Читать книгу Weaveworld - Клайв Баркер - Страница 32

‘What happened?’ said Shadwell, as they drove from the hospital.

‘She’s dead,’ said Immacolata, and said no more until they’d driven two miles from the gates.

Shadwell knew better than to press her. She would tell what she had to tell in her own good time.

Which she did, saying:

‘She had no defence, Shadwell, except some poxy trick I learned in my cot.’

‘How’s that possible?’

‘Maybe she just grew old.’ came Immacolata’s reply. ‘Her mind rotted.’

‘And the other Custodians?’

‘Who knows? Dead, maybe. Wandered off into the Kingdom. She was on her own, at the last.’ The Incantatrix smiled; an expression her face was not familiar with. ‘There was I, being cautious and calculating, afraid she’d have raptures that’d undo me, and she had nothing. Nothing. Just an old woman dying in a bed.’

‘If she’s the last, there’s no-one to stop us, is there? No-one to keep us from the Fugue.’

‘So it’d seem,’ Immacolata replied, then lapsed into silence again, content to watch the sleeping Kingdom slide past the window.

It still amazed her, this woeful place. Not in its physical particulars, but in its unpredictability.

They’d grown old here, the Keepers of the Weave. They – who’d loved the Fugue enough to give their lives to keep it from harm – they’d finally wearied of their vigil, and withered into forgetfulness.

Hate remembered though; hate remembered long after love had forgotten. She was living proof of that. Her purpose – to find the Fugue and break its bright heart – was undimmed after a search that had occupied a human life-time.

And that search would soon be over. The Fugue found and put up for auction, its territories playgrounds for the Cuckoos, its peoples – the four great families – sold into slavery or left to wander in this hopeless place. She looked out at the city. A fidgety light was washing brick and concrete, frightening off what little enchantment the night might have lent.

The magic of the Seerkind could not survive long in such a world. And, stripped of their raptures, what were they? A lost people, with visions behind their eyes, and no power to make them true.

They and this tarnished, forsaken city would have much to talk about.