasses
stood by the entry into the ticketing area, rocking back and forth
on his feet.

I was prepared to ignore him. He
seemed innocuous enough. Far from the model of the lone watchers I
had erected in my head. This guy looked like he could be a tax
accountant. His sandy brown hair was neat, flat and conventional.
He wore a white shirt, buttoned up all the way, under a pastel blue
cardigan. His watch was one of those Casios with the built in
calculator.

His eyes went straight to mine as we
approached. Nobody does eye contact like that in the UK, not with
strangers.

“
Mr. Moody? A word with
you, please? I will only need a minute.”

I stopped in my tracks. Karla curled
her hands into fists and went into a fighting stance. A knot of
people clogged the exit from the platform. There was nowhere to run
but back out to the tracks.

“
How do you know
me?”

“
My name is Edward Price.
I’m with the Friends of Penult. Can we head to that refreshment
stand for a little chat? I’ll buy you both a smoothie.”

“
No thank you,” Karla
blurted.

“
Please. I won’t delay you.
This will only take a minute.”

I put my hand on Karla’s shoulder.
“Let’s go see what he wants.”

We followed him over to a sticky café
table and pulled up some plastic chairs.

“
Are you sure I can’t
interest you both in a smoothie?”

“
Positive,” said
Karla.

“
Well, I know you have a
train to catch. But I just wanted to re-iterate some instructions
my colleague Miss Davolo may have passed onto you.”

“
Belinda?”

“
Yes. I believe she met
with you in Rome.”

Karla squinted at the man, “You are …
angels?”

The man blushed. “Oh no. Nothing of
the sort. Not yet, anyhow. I am with the Friends of Penult. We are
a group blessed … some would say cursed ... by visions of the
afterlife and sometimes even visitations … from beyond the grave.
We help those who have passed keep order among the living. Keep the
lines between our worlds from getting too blurry. Last chance for a
smoothie. How about it? Some iced tea perhaps? The minted mango is
quite lovely.”

“
No thank you,” Karla said
again, before I could get out a word.

“
Well, anyhow. I just
wanted to re-emphasize to you the importance of refraining from all
with these rogue agents of what they call Frelsi in what is
sometimes called … the Liminality. I believe you might possess a
certain black credit card, do you not?”

“
But … Belinda said we
could use it.”

“
She also asked you have
absolutely no contact with the Frelsians. But apparently, you met
with gentleman named Mr. Wendell Frank in the Dolomites, and more
recently a Ms. Sophie Cryer in London.”

“
Listen. They came to us.
If it was up to me I would have nothing at all to do with
them.”

“
I understand. But the fact
remains that you had several meetings with agents of Frelsi since
speaking with Ms. Davolo. Now, I’m not saying you did anything
wrong. But I would like to rectify a small error on our part. I
suspect that Belinda should not have let you keep that card. That
seems to be their primary means of tracking you, and not just
through your purchases.”

“
The thing is … I’m getting
kind of low on cash.”

“
No worries.” He pulled an
envelope from his coat pocket and slapped it on the
table.

“
Inside, you will find a
replacement. But unlike theirs, this one is untraceable, either by
electronic or … spiritual … means.”

I peeked inside the envelope. It
indeed contained another credit card, or at least something shaped
like one. It bore a set of fourteen embossed numbers on an
off-white sliver that could have carved from ivory or
bone.

“
Spiritual?”

“
We will see your
transactions of course, just like any other card. But this one will
make you much less visible to the Frelsians. Please. The card you
currently hold … the black one … may I have it?”

I held up the white card. “Will this
work in ATMs?”

“
Of course. It’s just like
the other card, only this one has no eyes and ears, I assure you.
We have no need to monitor your every breath. We just want to keep
dibs on your location. An ordinary card serves just
fine.”

“
What do you mean, eyes and
ears?”

“
Please now, can I have the
black card?”

The black card was tucked away in a
‘secret’ inner compartment. I unzipped it, and pulled it
out.

He took the card from me, pulled an
old brass cigarette lighter from his pocket and with a flick of his
thumb, set it aflame.

“
What are you doing!” I
went to slap out the flames, but he grabbed my wrist.

“
Don’t touch it! Let it
burn!”

The card splintered and folded itself
into a spider that scurried into a half-empty glass of water,
extinguishing the flames. The man upended the glass over the
spider. It scratched at the glass, struggling to escape.

“
You see? It’s an avatar,
one belonging to the Frelsian head agent, no doubt. I guarantee
that the card we have given you is just a card. The Powers-that-be
frown on fragmentation of the soul.”

“
What are you? You work for
the Seraphim?” said Karla.

“
The Seraphim are mere
servants … just like me.”

“
Who do you …
serve?”

“
Well, proximally we have
the Lords of Penult, but even they serve at the pleasure of the
Powers-that-be. And as for the Powers? I suppose they are subjects
of the Supreme Being, though who that might be and what form he or
she might take is beyond my pay grade to speculate. And frankly, it
matters not. I have my role.”

“
Are you talking about
God?”

“
Perhaps.”

“
What is your religion?”
said Karla.

The man sighed. “I have none. Nothing
nameable at least. We Friends have gone beyond the idea of faith.
There will always be mysteries in the universe, but some things are
clear, like the existence of the after realms.”

He took the glass, inverted it and
smashed it down on the bug. It shattered, and each fragment
crumbled into a smear of oily soot that the man wiped away with a
napkin.

“
Belinda should have known
better. There was a time one of their credit cards was just that—a
credit card. But Mr. Frank is craftier these days.” He gathered his
portfolio. “Yes, well, you have a train to catch don’t you? This
completes my task. Just as a reminder. You’ve done very well so
far. We are all quite pleased, but please, continue to stay out of
the after realms. And … don’t talk to strangers.”

“
But … what if we have no
choice?” said Karla. “What if the roots, they come for
us?”