Personal Darkness (34 page)

Tina and Red went to the ladies' and came back smelling good. Red wore no makeup and needed none, with her clear pink skin and sapphire eyes. Connor would have liked a go at Red, but Red was not for him.

"Whisper treating you all right?"

"Oh, it's marvelous. Like chariot racing."

"Better," said Connor.

"Okay," said Red. "Better."

She kissed Viv on the nose and Viv licked her. Viv was soppy with the good ones, but she had taken a chunk out of a guy who had raised his hand against Connor. Viv was a doll.

They went out and the night was dark, the way night got to be, even in the sodium-lit cities.

Connor looked up. "Once there were stars."

"You want to tear this streetlamp rubbish across," said Red, "get at the darkness."

She was a good one all right.

They mounted up, and Viv sat in the bag and Connor put back her goggles and gave her a handful of crisps.

She liked riding.

They took off like rockets. The engine poured up its power. You grew into the machine. The body became a shaken jelly of rock and the soul slipped loose, half an inch out into the night. That was how you rode. You were the bike, and out of the body, and never so real as then.

They arrowed up the hills of London, through the lumbering cars and elephant buses, past the parks of winter grass, between the high walls flimsy as paper.

When they came up the final road, the big trees were looming above like a forest. And then there was the house. Connor had been told what he could expect.

A witch's mansion. Turrets and towers. Sunbursts of windows.

"Up there?" said Rose, coming level.

"That's the place."

They soared up the hill toward the house, and swerved to rest on the flatter ground before it.

The noise of the bikes died.

It was quiet.

They stood marshaled, and Connor reviewed them.

"Okay. Now watch yourselves. No messing about. This is Camillo's drum." Cardiff farted. "And none of that, either." Viv barked. "You're smashing," said Connor. He took off her goggles, and marched toward the door.

No bell. A knocker that was a green man head, leaves sprouting from its lips. Nice. "Hands off," he said to them, indicating the knocker. Then he knocked.

No one responded. But they waited patiently. Camillo had told Connor to come, late winter, just before the spring. "Come and rescue me," Camillo had said, and gave his high horse laugh.

Finally the door did open. A slim old lady in a black dress, alabaster and ebony, like a waxwork meant to represent an old lady.

"It's Camillo we want," said Connor, gently. "He invited us."

"Please enter."

They entered. Two doors to go through, and then the big hall, with pillars, and under the electric light, the rosy oil lamps softly flickering.

"I will go and tell Mr. Camillo that you're here."

"Thank you," said Connor, courteously.

The light was wonderful for Red. They looked like an invasion, of course. The black hard leathers. A faint whistling sounded.

"Cardiff," said Connor, "I warned you."

"Sorry."

Tina laughed.

Rose was over stroking the balustrade of the stairs.

"Look at this."

Then a woman came out of a doorway below. She wore a white party dress, like something Ginger Rogers might have had, at her most glamorous. Her long dark wavy hair was great and Connor liked the way she wore it, even though she must have been fifty-five.

"Please come in," said this woman.

So they went in behind the stairs to a wide white room, Viv bustling after them.

There was a black-haired beauty sitting on a sofa, but she looked too vacuous for Connor's taste. She was eating a rum baba. Behind her on the huge TV was
Die Hard
. The sound had been turned down, but Rose, Tina, Pig, Whisper, and Cardiff at once began to watch the film, the way they did the TVs in pubs, and even through plate-glass shop windows.

Red stood in awe over a gilt table with a small green bowl on it.

"This is
real
," she said.

She should know.

"Will you have something to drink?" asked Miranda. "I'm afraid Eric and Sasha are upstairs. And the girls. Tracy and I have been watching this remarkable film. Do you know it?"

"
Yeah
," said Cardiff. "Can we have the sound up?"

"No," said Connor.

"But of course," said the woman. She touched Connor's hand sweetly. "I'm Miranda. Camillo will be here soon, I'm sure." She went to the TV and turned up the sound. Rose, Cardiff, Whisper, Tina, and Pig became totally glazed. And the beauty with the plate of rum baba also returned a fixated gaze to the screen. Viv sat and stared only at Connor.

Miranda made them drinks then. There was a bottle of Zinfandel two-thirds full standing in ice, and Connor had some of that. Red too. Cardiff asked for beer and Miranda went out into the hall and called softly, and someone came and she sent him for it.

Rose and Pig had vodka, and Tina had some sherry. There seemed to be virtually everything there.

"Would your dog like a drink?"

"I'll give her a drop of wine, if that's all right. She's got a good palate. Never smoked, you see."

Miranda laughed, musically, like a girl. Connor looked at her closely. She was old, but he quite fancied her. She bent and smoothed Viv over and Viv beamed. Then Miranda took the real jade bowl off the -table and put Zinfandel in it for Viv. The dog lapped. She was delighted.

Someone died on the screen.

"
Yeah
!" bellowed Whisper.

An oldish man came in, carrying a big tankard of beer on a tray. Cardiff grabbed.

"Watch it," said Connor.

"Thanks," said Connor to the oldish man, who was not actually really old at all, only gray-haired.

The man went out.

Connor said to Miranda, "Ever been on a bike?"

"No," said Miranda. "In my day it was horses."

"It's like a horse," said Connor. "A horse that has wings."

"Why—" said Miranda, "how exciting."

Her eyes were glorious. Black as buggered night.

She was a queen of the green hills, and he could sit at her slippered feet with his harp, if he only played one.

"If ever you want to try," said Connor, "I'm your man."

Secretively, the way the women did, she lowered her eyes, and Connor thought of riding with Miranda, and those slim pale hands around his big middle.

"The last time I rode on a horse," said Miranda, "was to a wedding feast. The bride was dressed in blue, and there was a big cake colored by saffron, the shape of a hand holding a key. The things one remembers."

"Some foreign wedding," said Connor.

"Oh, yes. In Italy. My name wasn't Miranda then, you know. That came later, from a play."

Connor felt a wide crevice opening before him, and he was almost eager to drop into it, but something stayed him. The raven goddess, the dark-eyed Morigan. Best beware.

Red said, "Connor, he's here. This is him, isn't it?"

She had confided long ago that she did not care for young men. At Cambridge she had had an affair with a scholar sixty years of age. She had wrapped him in her copper hair.

Connor looked around, and in the doorway was Camillo.

He looked young tonight. Maybe too young for Red. But no. The ancient eyes were still there, looking out.

"Here you are," said Camillo. "Is it time then? It must be."

"Whatever you say," said Connor.

Viv barked lightly. And Camillo knelt down. Viv went to him and they greeted each other.

"On your feet," Connor said to the TV addicts. They got up and clustered around. He brought Red forward. "See what I have here."

Camillo looked up, slyly.

Red smiled, showing her even white teeth.

"Not a bimbo this time," said Connor. "Red has studied history. She's ridden a long way to meet you."

Camillo stood up again. He looked at Red, with his head to one side.

"I'm an old man," said Camillo, skittishly.

"I like old men," answered Red. "They're clever."

"And grateful? I'm never grateful."

"I'd hate you to be," Red replied.

"Tell me something about history," said Camillo.

Red hesitated. She said, "There were three King Arthurs. Tribal chiefs. Three Camelots, too. Only one Guinevere. But that wasn't her name."

"Something else," said Camillo.

"Under the Romans, Britain produced some of the best wines in the Empire."

"More."

"In certain Semitic cultures, prostitutes placed gold coins in the mouth of the cervix, after the birth of a child, to prevent further unwanted pregnancies."

"Do you have a gold coin?"

"No. My tubes are tied. I don't want children."

"But you want old men."

Tray turned from the TV and looked suddenly afraid.

"Camillo, shhh," said Miranda. She went to Tray and put her arm about her, and Tray rested her head on Miranda's sequined arm.

Red said calmly, "Old men are only young men in a different skin."

"Not me."

"Well," said Red, "you can teach me, can't you."

They made a camp, down the slope from the house, under the trees. Nobody would disturb them, try to move them on, Camillo had said.

Camillo was not ready yet, apparently. That was fine. They could wait.

The man who had brought them beer brought them down a supper from the house. Wine and beer and vodka, smoked fish and hot toast streaming with butter, wedges of yellow cheese, prawns, a dish of grapes and apples and peaches.

"He's a tease," said Red. She grinned at Connor. "I like that. I'll have to woo him."

Connor thought about Miranda. Viv settled on his chest as they lay in the tent. Viv was tipsy.

Outside, the fire burned. They were a camp of mercenaries. Camillo's now: Waiting. The rain slept. They slept too.

In the morning, early, Connor and Viv got up in the gray-tawny February dawn to relieve themselves. Viv was in high spirits despite her debauch, playing about in last year's leaves. When they came back, a man was standing under the house, regarding the camp.

"Good morning," said Connor. And took a stance on the grassy slope. Viv ran up, staring.

The man was tall and spare, with the longest, whitest hair Connor had seen. The face, Connor knew.

The man said, "Camillo's friends, perhaps."

"Believe it," said Connor.

The man nodded, and walked away around the house. As he went up, the woman, Miranda, came out and down. They passed each other with a vague acknowledgement. Miranda turned, and looked after him, her hands up to her throat.

Connor climbed to her.

"What is it?"

"Ah," she said. She put down her hands. "Some news. He will want Eric."

"Whitey," said Connor. "He's Camillo's son, isn't he?"

Miranda glanced at him. She was preoccupied.

"Oh, no. No. His father. That is, Camillo is Malach's son."

Connor looked away into the distances of the world.

"Malach. You're telling me that white one is the father of Camillo."

"Yes," she said, distractedly.

Connor felt a stirring he had known all his life. It was the oldness in him. He picked up Viv and ruffled her head. And Miranda glided by him down into the trees, as if she went to gather strange herbs for witchcraft, or to some tryst a hundred years too late.

BEFORE THE DIM IRIS MORNING WINDOW, Althene's form was elongated and black. "He'll bring her this evening. I am to tell you."

"I see."

"Not entirely. I am also to explain it all to you."

Rachaela said tartly, "Since I'm the resident imbecile."

Althene laughed. She sat down on her dark blue bed. Rachaela huddled there in her jumper and skirt. They had got up early, to walk on the common, then Althene returned from below with a tray of new bread and coffee. And with this.

Malach was bringing Ruth to the house.

"Why does he have to come here?" Rachaela asked. "Is it some sort of test?"

"Yes, perhaps."

"What will they do? Poison her with a glass of wine?"

"No. They will formally give her to Malach. That's all. It's a ceremony. Then they can be free of her, even though she's theirs."

"And mine. She's my daughter. Supposing I don't— won't—
give
her to Malach."

"She belongs to him already, I imagine," Althene said. "That's what he will have been doing. Taking her."

Rachaela clenched her hands.

"You mean they're lovers."

"I expect they are."

"She's twelve," said Rachaela. She frowned. "No, she's thirteen. But—for God's sake. She's a child."

"Never, probably. A child in some ways, of course. But he will take care of that too. Malach is expert."

"Oh, yes."

"So bitter, my love," said Althene. She stroked back Rachaela's hair. "Ruth was a burden to you you could never bear. But for Malach it will be interesting, a challenge, perhaps. He'll take her away. He'll see that she is educated, trained. She'll want to please him and so she will shine. A father and daughter, with the sweetness of sex added for spice."