Sacrament

She broke her gaze, and hurried upstairs, calling back down to him as she reached the landing. 'Have you got any way of defending yourself against him?'

'Yes I have.'

'Are you going to tell me what?'

'Just something,' he said, reaching inside his jacket and touching the knife, which he had not done since picking it up. He felt the thrill of its history in his fingers, and knew he should let it go. But his flesh refused. His fingers tightened around the gummy hilt, instantly addicted to the rush it supplied. Oh the harm this knife could do- lt would not be hard to kill Steep; to slide the blade deep into his unhappy flesh and stop his heart. And if he had no heart to stop, then the knife would just go on cutting holes in him, until he was a thing of scraps, with the life pouring out everywhere.

'Will?'

Frannie was calling from upstairs.

'Yes?'

'Didn't you hear me? I've been yelling.'

Lost in the blade's brutalities, he hadn't heard a word. 'Is there a problem?' he called back, opening his jacket as he did so. His hand was still clamped to the hilt of the knife, his knuckles white. 'I'd just like a cup of tea!' Frannie yelled back.

It was such an absurd contrast - the knife in his hand, filthy with Row's juices, and Frannie's thirst for tea - that it snapped him from his reverie completely. He pulled his knife-hand free, and closed his jacket as though he were slamming Pandora's Box.

'I'll brew up,' he said, and went through to the kitchen, his body aching as he moved. He could not at first understand why. It was only as he washed his hand clean under the cold tap that he realized it was the scars left by the bear that were troubling him, as though his system was punishing him for denying it the pleasure of the blade by awakening old pains. He would have to be careful, he realized. The knife was not to be treated lightly. If and when he wielded it, there could be consequences.

His hand cleansed, he busied himself about the kitchen preparing the tea, hearing Frannie thumping about above. He had brought the threat of calamity into her life, but her sanguine manner suggested she had vaguely expected it. Like him, she had been marked; so had Sherwood. Not as profoundly, perhaps; but then who was to say? If Sherwood had not fallen prey to Rosa, perhaps his mental state would have improved over the years, and Frannie would have been freed of her responsibilities to him. Courted, perhaps; married, perhaps. Lived a fuller, happier life than had been her lot.

He was filling the enamel teapot with boiling water when he heard the front door open and close, and Frannie calling from above: 'Is that you, Sherwood?'

Instead of declaring himself, Will hung back. Frannie was coming downstairs now. 'I was getting worried about you,' she said. Sherwood mumbled something Will couldn't hear. 'You look terrible,' Frannie said. 'What on earth's happened?' 'Nothing-'

'Sherwood?'

'I'm just not feeling very well,' he said, 'I'm going up to bed.' 'You can't. We have to leave.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Sherwood, we have to. Steep's come back.'

'He won't touch us. It's Will-' He stopped in mid-sentence, and looked towards the kitchen door, where Will had stepped into view.

'Is Rosa still alive?' Will said.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Sherwood said. 'Frannie, what's he talking about? We don't have to leave. Will's just here to cause trouble as always.'

'Who told you that?' Frannie said.

'It's obvious,' Sherwood replied, staring at the floor rather than his sister's face. 'That's what he's always done.' 'Where is she, Sherwood?' Will said. 'Did he bury her?'

'No!' Sherwood shouted. 'She's my lady and she's alive!'

'Where?'

'I'm not telling you! You'll hurt her.'

'No I won't,' Will said, stepping out of the kitchen. The move alarmed Sherwood. He turned suddenly and bolted for the front door.

'It's all right!' Frannie yelled, but he wasn't about to be persuaded. He was out of the door at a dash, with Will on his heels. Down the path to the gate, which was open, through it and off to the left, and left again, cannily avoiding the street, where traffic might slow him, to make for the open ground behind the house. Will pursued him up the track, yelling vainly for him to stop, but Sherwood was too quick. If he made it out to the open field, Will knew, the chase was lost. Frannie had outmanoeuvred him however. Out of the back of the house she came, and ran straight at Sherwood to intercept him, catching such firm hold of him he couldn't wrest himself free fast enough to be out of her grip before Will caught up.

'Calm down, calm down,' she said to him.

He ignored her, and turned his ire on Will. 'Why did you have to come back?' he yelled. 'You spoiled everything! Everything!'

'Now you hush yourself !' Frannie snapped. 'I want you to take a deep breath and calm down before you hurt somebody. Now ... I suggest we all go back into the house and talk like civilized people.'

'First he has to take his hands off me,' Sherwood demanded.

'You're not going to run, are you?' Frannie said.

'No,' Sherwood replied sourly.

'Promise?'

'I'm not a child, Frannie! I said I wouldn't run, and I won't.'

Will unhanded him, and Frannie did the same. He didn't move. 'Satisfied?' he sulked, and slouched back into the house.

ii

Once inside, Will left Frannie to ask the questions. Plainly he was the enemy as far as Sherwood was concerned, and there would be no answers forthcoming if he was doing the enquiring. She began by reciting a shortened version of what Will had told her. Sherwood was silent throughout, staring at the floor, but when she told him Hugo had been murdered by Steep and McGee -which fact she cleverly kept back (at first simply saying Hugo was dead) until almost the end of her monologue - Sherwood could not conceal the fact that he was shaken. He'd been fond of Hugo, according to his last conversation with Will, and became fidgety and then tearful as Frannie described Rosa's part in it.

At last he said: 'I only wanted to save her from Steep. She can't help herself.'

He looked up at his sister now, blisters of tears in his eyes. 'Why would he hurt her if she wasn't trying to free herself? That's what she wants to do.'

'Maybe we can help her,' Will said. 'Where is she?'

Sherwood hung his head again.

'At least tell us what happened,' Frannie said gently.

'I met her a few days ago on the fells when I was out walking. She said she'd been looking for me; she needed my help. She asked me if I could find her somewhere to sleep, now that the Courthouse was gone. I knew I should be afraid of her, but I wasn't. I'd imagined seeing her again so often. Dreamed about meeting her just the way I did, up there in the sun. She looked so lonely. She hadn't changed at all. And she told me how happy she was to see me again. I was like an old friend, she said, and she hoped I thought of her the same way. I told her I did. I said I'd get her rooms at the hotel in Skipton, but she said no: Steep refused to stay in a hotel, in case somebody locked the doors while he was asleep. I don't understand why, but that's what she said. She hadn't even mentioned Steep until then, and I was disappointed. I thought maybe she'd come back on her own. But the way she begged me to help her, I saw she was afraid of him. So I said I knew a place they could go. And I took her there.'

'Did you see Steep?' Frannie asked him.

'Later I did.'

'He didn't threaten you?'

'No. He was quiet, and he looked sick. I almost felt sorry for him. I only saw him once.'

'What about this morning?' Will said.

'I didn't see him this morning.'

'But you saw Rosa?'

'I heard her but I didn't see her. She was lying in the dark; she told me to go away.' 'How did she sound?' 'Weak. But she didn't sound as if she was dying. She would have asked me to help her if she'd been dying. Wouldn't she?' 'Not if she thought it was too late,' Will said. 'Don't say that,' Sherwood snapped. 'You said we could help her two minutes ago.' 'How can I be sure of anything until I see her?' Will replied. 'Where is she, Sher?' Frannie said. Sherwood was looking at the floor again. 'Come on, for God's sake. We're not going to hurt her. What's the problem?' 'I ... just don't ... want to share her,' Sherwood said softly. 'She was my little secret. I liked it that way.' 'So she dies,' Will said, exasperated. 'But at least you haven't shared her. Is that what you want?' Sherwood shook his head. 'No,' he murmured. Then, even more quietly, 'I'll take you to her.'