The van drew closer, its engine rattling and growling under the bonnet. I checked the skies—no blackbirds or other dangers. All clear.
The van drew abreast of the copse, out of sight of the distant Heddleham gateway.
Both Squalls and Son had wound down their windows to catch the pleasant air. Son was humming a happy tune.
Midway past the copse, Son caught a slight rustling noise from outside the cab. He glanced to his right.
And saw a field mouse whistling through the air in a karate attack position, claws out, hind legs foremost—right at him.
The mouse plopped straight through the open window. Neither Squalls nor Son had time to react. There was a whirl of inexplicable movements from within the cab; it rocked violently to and fro. The van swerved gently and ran up against the dirt bank at the side of the road, where its wheel skidded and slipped. The engine petered and cut out.
A moment's silence. The passenger door opened. A man who looked very like Squalls hopped out, reached back in and drew out the unconscious bodies of Squalls and Son. Son had lost the majority of his clothes.
It was the matter of a moment to drag the pair across the road, up the bank and into the depths of the copse. I hid them there under a bramble thicket and returned to the van.[93]
This was the worst bit for me. Djinn and vehicles just don't mix; it's an alien sensation to be trapped in a tin shroud, surrounded by the smells of petrol, oil, and artificial leather, by the stench of people and their creations. It reminds you how weak and shoddy it must feel to be a human, requiring such decrepit devices to travel far.
Besides, I didn't really know how to drive.[94]
Nevertheless, I got the engine started again and managed to reverse away from the bank into the middle of the road. Then onward to the crossroads. All this had taken scarcely a minute, but I admit I was anxious: a sharp—eyed sentry might well wonder why the van was taking so long to clear the trees. At the crossroads I slowed, took a hasty look around, and leaned toward the passenger window.
"Quick! Get in!"
A nearby bush rustled frantically, there was a wrenching at the cab door and the boy was inside, breathing like a bull elephant. The door slammed shut; an instant later, we were on our way, turning right along the Heddleham road.
"It's you, is it?" he panted, staring at me.
"Of course. Now get changed, quick as you can. The sentries will be on us in moments."
He scrabbled around on the seat, ripping off his coat and reaching for Son's discarded shirt, green jacket, and trousers. How smart this outfit had been five minutes before; now it was all crumpled.
"Hurry up! They're coming."
Across the fields from both sides, the sentries approached, hopping and bounding, black rags flapping. The boy pawed at his shirt.
"The buttons are so tight! I can't undo them!"
"Pull it over your head!"
The sentry to my left was approaching fastest. I could see its eyes—two black ovals with pinpricks of light at their cores. I tried to accelerate, pressed the wrong pedal; the van shuddered and nearly stopped. The boy's head was halfway through the shirt collar at the time. He fell forward against the dashboard.
"Ow! You did that on purpose!"
I pressed the correct pedal. We speeded up once more. "Get that jacket on, or we're done. And the cap."
"What about the trousers?"
"Forget them. No time."
The boy had the jacket on and was just jamming the cap down on his tousled head when the two sentries drew alongside. They remained on the other side of the hedges, surveying us with their shining eyes.
"Remember—we shouldn't be able to see them," I said. "Keep looking straight ahead."
"I am." A thought struck him. "Won't they realize what you are?"
"They're not powerful enough." I devoutly hoped that this was true. I thought they were ghuls,[95] but you can never be sure these days.[96]
For a time, we drove along the road toward the bank of trees. Both of us looked straight ahead. The sentries kept pace beside the van.
Presently, the boy spoke again. "What am I going to do about the trousers?"
"Nothing. You'll have to make do with what you've got. We'll be at the gate soon. Your top half's smart enough, anyway."
"But—"
"Smooth down your jacket, get rid of any wrinkles you can see. It'll have to do. Right—I'm Squalls and you're my son. We're delivering groceries to Heddleham Hall, fresh for conference day. Which reminds me, we'd better check what it is we're actually bringing. Can you have a look?"
"But—"
"Don't worry, there's nothing odd about you peering in the back." Between us, in the rear wall of the cab, was a metal hatch. I gestured at it. "Have a quick peek. I would, but I'm driving."
"Very well." He kneeled on the seat and, opening the hatch, stuck his head through.
"It's quite dark… there's lots of stuff in here…"
"Can you make anything out?" I took a glance at him and nearly lost control of the wheel. The van swerved wildly toward the hedge; I righted it just in time.
"Your trousers! Sit back down! Where are your trousers?"
He sat back in his seat. The view to my left improved markedly. "I took my ones off, didn't I? You told me not to put the new ones on."
"I didn't realize you'd ditched the others! Put them on."
"But the sentry will see—"
"The sentry's already seen, believe you me. Just put them on."
As he fumbled with his shoes against the dashboard, I shook my shiny head. "We'll just have to hope ghuls aren't too clever when it comes to the etiquette of human attire. Maybe they'll think it normal for you to be changing costume now. But the guards at the gate will be more perceptive, you can be sure of that."
We were nearly at the boundary of the estate. Trees spanned the view through the windscreen. The road ahead curved into them in leisurely fashion; almost immediately the great arch came in sight. Constructed from massive blocks of yellow sandstone, it rose from the bushes at the roadside with the portentous solidity of a hundred thousand similar arches across the world.[97] What particular lordling had paid for this one, and why he had done so, I doubted anyone knew. The faces on the caryatids that held up the roof were worn away, the detail on the inscriptions likewise. Eventually, the ivy that clung to it all would destroy the stonework too.
Above and around the arch, the red dome soared into the sky and extended into the woods. Only through the arch was the way clear.
Our accompanying sentries were looking ahead of them expectantly.
A few meters from the arch I slowed the van to a halt, but kept the engine on. It thrummed gently. We sat in the cab waiting.
A wooden door opened in one side of the arch and a man came striding out. At my side, the boy gave a slight shiver. I glanced at him. Pale as he was, he'd just gone paler. His eyes were round as dinner plates.
"What is it?" I hissed.
"It's him… the one I saw in the disc, the one who brought the Amulet to Lovelace."
There was no time to answer, no time to act. Strolling casually, smiling a little smile, the murderer approached the van.
36
So here he was—the man who had stolen the Amulet of Samarkand and vanished without a trace, the man who had cut its keepers throat and left him lying in his blood. Lovelace's hireling.
For a human, he was sizeable, a head taller than most men and broad—shouldered. He wore a long buttoned jacket of dark cloth and wide trousers in the Eastern style that were loosely tucked into high leather boots. His beard was jet—black, his nose broad, his eyes a piercing blue beneath his heavy brows. For a big man, he moved gracefully, one hand swinging easily at his side, the other tucked into his belt.
93
Faquarl would have argued that it was more expedient simply to devour them, while Jabor wouldn't have argued at all, but just done it. But I find that human flesh makes my essence ache. It's like eating bad seafood—too much accumulated grime per mouthful.
94
To date, the only experience I'd had of driving had been during the Great War, when the British army had been camped thirty miles outside Prague. A Czech magician, who shall remain nameless, charged me to steal certain documents. They were well guarded and I was forced to pass the enemy djinn by driving a staff ambulance into the British camp. My driving was very bad, but at least it enabled me to complete my disguise (by filling the ambulance with each soldier I knocked down en route). When I entered the camp, the men were rushed off to the hospital, while I slipped away to steal the campaign plans.
95
96
Everything seems to aspire to be something better than it is. Mites aspire to be moulers, moulers aspire to be foliots, foliots aspire to be djinn Some djinn aspire to be afrits or even marids In each case it's hopeless. It is impossible to alter the limitations of one's essence. But that doesn't stop many entities waltzing around in the guise of something more powerful than they are. Of course, when you're pretty darn perfect to start with, you don't want to change anything.
97
All built to celebrate one insignificant tribe's victory over another. From Rome to Beijing, Timbuktu to London, triumphal arches crop up wherever there are cities, heavy with the weight of earth and death. I've never seen one I liked.