Part 18 (1/2)

'More,' he whispered, his s.h.i.+rt wet and cold under his arms.

'No more,' she said quietly but firmly. She was watching Basalt closely. He suddenly had the image of himself as a boy, burning beetles with the sun through a magnifying gla.s.s, guessing which way they would try to turn.

It had been a slow drag on the freeway down south. Now Basalt was swinging the Porsche round the last half-dozen B-roads to reach the warehouse.

The sun was glowering through dark clouds as he pulled up at his offices, part of a long-abandoned industrial unit that sat between the River Colne and an overgrown stretch of the Grand Union Ca.n.a.l. But it was a useful and isolated venue for conducting business. Chong's rusting white van was already parked by the entrance.

The door was slightly ajar. Chong, perhaps bored with waiting, had broken into the building.

Basalt stormed up to the entrance and kicked the door wide open. The warehouse was dark and shadowy. 'Chong.' he called, hitting the lights. An age seemed to pa.s.s as they buzzed in the blackness, warming up. 'Where are you?'

'Basalt.' It was Chong's voice, hoa.r.s.e and oddly m.u.f.fled.

Then the lights snapped on at last.

Basalt blinked in disbelief.

Two men in ape suits stood about ten paces away, pointing guns at him, each sporting an old-fas.h.i.+oned, braided military jacket. No. Those weren't ape suits. He caught their animal stench, could see the dark intelligence in their b.e.s.t.i.a.l eyes. The apes were for real.

'What in the name of Christ is this?' Basalt nearly choked. 'Chong?'

'It's not the work of your Mr Chong, I can a.s.sure you.' The loud, authoritative voice rolled round the warehouse walls, and a well-built man in a greatcoat stepped out from the shadows that cloaked the back of the building. He held Chong as easily as the freak girl held her little doll, twisting his arm up behind his back.

'He broke in,' gasped Chong, clearly in pain. 'Says he's taking over from here.'

The huge man laughed. 'He's right, I'm afraid. But please don't shoot the messenger. That's our job.'

Chong was thrown to the dusty floor. One of the apes turned and fired. Chong screamed as his knee was scattered bloodily over the grimy floor, stared in panic at the debris, and apparently fainted dead away.

'By way of demonstration.' The big man strolled towards Basalt. 'I trust you appreciate now we mean serious business?'

Basalt pulled at his stiff s.h.i.+rt collar and glanced back at the master light switch. 'And just what is your business, Mr...?'

'My name is Sabbath. And please, don't imagine that turning out the lights will help you escape. There's the most atrocious stench about you, Mr Basalt. My apes will find and kill you just as easily in the dark.'

'Is that so?'

'Listen to me, Mr Basalt. You're meeting shortly a man called Erasmus and his ward, a child named Chloe. Am I right?'

Basalt said nothing. Sabbath removed a pistol from a shoulder holster under his coat and took over-elaborate aim at Basalt's groin.

'Tomorrow morning,' he said.

Sabbath smiled. 'I should very much like to attend.'

Basalt eyed him coldly. 'Trying to take over what I've set up, is that it?'

'My dear Mr Basalt,' said Sabbath, 'I'm not interested in taking over anything. As a business, I fear Timeless literally has nowhere to go.'

'So why are you here?'

'Simply to sequester its a.s.sets.'

'By what right?'

Sabbath smiled almost sadly at the pistol pinched in his huge hand. 'The only right that matters, Mr Basalt: I'm holding the gun.'

Twenty-one Things change Around lunchtime, Chloe wants to go back to the start of the universe. She thinks this might cheer up Jamais who is still not himself.

The two of them sit slumped against the mountain of diamonds in Chloe's special room. Jamais's nose is hot and dry and crusty. Chloe licks her finger and wipes it against the s.h.i.+ny skin but it does no good. His eyes look gla.s.sy and clouded. Like the mist in his belly is finding its way out.

'Oh, Jamais,' Chloe whispers helplessly. 'Tell me you'll be all right.'

Jamais says nothing, of course, but bravely presses his smooth head against her hand.

'If only we could find your home,' she sighs. 'Find others like you, who might know what to do. But your home's gone, like mine. Like Erasmus's.' Like so many homes have gone, she thinks. The myriad rivers they used to cross have run dry. Maybe Jamais is sick because the voids he has crossed so many times are collapsing down, dwindling out. How can he exercise, how can he run, if he has nowhere to go but this tiny universe? He will get fat. She thinks of him as a big fat lump and smiles. Jamais tries to smile too, seeing that she is happy.

'I wish Mum was here,' whispers Chloe.

Jamais closes his eyes and seems to nod. It's like someone invisible is stroking him, soothing him. Easing his pain.

She thinks of the book. This morning she saw a picture of someone who looks a little like D'Amantine, the thief from St Raphael. She knows who that is. But beyond that point, the page won't turn. She knows there is something marked there that doesn't want to be read.

She can't help but picture the design on the front of the book: an arrangement of interlocking triangles. The pattern glows and burns red in her mind. Its sharp points want to poke out her strange eyes.

'Let's go back to the start,' Chloe whispers, with a s.h.i.+ver. 'Where no one can find us.'

Her heart sinks as she sees Jamais struggle up arthritically, readying himself to go back. Normally he would be bounding playfully about, but not now. Chloe wishes her friend were well again.

For her, he rallies.

Jamais breathes in and out, slowly at first then in swift, panting breaths; his body is an engine, the ancient molecules of the air all around his fuel. She grips his collar and laughs wildly as she feels him go. This is the old Jamais, who's always young and full of fun and who can devour the distances of deep time like snack-treats.

And they get there, at the start of the universe, but it's been too much. Jamais coughs and his dark, glossy legs splay beneath him. As Chloe hovers in the void Jamais closes his eyes and floats slowly up and past her, a big black balloon. She tugs him by his tail, his eyes open and he stares around as if not recognising where he is or who holds him.

Then he sees it's her. He drops obediently to lie at her feet, tummy grumbling, head pus.h.i.+ng about on the end of his long neck.

It seems no fun here any more.

Darker, like the light they've brought with them has lost its value and dimmed.

Colder, like all the heat is slipping away from Jamais.

Scarier. Like something knows they come here and is following close behind. Antic.i.p.ating their actions.