The Everlasting (10 page)

“Parts of the Chord of Souls?”

“Some of the original parts. Hidden for . . . a very long time.” Nina grew quiet and looked through the smeared windshield, seeing something a long way off and a long time ago.

Scott continued cleaning, glancing at the woman every few seconds. He did not want to disturb her.

“I carved one of those tablets,” she said quietly. “There were twelve of us. When we learned, when we knew, we had to write it all down. Present the Chord as one continuous spell, as well as all the other stuff. If only we hadn't.”

“Who did you learn from?”

Nina shook her head. “No one can ever know. No one. It would change everything. So, they found these tablets, and they brought them home, and Lewis and your grandfather spent the rest of their lives trying to read them.”

“They never told anyone? Never asked for help from . . . I don't know . . . the British Museum or something?”

“No. The lure of the Wide hit them early on. Perhaps
even before they'd come home from Africa. Something as powerful and potent as the Chord of Souls can exude a spell . . . affect those around it without their even reading it.”

“Like radiation?”

Nina smiled. “I suppose so. Radiated knowledge.”

“And how much did they learn?”

“It took them a long time, but slowly they started to discern the language of the stones. With every new word they translated, Papa became more certain that they were doing the wrong thing. He could see the wonders of the Wide, but he was also aware of how cursed it could be as well. It's not a place meant for people, Scott. Not people like you and Papa. Not people like me.”

“But Lewis?”

Nina turned to look at him, her face stern, and in her eyes he saw the trust of ages. “No. Not for people like Lewis.”

“So why didn't Papa destroy the tablets?”

“It's not easy to destroy them once you've read them.”

Scott snorted. “What, some protective spell? A magical defense?”

“Nothing quite so romantic. It's just that the more one reads of them, the more powerful the Chord of Souls seems . . . and as I said, such knowledge is not meant to be lost.”

“So instead of destroying them, Papa hid the tablets and killed Lewis to prevent him from reading more.”

“Yes.”

“So how did Lewis—who is dead—take Helen from me? How can a dead man take my wife?”

“Lewis had read some of the Chord, and he didn't want to die. He knew some of its effects, some of the minor enchantments that went to make its whole. He used them. So now, out in the Wide, his soul still wanders. He's angry at what Papa denied him.”

“But Papa has gone. Or is he still somewhere too? Will I see him?” Suddenly the prospect of Papa visiting him in the same way Lewis had seemed very real, and it was terrifying. Lewis was a man he had barely known, but should Papa appear in such a form—there, but not there—Scott would find it awful.

“Your Papa was a good man, Scott. He
wanted
to die. He already knew too much, and he knew that. He was ready.”

“And you? How did you know him? Are you part of the reason he killed himself?”

Nina spit on a fresh tissue and wiped it across the dashboard. Another thick smear of her blood was washed away. “Too many questions,” she said. “Not enough action. We should go to find what we can of those seven tablets.”

“No,” Scott said. “No, no. I know far too little. There's so much more. Where is Helen? Why can't you find these things yourself? What do you need me for? And Papa's note . . . why did it take so long to reach me? Just what the hell are you really, Nina?”

“Like I said, too many questions.” She nodded
ahead. “Cardiff. By the castle. There's a pub, and Papa hid some of the tablets there.”

“How do you know?”

She frowned. “Haven't you read his letter?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“But you haven't got a mind as open as you claim, perhaps.”

Scott shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Papa loved you, Scott.”

“I know.”

“He really did. He loved you. But he wanted you to carry on what he had been doing. And that would have cursed you.”

Scott shook his head and started the engine. “Let's go.”

Nina crumpled the tissues into a blood-sodden ball and dropped them by her feet.

Scott pointed at the windshield. “Missed a bit.”

It took them almost an hour to get into Cardiff. He had driven this way hundreds of times before, but now everything seemed new. The row of warehouse shops—Carpetland, PC World, Mothercare—were cathedrals to lost causes. Hundreds of cars were parking in their forecourts even now, disgorging hapless couples or hassled families to be swallowed into the shops' maws, seeking goods and services that would make their lives seem less difficult and more valued. A new set of curtains might lift a couple's spirit for a few days. A fresh set of toys for their growing youngster could make them feel as though they were being good parents, the shine in their child's eyes evidence enough. They spent for comfort and shopped for peace, and all the while their bodies carried them inexorably toward a time and place where none of this would matter anymore.

Because at the end of it all—past the hugs and
kisses, the promises and lies, the smiles and nods and the knowing frowns, the gratitude and anger, the tears and the all-too-brief instances of clear, unhindered happiness that sometimes exploded a moment away—there was death.

And for some, that was when the real adventure began.

“Who is in the Wide?” Scott asked. He was looking around as he drove, staring into other cars, where drivers and passengers sat immersed in their own private worlds. Most of them looked glum and sad; a few talked into hands-free phones. One or two smiled, but only briefly; perhaps they were remembering yesterday or looking forward to tonight.

“It's not a place for people.”

“Are you there?”

“I have been.”

“The ghosts I saw . . . those things in my garden . . . I saw them when I said the words Papa taught me.”

“A rhyme from the Chord of Souls. It touches your vision; that's all.”

“I felt everything growing so much wider. A huge potential.”

“They were wraiths. Echoes of lost souls.”

“They seemed more than that.”

“Lewis presented them that way.”

Scott edged forward and then stopped again at a set of traffic lights. He glanced to his right and a woman looked away, embarrassed.
We're so private in these moments
, he thought.
Shouldn't we be chatting while we sit here? Windows down, talking, being
a part of each other's day?
He stared at the woman until she glanced back, but then felt ashamed of making her uncomfortable. “So Lewis is in the Wide.”

“It's the only place he can be without . . .”

“He was here, but it hurt him.”

Nina nodded. “It would. It does. He's in pain.”

“He must want what you have very much.” He watched her for a reaction, but her face gave away nothing. She did not even blink.

The lights changed and they moved on, two lanes filtering into one. “Where are we aiming for?”

Nina read Papa's note again. “A public house close to the castle. Across the road. Down in the ground.”

“The cellar?”

“Deeper.”

“You read all that from the note?”

“It gives me a map in my mind.”

“Papa was clever.”

Nina smiled. Scott saw the expression in the rearview mirror, which he had angled slightly to the left so that he could see her mouth, chin, scarred neck. He did not think the smile was something he was meant to see.

“He was,” she said.

“What's the name of the pub?”

“I'll know it when we're there. The language he used can't make names.”

Papa, you were such a mystery to us all
. Scott thought of their walks in the countryside, those brief snatched moments newly remembered when Papa had tried to tell him something important. Somehow
they had been hidden in his memory—or hidden
by
his memory—until now, when the note was here. Scott believed that Papa would have intended that. But with everything he discovered about his grandfather, he became more a stranger to Scott than ever. He was starting to respect the old man more and more, but he knew him less. That made him sad.

Scott drove them around to the castle car park. They had to climb three floors before they found a parking space, and when Scott turned off the engine he slumped back in his seat, arms and shoulders tense, neck strained. “I don't believe any of this is happening,” he said.

“Don't tell me I have to reach for my knife again.”

“Was that humor?”

“If you like.”

“An immortal woman from before history began is telling me jokes.”

“Like I said, Nina is lots of women. I adapt to the time I'm in. The woman from back then is almost as much a stranger to me as to you. I just share some of her memories.”

“Do you remember everything?”

Nina shrugged and smiled, and this time the smile was meant for him. “The Battle of Trafalgar is a bit hazy.”

“Hazy.” Scott closed his eyes and thought of Helen being taken from him, the real sense that she was being dragged farther away than simple distance could allow. She had grown hazy as Lewis took her away.

He started to cry. He could not help himself. This time yesterday morning he had only just read the letter from Papa, and things were still relatively normal. Now . . .

“Where am I?” he said. “I feel so lost.”

“Everyone is lost,” Nina said. “Believe me. I've been all over, and everyone is lost. There are those who buy, those who steal, and those who pray to ground themselves, but really we're all just floating.”

“Waiting for what?”

“That's something else I won't answer for you,” she said. Something about her softened then, and Scott wondered how many men had fallen in love with those eyes.
A lot
, he thought.
Many. It would be easy
. “We'll get your wife back,” she said. But she looked away and reached for the door handle. Scott caught sight of her face in the rearview mirror once again.

For the first time since he saw her sitting behind the desk in his study, Nina looked truly old.

“The pub won't be open for a couple of hours yet.”

“Doesn't matter. I'll get us inside.”

“Something you learned in the Wide?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring containing several wiry keys. “Prison.”

They sat on the banked grass verge that skirted the walls of Cardiff Castle, watching the traffic go by and drinking scalding coffee from cardboard cups. Nina seemed to like it almost boiling, closing her eyes and sighing as she drank her coffee with a double shot of espresso.

“What are we waiting for?”

“The right time.” She sipped again. Eyes closed. Perhaps she was listening rather than looking.

Scott watched people walking by. They all ignored him and Nina, enthralled in their own private worlds. They seemed to carry their personal space from their car and maintain it as they walked, rarely passing close enough to smell one another's perfumes or breath, and certainly not close enough to have to catch one another's eyes.
I wonder if they can see us?
he thought.
Maybe she's got us slightly removed, just a bit closer to the Wide
.

Across the road from them sat the Mason's Vaults, an old pub sandwiched between a Gap clothing store on one side and a branch of Forbidden Planet on the other. It had black oak beams, leaded windows and a heavy oak door that could well have been hundreds of years old. Beside the door a glazed framed case held a food menu, and the glass had been smashed. Someone had kicked the glass against the wall, but a few shards remained on the pavement, catching the morning sun. Scott wondered how he could see them from all the way across the road.

“Have you taken us somewhere?”

“No. You drove.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Knowledge is power. You're just seeing a little more.”

“Not sure I'm happy with it.”

Nina turned her face up to the sun. Scott took the opportunity to examine her profile once again, such a
peaceful sight in so much traffic noise and bustle. Someone across the road shouted, a teenager calling to another, and though it distracted Scott briefly, Nina seemed unconcerned. She must have seen and heard so much. If all this was true, she must have seen
so much
.

“I've seen plenty,” she said.

Scott blinked. “So you read my mind now, too?”

Nina shook her head. “I read your silences.”

“Remind me to keep talking.”

“I've seen attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.” She smiled, eyes still closed.

Scott drank some more coffee, stretching for something, some memory. A car horn tooted, brakes squealed, someone else shouted. Shoes struck concrete. Engines grumbled with impatience. Across the road, glass shards glittered on the pavement before the Mason's Vaults, and then he knew.
“Blade Runner,”
he said.

“Very good.”

“So you're a big movie buff?”

“I like the movies.” Nina's eyes were still closed, and she took another long gulp of hot coffee.

“You like coffee, too.”

“Yes. And salmon dressed in frog spawn, dog's liver fried in yak fat, and seeing the heat of a summer's day scorch paint shades lighter.”

“Weird.”

“I also collect the hearts of dead things.”

Scott said nothing, yet Nina responded to his silence.

“Because they're tough and strong. They outlast the rot of flesh. For a while, at least.”