The Last Revelation Of Gla'aki (6 page)

The distant phone took some time to respond, which was how the head librarian treated any question. "Nathan Brighouse," he said at last.

"Nathan, it's Leonard Fairman. I thought I should report in.

"So glad you have, Leonard. All secured?"

"Up to a point, certainly."

"That'll be a negative, will it? Where's the hindrance?"

"I've acquired several volumes but the set has turned out to be somewhat scattered."

"Yes, Sandra Byers was telling me as much. Odd business, I must say. You haven't made the opportunity to assemble the set, then."

"I'm sure I will have by tomorrow."

"I'd be glad if that were the case. I'm sure the archives can survive without you for another day, but much longer and it may have to be put down as annual leave. You know how strict I'm forced to be in these straitened times."

"I assure you I'm doing all I can," Fairman told him, by no means as resentfully as he felt entitled to, and hurried downstairs to leave the key at Reception, where Mrs Berry was waiting. "Keep up the good work," she called after him.

As he drove onto the promenade Fairman saw that the haze had receded across the sea, giving the impression that the horizon had been drawn closer to the town. Before he came abreast of the theatre he turned uphill to the town hall, a massive grey edifice as plump as the statues of dignitaries that stood guard on either side. Perhaps the town didn't have much of a budget for the upkeep of monuments, since the stone faces were fattened by masks of lichen. He parked on the forecourt in front of an annexe, where the automatic doors of the tourist office deferred to him with a faint glassy squeal.

The walls were decorated with vintage posters, all of which showed the seafront very much as it still was. IMMERSE YOURSELF IN GULSHAW and BREATHE IN GULSHAW were two of the slogans that caught Fairman's eye, but the one that provoked a wry laugh said SO MUCH MORE TO SEE. So the townsfolk hadn't been mistaken after all, and perhaps he should take more notice of them. He was making for the counter at the far side of the room when a woman called "With you right now, Mr Fairman."

She was beyond a door at the end of the counter, applying makeup or retouching it so vigorously that she might have been trying to squeeze her cheeks smaller. They looked as carelessly expansive as the rest of her, most of which was contained by a loose blouse and a capacious overall. Unruly auburn curls framed nearly all of her round face, which stayed sleepily jovial as she waddled to the counter, sticking out a hand. "Heidi Dunscombe," she said, "as if you didn't know."

Her grasp felt slippery, no doubt with makeup. "What have you made of our town so far, Leonard?" she said.

"I should think that's your job."

It had taken her so little time to turn familiar that his reply was sharper than he liked, but she only said "What's that?"

"Making the most of your town."

"We'd love to have your thoughts."

Did she think he was being too unfriendly? Though her face stayed so genial that she might almost have been lost in a dream, Fairman said "Forgive me. I've been having rather an odd day."

"There's the night to come as well."

He might have expected such a comment from the bookseller, not from her. "May I have the book you're holding for me?" Of course.

Fairman thought for a moment that she was repeating herself, except that someone else he'd met had used the phrase. She waddled to a wall safe behind a desk in the office and then swung around languidly to ask "What do you think was odd?"

For a disconcerting moment Fairman had a sense of being watched from an unexpected distance, not just across her room. "Someone I met," he said.

"You'll get used to us, Leonard," Heidi Dunscombe said and turned ponderously away to spin the wheel on the safe. "What was odd about him?"

"He seemed to believe in the book he had. I don't imagine you do."

The safe lumbered open, gaping with darkness, a lump of which Heidi Dunscombe brought forth. She hugged it to her breast while she shut the metal door and twirled the wheel. As she advanced to the counter she said "It's belief that makes us what we are, Leonard."

Despite her equable expression, he assumed this was a rebuke. When she handed him the book, her breasts seemed to swell as if she were taking an enormous breath. The cover of the volume was imprinted with unfamiliar constellations, presumably somehow illustrating the title,
Of the Secrets behind the Stars.
"Thank you," Fairman said and hesitated. "May I ask how you came by it?"

"The same as everybody. From our father."

The wording unsettled Fairman, and so did the remoteness of her gaze. "Can you tell me whom I should see now?" he said.

"Of course." Her pause might almost have implied that he should know as well. "Rhoda Bickerstaff," she said. "She looks after our old folk."

"Not all of them, surely."

"Just the worst ones, Leonard." Her face suggested she had taken his bemused comment as a joke. "We like to think our town's a healthy place," she said.

She added a heavy nod, not just for emphasis. When Fairman looked where she was indicating he saw a brace of joggers down on the promenade. He assumed she had them in mind rather than the people plodding uphill, though even the joggers didn't seem especially energetic. "You'll find Rhoda at the Leafy Shade," Heidi Dunscombe said.

"Would you happen to have the number? I ought to let her know I'm coming."

"If you think so," Heidi Dunscombe said and told him the number.

As he keyed it he was conscious of her watching him across the dormant book on the counter. Her gaze seemed as remote as the bell that began to ring in his ear—to ring at considerable length. He was preparing to leave a message on a machine when at last a woman's voice said "Leafy Shade."

She sounded at the very least harassed. "Could I speak to Rhoda Bickerstaff?" Fairman said.

"Who is it?"

"Don't you know?" Fairman almost retorted, having come close to thinking everybody knew about him in advance. "I'm from the Brichester University archive," he said. "Is that Ms Bickerstaff?"

"What do you want, Mr Fairman?"

So she did know who he was, in which case she didn't need to ask this question either. "I believe you have a book for me," Fairman said.

"I can't talk about it right now."

Her voice was growing more agitated, while her breath seemed in danger of falling short of her words. "No need to," Fairman said. "Just tell me when I can collect it. I'd appreciate the soonest you can manage."

"I told you, not now."

Although he didn't think she had, arguing would waste time. "Forgive me if I've caught you in the middle of a crisis, but when is it likely to be convenient?"

"I don't know. Not today."

"It really won't take long at all." When this failed to earn a response Fairman said "Couldn't you leave it with someone for me to pick up and then I wouldn't need to trouble you?"

"Who?" This came out not unlike a gasp, but she found enough breath to add "I can't. You'll have to wait for me."

He supposed whatever problems were preoccupying her could involve her staff as well. "Then could you just tell me whom else I can see while I'm waiting?"

"I can't. You'll have to wait. You've got enough to occupy your mind."

"You mean you—" Fairman said, only to find he was talking to waves of static.

Heidi Dunscombe hadn't even glanced away from him. "Isn't she ready?"

"Apparently not," Fairman said and couldn't restrain his frustration. "She won't give me a time and she won't say who else there is to see. Can you?"

"She's next, Leonard."

"Yes, but I can get the other volumes in the meantime. Who has them, do you know?"

"I can't tell you."

He was angered not just by her words but by the jovial expression that seemed independent of her distant gaze. "Can't or won't?" he blurted.

"You'll understand us better soon, Leonard."

He was almost furious enough to give this the answer it deserved. The glass doors had squealed shut by the time he muttered "I hope I never need to." Perhaps his muted outburst was the reason people stared at him as he marched to his car. While he drove along the promenade he looked out for signs of the healthiness Heidi Dunscombe had wanted him to notice, but he couldn't see much. A man sitting rather less than upright in a wheelchair was waving one floppy hand beside a wheel as though to urge it to turn faster. Several people were walking dogs whose faces seemed almost to scrape the pavement, and at least one owner's could compete for pendulousness. There were joggers, but none of them appeared to be capable of overtaking the walkers or the chair. Their energy seemed to flag even further as they came abreast of his hotel.

The thump of the club attached to his key greeted him as he made for the reception counter. "Another one for the vault?" Janine Berry said, pressing her brow pallid with a fingertip.

"You could put it that way if you like," Fairman said despite thinking that somebody other than her might have—Frank Lunt, for instance, or the bookseller. All the way to his room the key rattled against the carton as though eager to unlock the secrets within. The wardrobe and the safe inside it were shut tight, and no marks were visible on the metal door. It didn't matter that the safe had space for just one more carton; he was determined to be back at the archive tomorrow with the entire set of books. He removed the four volumes from their cartons and lined them up on the dressing-table, where they seemed to bring too much darkness into the room—because the mirror doubled them, of course. Presumably this was what people called daydreaming, and he ought to be examining the books, but not until he'd made a call.

By the time Sandra answered he'd begun to wonder if she had switched her mobile off. "Are you only just starting out?" she said.

"Hasn't Nathan kept you informed? I hear you've been discussing me."

"It was library business, Leonard. You surely don't object to that"

"Not in the slightest. Keep him posted by all means. He already knows I won't be back today, though."

"You mean you told him but not me."

"I'm telling you now, Sandra." Fairman wasn't going to be made to feel unreasonable. "And he might have passed the information on to you," he said.

No doubt her pause was a form of rebuke. "So what's keeping you where you are?"

"What else except the books?" He'd turned towards the window, but seemed to feel their massed blackness behind him, making him impatient to read. "I still have to lay my hands on some of them," he said. "I will tomorrow."

"I don't understand. How many are you leaving until then?"

"About half. Well, just more than half." With mounting irritation Fairman said "I told you they're being held by a number of people. The one I have to see next isn't available today."

"I'm not grasping this at all. Why can't you deal with the others while you're waiting?"

"Because apparently it isn't done like that. Don't bother asking me why." This left him feeling so inadequate that he blurted "If you talk to Nathan you might like to know he's suggesting I'll have to take my time here as leave."

"But you haven't any left this year, Leonard. Our holiday is all you have."

"You don't need to tell me that." In a bid to make up for his abruptness Fairman said "You might try to use your wiles to change his mind."

"I really don't believe we have that kind of relationship."

"Then maybe you should work on having one for both our sakes." When she gave him another silence to construe Fairman said "I'll call you tomorrow as soon as I'm done here."

"Meanwhile you'll be enjoying the sort of holiday you wish you'd had, will you?"

"No," Fairman said, not seeing why he should feel accused. "I'll be doing my job."

He gazed through the window as he ended the call. Several old folk had their backs against the graffiti in the shelter on the promenade, hiding the unreadable clumps of letters. Dozens of people were sitting or lying on the beach, and there were even swimmers in the sea despite the greyish haze that enclosed it. The haze made the more distant ones hard to distinguish, but the most unstable of the shapes among the waves had to be jellyfish. In any case he ought to be attending to the books.

It made sense to start with the first volume, but he found himself lingering over the colophon. He wasn't far from imagining that the inhumanly distorted hand could conjure up some idea in his mind, and perhaps this had been the book designer's aim, since the volume was
On Conjuration.
"The tongues of men reduce the world to words..." Was that supposed to mean that gestures achieved something else? In that case, what was the point of this book entirely composed of words? Surely he oughtn't to expect it to make too much sense. Ah, here was some kind of enlightenment further down the page. "Let no man utter the secret words who has not first prepared his mind and spirit in the occult ways, for otherwise the words shall batten on him and shape him to their liking..."

"No chance of that," Fairman said and was glad that Sandra couldn't hear him talking to himself. He stared at his reflection as though holding it responsible, and it stared at him across the inverted volume in its hands. He glimpsed it ducking its head to read "The beliefs to which the mass of men cling are the foes of revelation" and imagined it reading not just the words but all the letters in reverse. "The prating of the prophets chatters down the centuries without beginning to encompass the truths which shape the world. Still less can the gewgaws of religion challenge forces older than the universe we know. In his enfeebled Christian travesty of Al-Hazred, John Dee speaks of a glowing cross which appeared above the sabbats to confound the summoned powers. Say rather that the sabbats were no more than puerile parodies of ancient rituals, so mired in the tradition of the celebrated Jew that the biblical bauble could be misapprehended as a talisman..."

Fairman took a few moments to consider the Dee allusion. It referred to the alchemist's unpublished English paraphrase of the
Necronomicon,
which survived only in the form of fragments held by the British Museum, together with a fifteenth-century Latin translation, and Fairman couldn't have said why it left him feeling oddly vulnerable. His reflection gave him a conspiratorial nod as he bent his head once more to the book.