Sacrament

'What now?'

He looked across the garden, in the direction of the voice. There was a man standing beside the viney wall. No, not a man. Steep.

'He's dead, and you'll never make your peace with him,' Steep said. 'I know ... you deserved better. He should have loved you, but he couldn't find it in his heart.'

Will didn't move. He sat and watched Steep wander in his direction, some part of him in fear, some part in bliss. This was what he'd come home for, wasn't it? Not the hope of reconciliation: this.

'How long has it been?' Steep said. 'Rosa and I were trying to remember.'

'Isn't it in your little book?'

'That's for the dead, Will. You're not yet numbered amongst them.'

'Almost thirty years.'

'Is it really? Thirty. And you've changed so much, and I haven't. And that's both our tragedies.'

'I've just grown up. That's not tragic.' He got to his feet now, which motion stopped Steep in his tracks. 'Why did you beat my father half to death?'

'He told you.'

'Yes.'

'Then he also told you why.'

'I don't believe you'd be so petty. You're better than that. He was a defenceless old man.'

'If I never touched the defenceless, then I would touch nothing,' Steep said. 'Surely you remember how quick my little knife can be.'

'I remember.'

'There isn't a living thing safe from me.'

'Now you're exaggerating,' said Rosa, drifting out of the shadows behind Steep. 'I'm immune.'

'I doubt that,' Steep replied.

'Listen to him,' Rosa said. 'Sorry about your father. He needed a little tenderness, that was all-'

'Rosa-' Jacob said.

-so I rocked him for a while. He was so peaceful.'

The confession was put so lightly Will didn't understand what was being said at first. Then it came clear. 'You murdered him.'

'Not murdered,' said Rosa. 'Murder's cruel and I wasn't cruel with him.' She smiled, her face radiant, even in the murk. 'You saw how he looked,' she said. 'How content he was at the end.'

'I won't be going so easily,' Will said, 'if that's what you've got in mind.'

Rosa shrugged. 'It'll be fine. You'll see.'

'Hush,' Steep said. 'You had your time with the father. The son's mine.' Rosa threw him a baleful glance, but kept her silence. 'She's right about Hugo,' Steep went on. 'He didn't suffer. And nor will you. I haven't come here to torment you, though God knows you've tormented me-'

'You began it, not me.'

'You held on,' Steep said. 'Anyone else would have let go. Got himself a wife to love him; children, dogs, anything - but you, you held on; haunting me, bleeding me.' He was speaking through gritted teeth, his body trembling. 'It's got to stop,' he said. 'Now. Here. It stops here.' He unbuttoned his jacket. His knife was at his belt, waiting for his fingers. There was no great surprise in this; Steep was here as an executioner. What surprised Will was how undistressed he was. Yes, Steep was dangerous, but so was he. One touch, flesh to flesh, and he could carry Steep away from this grey morning: back to that wood, perhaps, where Thomas Simeon lay, pecked blind. Where the fox loped; Lord Fox, the beast who had taught him so much. That wisdom was in him now. It made him sly. It made him sleek.

'Touch me then,' he said to Steep, reaching out to his enemy, like Simeon showing off his radiant petal. 'I dare you. Touch me. We'll see where it takes us.' Steep had stopped in his tracks, studying Will sourly.

'You said he'd be weak,' Rosa remarked, clearly amused.

'I told you to be quiet,' Steep said.

'I've got as much right-'

'Skut up!' Steep roared.

'Why don't we just talk this out like reasonable people?' Will said. 'I don't want to be haunted any more than you do. I want to let you go. I swear, I want that.'

'You can't control it,' Steep said. 'There's a hole in your head, where the world gets in. You probably get it from your crazy mother. A little touch of the psychic. It wouldn't matter if you were dealing with an ordinary man.'

'But I'm not.'

'No, you're not.'

'You're something else. Both of you.'

'Yes...'

'But you don't know what, do you?'

'You're more like your father than you think,' Steep observed. 'Both sniffing after answers, even though your lives hang in the balance.'

'Well? Do you know or don't you?'

It was Rosa who answered, not Steep. 'Admit it, Jacob,' she said. 'We don't know.'

'Maybe I could help you,' Will said.

'No,' Steep replied. 'You won't persuade me to spare you, so don't waste your breath. I'm not so afraid of my own memories that I can't endure them long enough to slit your throat.' He slid the knife from its leather sheath. 'The error wasn't yours. I accept that. It was mine. I was alone and I wanted a companion. I chose carelessly. It's as simple as that. If you'd been an ordinary child, you could have had your adventure and gone on your way. But you saw too much. You felt too much.' His voice was thick with feeling, not all of it anger, not by far. 'You .. . took me ... to your heart, Will. And I don't belong there.'

The light was strong enough, and Steep close enough, that Will could see just how sick with anticipation Steep looked. His face was white and fragile; his beauty - despite the beard and the dome of his brow, become almost feminine; almost lush, with the rest wasted, his lips, his eyes, the curve of his cheek. He raised the knife, and at the glint of it Will remembered how it felt to have it in his hand. The heft of it, the ease of it. The way it had carried his fingers with it, to do its work. If Steep got within striking distance, there would be no hope of a reprieve. The knife would find Will's life and take it, so quickly he'd barely know it was gone.

He glanced to his left, looking for the gate that led out of the garden. It was ten, maybe twelve yards from him. If he moved, Steep would intercept him in three strides at most. His only hope was to stop Steep in his tracks; and the only means he had to do that was a name.

'Tell me about Rukenau,' he said.

Steep halted, his face - which in its present state was incapable of concealing his feelings - showing blank astonishment. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. It was Rosa who said:

'You know Rukenau?'

By now, Steep had recovered himself enough to say: 'Impossible.'

'Then how-'

'It doesn't matter,' Steep said, plainly determined not to be distracted from his purpose. 'I don't want to hear about him.'

'I do,' Rosa said, striding towards Steep. 'If he knows something, then we should have it out of him.' She pushed past Jacob, and stood between Will and the knife. It was a little comfort, at least, not to be able to see the blade. 'What do you know about Rukenau?'

'This and that,' Will said, attempting to keep his manner light.

'See?' said Steep. 'He knows nothing.'

Will saw a flicker of doubt cross Rosa's face. 'You'd better tell me,' she said, softly. 'Quickly.'

'Then he'll kill me,' Will said.

'I can persuade him to let you go,' she said, her voice dipping close to a whisper. 'If you can get a message to Rukenau ... tell him I want to be back with him...'

Will caught a glimpse of Steep's face over her shoulder. He was tolerating this exchange; but not for much longer. If Will didn't supply further proof of his worth very quickly, the knife would be on him. He took a deep breath, then gave up the only other piece of genuine information he possessed.

'Back in the House, you mean?' he said. 'In the Domus Mundi.'

Rosa's eyes widened. 'Oh my Lord,' she said. 'He does know something.' She glanced back at Steep. 'You hear what he said?'

'It's a trick,' Steep replied. 'It's something he found in my head.'