Weave World

She lowered her voice a little. ‘I know I shouldn't say it but... your grandmother wasn't entirely of sound mind.'

Suza

‘All she had was candles for light. No television, no refrigerator. God alone knows what she was eating.'

‘Do you know if anyone has a key to the house?'

‘Oh no, she wouldn't have done that. She had more locks on that house than you've had hot di

‘I just wanted to look around.'

‘Well there's been people in and out since she went: probably find the place wide open by now. Even though of having a look myself, but I didn't fancy it. Some houses... they're not quite natural. You know what I mean.'

She knew. Standing finally on the doorstep of number eighteen Suza

She put her hand on the door. Despite what Violet had said, it was locked. She peered through the front window, into a room of debris and dust. The desolation proved oddly comforting. Maybe her anxieties would yet prove groundless. She went around the back of the house. Here she had more luck. The yard gate was open; and so was the back door.

She stepped inside. The condition of the front room was reprised here: practically all trace of Mimi Laschenski's presence - with the exception of candles and valueless junk - had been removed. She felt an unhappy mixture of responses. On' the one hand, the certainty that nothing of value would have survived this clearance, and that she'd have to go back to Mimi empty-handed; and on the other, an undeniable relief that this was so: that the stage was deserted. Though her imagination hung the missing pictures on the walls, and put the furniture bade in place, it was all in her mind. There was nothing here to spoil the calm good order of the life she lived.

She moved through from the parlour into the halfway, glancing into the small sitting room before turning the corner to the stairs. They were not so mountainous, nor so dark. But before she could climb them she heard a movement oft the floor above.

‘Who's there?' she called out - the words were sufficient to break Immacolata's concentration. The creatures she'd summoned, the by-blows, halted their advance towards Cal, awaiting instruction.

He took his opportunity, and threw himself across the room, kicking at the beast closest to him.

The thing lacked a body, its four arms springing straight from a bulbous neck, beneath which dusters of sacs hung, wet as liver and lights. Cal's blow co

Shadwell moved to intercept him, but one of the beasts got beneath his feet like an errant dog, and before he could regain his equilibrium. Cal was out of the room and on to the landing.

The woman who'd called out was at the bottom of the stairs, face upturned. She stood as bright day to the night he'd almost succumbed to in the room behind him. Wide grey-blue eyes, curls of dark auburn hair framing her pale face, a mouth upon which a question was rising, but which his wild appearance had silenced.

‘Get out of here!' he yelled as he hurtled down the stairs.

She stood and gaped.

The door!' he said. ‘For God's sake open the door.'

He didn't look to see if the monsters were coming in pursuit, but he heard Shadwell cry out: ‘Stop, thief' from the top of the stairs.

The woman's eyes went to the Salesman, then back to Cal, then to the front door.

‘Open it' Cal yelled, and this time she moved to do so. Either she distrusted Shadwell on sight or she had a passion for thieves. Whichever, she flung the door wide. Sunlight poured in, dust dancing in its beams. Cal heard a howl of protest from behind him, but the girl did nothing to arrest his flight.

‘Get out of here!' he said to her, and then he was over the threshold and into the street outside.

He took half a dozen steps from the door and then turned around to see if the woman with the grey eyes was following, but she was still standing in the hallway.

‘Will you come on?' he yelled at her.

She opened her mouth to say something to him, but Shadwell was at the bottom of the stairs by now, and pushing her out of the way. He couldn't linger; there were only a few paces between him and the Salesman. He ran.

The man with the greased-back hair made no real attempt at pursuit once his quarry was out in the open. The young man was whippet-lean, and twice as fleet; the other was a bear in a Savile Row suit. Suza

She didn't grace the demand with a reply. For one thing, she was still trying to make sense of what she'd just seen; for another, her attention was no longer on the bear but on his partner - or keeper - the woman who had now followed him down the stairs.

Her features were as blank as a dead child's, but Suza

‘Get out of my way,' the woman said as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Suza

‘A friend of yours, was he?' she finally said.

Suza

At the door behind her the bear said: ‘Damn thief.'

Then he poked at Suza

‘Didn't you, hear me telling you?' he said.

Suza

‘She heard.' the woman said. This time her lips did move, and Suza

‘Who are you?' the woman demanded.

‘Leave it be,' said the bear.

‘I warn to know who she is. Why she's here.'

The gaze, which had briefly flitted to the man, settled on Suza

There's nothing here we need...' the man was saying.

The woman ignored him.

‘Come on now... leave it be...'

There was something in the tone of his voice of one coaxing an hysteric from the brink of an attack, and Suza