Yet Lytten sat at his desk, working on social arrangements for something which did not exist and never would. It was filling in the time, a confession of his inadequacy and helplessness. He had to wait now, to see how it all played out. Sooner or later, Sam would have to make the move that would take this miserable business to its natural end.
He read until dawn, and only then fell properly unconscious for a few hours before incessant, confused thoughts brought him round again.
So he got up, put on his dressing gown — a long, red flannel one which Angela, for reasons best known to herself, had bought him for Christmas — and ran a bath. Then, as the water was never hot enough, he went to boil the kettle so he could shave properly.
He made himself some coffee and carried it back to the bathroom, then slid luxuriously into the water. He stayed there peacefully until he heard a noise from downstairs. Someone was in the house. Sam must be back, he thought glumly. Ah well. He can wait until I’m ready.
He stayed for another fifteen minutes, reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort for something that was likely to be very much less pleasant, until the doorbell rang. He ignored it and it rang again, and again. So he dried himself, put the dressing gown back on and walked downstairs to find out who it was. Again.
The street outside was different since the last time he’d looked. Six police cars were parked along it, for one thing. About a dozen uniformed policemen were standing there in positions which would make it very difficult for anyone to run up or down it and get away. Two large vans of the sort Sam Wind used to transport his ogres, those troglodyte characters who for some reason he allowed to carry guns, were stopped right across the road, blocking cars, bicycles and even pedestrians from walking past.
On the doorstep stood Sam Wind, Sergeant Maltby and the young one from counter-intelligence.
Henry gazed around, then bent down and picked up the milk bottle left on the step.
‘Morning, Sam. What can I do for you?’
‘We have come for Angela Meerson.’
‘She’s not here.’
‘Yes she is. She came in about twenty minutes ago. With a girl.’
‘Really? I was in the bath. Bit rude of them not to knock.’
‘Henry, you will just have to stand aside and let us do this, you know. We need to talk to her.’
Lytten scratched his still damp scalp. ‘Oh, very well, Sam. Do your worst.’
He opened the door wide and watched as the three filed through. ‘Is that all? You don’t think you need the Parachute Regiment in here as well, just to be on the safe side? Do wipe your feet. They’re muddy, and the cleaning lady won’t be here until tomorrow.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Angela? I have no idea.’
He walked to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, ‘Angela? Are you down there? Would you come up here, please?’
There was a sound of bumping from below, then a muffled voice came drifting up from the cellar.
‘Just a sec. I’ll be right with you.’
Henry smiled grimly. ‘You see? All you have to do is ask.’
52
‘Quickly! Bring me something to write with!’
Jay burst out of the tent where the forester lay, a look of panic and distress on his face. He had spent much of his time there, keeping his old friend company. In between Catherine went in and sat next to him, saw to the changing of his dressings and bathed his head. The old man was weakening though, despite their attention, and the fever they had all feared had gripped him.
‘That bad?’ It was Catherine who understood first what he was saying.
‘He has asked me to take his story.’
‘Go back inside and stay with him. I will see that everything is brought to you. Do you know how to do this?’
‘No. Not really. I mean, I know I have to take down his words, then write them properly later. Apart from that...’
‘You let him decide. I have had to witness it many times. You listen. You don’t interrogate or demand answers to anything. You must not be shocked or upset by anything he says.’
‘What if his words aren’t clear?’
‘You can ask questions, but you cannot press him. This will be how he wants to be remembered. You are just the agent of his wishes.’
‘Anything else?’
‘If he stops, you stop. If he keeps on going, so do you, for as long as he speaks. It is your judgement about what goes into the final version. I think that many leave out embarrassing or shameful details spoken in delirium but that is for you to decide.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Have a drink of water. You’re not allowed to eat or drink while taking the story. It could go on for a long time, and you have to sit until he’s finished. When you’re sure he’s done, then call me. I’ll sit with him if his end is near.’
‘I’d like to do that.’
‘No. That’s not your job. What you have to do is far more important. Oh — and, Jay...’
‘Yes?’
‘It will be hard for you, but you must not show it. If there is a chance, please ask him to forgive me.’
‘For what?’
‘He knows.’
Jay nodded and turned to go back into the tent. He was doing too many new things, too quickly. He hoped he could do this one correctly.
A few minutes later, a writing table, paper, pen and ink were brought to him. He set them up carefully and took a deep breath.
‘Callan, son of Perel. You believe you are nearing the end of your life, and you have asked to tell your story, that it may remain behind you and the memory of your life be preserved. Am I acceptable as the recorder of your story for others to read?’
‘You are, young Jay.’ Callan’s voice was thin and rasping; Jay had to lean over to hear what he was saying. ‘I could wish for no one better.’
‘Then I am ready, and you may begin to speak.’
The forester reached out to grasp his hand. ‘Don’t worry. I know how this is done. Relax,’ he said with a watery smile. ‘This may be worse for me than you.’
Nearly five hours later, Jay emerged. Callan had spoken for so long, he had exhausted himself and collapsed into unconsciousness. Jay wished only that he could do the same. He found that Catherine had stayed nearby throughout. Now she rose, stiff from sitting so long, to ask how they both were.
‘He’s asleep. You are not needed yet.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course. It was an honour to do it. He was kind to me.’
‘Then that kindness will live for ever,’ Catherine replied. ‘That’s no consolation, is it?’
He shook his head.
‘Callan has played his part in the story, and you will play yours for a long time to come. Do not worry for him. He will soon be relieved of care, although he is incredibly strong. He may well live awhile yet. You will have to bear the burdens of life for much longer.’
‘I know all the words. I just don’t believe any of them at the moment.’
‘You have done well, Jay. Henary would be proud of you. Will be proud, I can say. You kept my secret from Pamarchon until Rosalind decided to intervene — although quite how we got away with that one I cannot say. You will be a great Storyteller. You have played your part for Callan, and it was your idea to approach Esilio to avoid bloodshed. You have done more than enough.’
He glanced at her. ‘I fear I cannot finish yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘I need to be your advocate at the Shrine.’
‘You are not trained,’ she said with vehemence. ‘You don’t know the facts, and might well have to oppose someone who does. It’s a specialised calling. You can’t just stand up and speak, you know that. For a village theft, maybe. Not when lives are at stake, and the entire fate of Willdon.’