Katherina had to push his body aside before she could pull the cell door open. Smoke billowed out towards her. Coughing, she plunged into the room, holding out her hands in front of her. The first of the two chairs was crumpled up like some sort of abstract sculpture; half the upholstery was gone, half was in flames. In the other chair sat Jon.
He was sitting with his head bowed, but otherwise he was completely untouched by the forces that had ravaged the room. He was still holding the book in his hand. Slowly Katherina approached the chair and placed her hand on Jon's shoulder. He raised his head and gave her a strained smile.
'How'd it go?'
Katherina pressed her body close to his and began to sob.
'I'm so tired,' Jon said. He was having difficulty holding his head up.
Katherina released him from the helmet and stroked his forehead.
'We have to get out of here,' she said. 'Think you can manage it?'
'So tired,' Jon repeated.
Katherina tried to haul him to his feet but he was still bound to the right armrest. The explosion had spared the chair he was sitting in, including the plastic strips that held him captive.
'Campelli,' Remer's voice suddenly thundered. Through the hole where the windowpane had been, they could see a figure in tattered clothes, his face covered with blood. 'Welcome. You're mine now.'
'Run,' whispered Jon to Katherina.
She tugged at his bonds, but they refused to give.
With a great effort Jon heaved himself upright in the chair.
'You've got to go,' he croaked, groggy with exhaustion. 'You can't let them take you.'
His words were practically drowned out by a loud explosion. Katherina flinched. She'd never heard gunshot in real life before, but she had no doubt what it was, and the stance that Remer had taken also made it clear enough.
He was holding the gun in his hand, and it was aimed at her.
30
With difficulty Jon turned his head towards Remer. He could see the gun in his hand, and Remer's lips were parted in a smile of white teeth and red blood. Jon turned his attention to Katherina and saw the fear in her eyes.
He was still holding the book in his hand, and with one last effort he focused his gaze on the words on the page and read as loudly as he could. Even though he didn't have the strength to charge what he was reading, the reaction from Remer was instantaneous. He took a step back and put up one arm to shield himself.
'Now!' shouted Jon to Katherina, and she leaped away from him, heading for the open doorway where Remer couldn't see her. There she hesitated for a second and turned to look at Jon, but he nodded urgently. She didn't move.
'Run!' he yelled with as much anger as he could muster.
Katherina looked terrified, but she pulled herself together and ran, vanishing from his field of vision.
With relief Jon let go of the book, which fell to the floor with a thud. He sank back with a smile on his lips and closed his eyes. He heard a great deal of noise all around him. People were running and speaking excitedly. Someone was whimpering; it sounded like Pau. Jon hoped that it was Pau.
The smell in the room reminded him of his activation at Libri di Luca. There was the same stench of burnt wood and plastic, the same feeling of electricity in the air, and he had a metallic taste in his mouth. The exhaustion he felt was also like before, a penetrating fatigue that made it impossible for him to move unless he gave it his full attention.
One thing that was not the same, however, was the way the reading had progressed. He had been completely out of it during the activation. It was like a blackout, and he had been unaware of anything happening around him.
The test of his powers in the cell room was totally different.
At first he hadn't noticed anything unusual. Since he'd been holding the book at arm's length, his distance from the text was further than he would have liked, and he had to squint a bit to be able to read it. The headache from the blow to his head hadn't helped matters, and he had stammered his way through the first pages. Gradually it got easier, and his reading became more flowing and coherent until he noticed the now familiar sense of control.
Jon had read four or five pages ofFrankenstein without making any major deviations. He just worked his way into the rhythm, which allowed him to orient himself in the space, the text and the energy. He held back a bit, like a runner before the decisive final sprint, tensing his powers like muscles preparing to take off.
When the section began about the revolt of the villagers and the monster's desperation, Jon whirled himself into the story and the images rose up to meet him with clear, sharp colours and distinct outlines. Instead of his surroundings suddenly disappearing, as if someone had pressed a button, there was a much softer transition, like in the fadeout of a film. Objects in his vicinity became part of the stage-set in the story – in this way the chair in front of him became the plank bed on which Dr Frankenstein constructed his monster, and the figures observing him through the glass turned into swaying trees outside the castle windows.
After that Jon turned up the effects. The images acquired a sharp, insistent light, as if they were overexposed. The emotions in the story were so strong that they seemed solid and present, like minor characters in their own right. He enhanced the horror in the scenes, as well as the hopelessness of the monster and the inhuman bloodthirstiness of the masses. The images were almost lifted out of their setting; only the pure feelings on the faces cut kaleidoscopically through the light in an increasing fluctuation of images. He sped things up even more, so the images now appeared as a whirlwind in which faces and scenes became deformed, drawn further into the spiralling movement. The colours flipped polarity, so that the figures appeared like a negative. The characters' teeth, now showing black in their garish grimaces, burned holes right through the images. The white pupils of their eyes gleamed brightly enough to leave after-images on the retina as they swirled around in the maelstrom. Jon made one last effort and threw himself into the cyclone of images.
To his surprise it was utterly dark and very quiet.
'Congratulations, Campelli.'
Remer's voice brought Jon back to the reality of the cell room. Slowly he opened his eyes and peered at Remer, who stood a few metres away. Blood was trickling out of small cuts on his face and one cheek was black with soot.
'You're the new record holder,' he went on, looking around the room. 'At a price, you might say, but very convincing.'
'Katherina?' Jon asked hoarsely.
'Don't worry, she won't get far,' said Remer.
Jon smiled. That must mean she'd at least made it out of the building. Suddenly his own situation was no longer important, and he had a sense of being invincible.
'So, what's my score?'
Remer laughed. 'We don't know the actual number. You went way off the scale. No one has ever done that before.'
'I'm glad I was able to contribute to the entertainment,' said Jon. 'Can I go now?'
Remer laughed again. 'But you've only just arrived,' he said. His smile disappeared, and his grey eyes stared at Jon with a mixture of watchfulness and anticipation.
'We've been looking for someone like you, Campelli. You're the one who's going to take us to the next level.'
Jon shook his head. 'You're crazy. I'm never going to help you.'
'Don't be so sure about that,' said Remer. 'I'm convinced that you'll see things differently once you get a chance to hear what we have to offer.'
Jon snorted.