‘I will not think it.’
‘Just as well. I may have only sketched her out, but I’m sure I didn’t give her the soul of a murderer.’
‘Then who did kill him?’
‘Now, this is the clever bit. This is where you redeem yourself. It is not for me to say. I will cause the truth to be unveiled. That does not mean handing it to you on a platter, my good fellow. You know who killed him. Now that Jay has so usefully provided the missing details you need, and shown you how to make a proper speech.’
‘I don’t...’
‘I will give you a hint. Look around you. Who do you see? Cast your eyes over this crowd of people and find someone you know, someone who should not be here, someone who is not part of my story. I will say it once more: what use is Anterwold if intelligent men do not use the gifts they are given?’
He folded his arms and looked down at Henary from the tomb. ‘Bring this to an end, Henary.’
‘I need time to prepare, and to think.’
‘You can’t have it.’
As Henary turned away, Lytten glanced quickly at Rosalind, who was looking puzzled.
‘What was all that about?’
‘It was all I could think of,’ he said. ‘Thenald died. I didn’t have him murdered. That wasn’t in my story at all.’
Henary, meanwhile, had put his hands together as he surveyed the crowd, first this way, then that. Finally he saw the only person who fitted the apparition’s words. ‘Someone you know, someone who should not be here.’ Someone who could have no purpose here. Could that possibly be the answer? He covered his mouth with his hands as he prepared, and closed his eyes. It was a terrible risk, one he would never have dared take, had not the apparition himself all but ordered him to do so. That gave him the confidence to proceed. He stood for many seconds before his body relaxed and he began to speak.
‘People of Willdon,’ Henary said when he finally accepted that he had to obey the apparition’s orders, ‘I stand before you a man ashamed, unworthy of my name and rank. I have been chastised by the very heavens themselves. Do any now doubt that Catherine and Pamarchon are both innocent of the terrible charges laid against them? The spirit has spoken and delivered its verdict on them both. We have been told that they are innocent, and we are bound by that judgement. Both must go free.
‘More, I have been told to seek the murderer in my own knowledge and say who killed Thenald and why, for his murder remains to be avenged, a stain on this place which must be removed once and for all.
‘So let me state it clearly: I was the cause of Thenald’s death. Let me explain.
‘For many years now, I have worked quietly in the realm of forbidden knowledge, seeking out hidden truths about the Story, investigating prophecies and the speech of mystics. My master, Etheran, talked to those whose opinions are normally ignored, to itinerant Storytellers, to hermits and to false prophets. He began to see the outline of a story that existed outside the Story, but he died before he could complete his work. I studied his papers when I wrote his own story after his death.
‘I found two letters written to Etheran by a man called Jaqui, a hermit. Curiously, I had already met this man once. In the letters there was a prophecy.
‘It seems strange to attribute any importance to such things, certainly to introduce them now. We live under the great prophecy that one day we will be judged but we ignore it, not least because no one knows when that moment will come. The Hermit of Hooke thought he did know, and put a time on it. The fifth day of the fifth year. That is what he wrote. The end will come on the fifth day of the fifth year.
‘I thought it was meaningless rambling, of course, but here we are; now his words have meaning indeed. Today is the fifth day of the fifth year. The fifth day of the fifth year of Lady Catherine’s accession to the lordship of Willdon. This is the day the Hermit of Hooke said the world would end, which meant also the day Esilio would return. Do any doubt now that he prophesied correctly?’
Henary paused to let this sink in.
‘When we met, I told Jaqui that Thenald was ruler of Willdon, and had been for seven years already. I even told him that he was in good health. He must have realised that if that was the case, then this fifth day of the fifth year, the end of the world he so desired, would not come for many years. He had to change that; he was so mad that he thought, no doubt, he was divinely appointed to bring this about. This is what I believe took place.
‘Jaqui left Hooke and travelled to Willdon, fell in with the forester Callan and waited. A wanderer, a man of no name or place, Callan called him. He stole the knife which was next seen buried in Thenald’s chest.
‘Then it seems he returned to Hooke and took up his life once more, waiting for the day he believed would prove his own importance. This is the only account which makes sense.
‘Certainly Jaqui was at Hooke until a few weeks ago, but as the day he had awaited approached, he left for the last time. I sent my student to find him, but he had gone. He was on his way here, to witness his triumph.
‘The rest is clear. He perpetrated the most terrible crime to summon the gods, perhaps in revenge for the way he had been treated in this life. He dared to return to this place, to defile the sanctuary of Esilio. Such evil impiety could not be tolerated. The monstrosity of the deed caused the heavens themselves to protest. The spirit did not respond to Gontal’s call for someone with more authority than himself. Rather, he responded to the sacrilege of a murderer daring to set foot in his sanctuary, and claiming the sanction of the gods for evil deeds. Jaqui’s foul presence summoned Esilio to this place to right the crimes and false accusations he has brought down on us.
‘His presence, I say. For the hermit Jaqui is amongst us now.’
Henary lifted his arm and pointed at the figure the apparition had told him to look for. ‘There he is. There is the murderer of Thenald. Bring him forward.’
Lytten saw from the corner of his eye that Antros went down swiftly on one knee as Henary finished his dramatic speech and reached for an arrow to slot into place. About thirty feet, Lytten guessed. An easy shot.
It wasn’t necessary, though. The man Henary pointed out did not try to run. Nor did he shout or protest. He simply stood there, and when a couple of the soldiers of Willdon approached he allowed them to take him by both arms and lead him forwards. There was an odd smile of satisfaction on his haggard face, half obscured by the tangled mat of hair.
They walked him towards the Shrine, and there he struggled free. ‘Get off me,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
They did, but stayed close as the man walked slowly forwards.
58
‘I’m afraid we’ve never been introduced properly, even though we met briefly in my driveway. My name is Henry Lytten,’ Lytten said, once the bedraggled figure stood in front of him and he had waved the crowd away. This was not a conversation either wanted overheard.
‘Alexander Chang.’
‘And you are?’
‘I am — or was — a member of the research institute which employed Angela Meerson. I was sent to find her before she kills us all.’
‘You are beginning to have my sympathy there. What is this place, Mr Chang? Do you know? I’m afraid I have only the faintest idea, and that doesn’t make much sense.’
Chang laughed harshly. ‘Well now,’ he said. ‘That’s a long story.’
‘I know. It’s my story. But it seems very real at the moment. Is it?’
‘As real as you and me. Which is to say, not very, but all we have.’
‘You seem to have had a rough time in the last couple of days.’
‘I’ve been here for more than five years.’