The Magus of Hay(137)

His face was mottled with light and dark, slanting shadows around his eyes, like a panda’s. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working. She didn’t know enough about his condition: was he in danger of collapse, a stroke? Was there any of the burden she could take?

‘How did they come together, Gwyn?’ she said. ‘After all these years. Had they been continually in touch?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘And are they as toxic together,’ Bliss said, ‘as Brace and Mephista? What, after all, have we got? Encouraged by Mephista, Brace kills Cherry Banks and disposes of her God knows where. Do we have any evidence of Jerry’s son doing it again? And why?’

‘Hey, just say that—’ Robin was on his feet. ‘You said Cherry? Cherry was the dead woman?’

‘We think,’ Bliss said.

‘Holy shit, listen, I don’t know if this helps, but when I was here last night, letting myself into the bookstore, there’s this old lady – the weird whistling old lady, Mrs Villiers, and she’s babbling at me, the way she does, and amongst it all she says – lemme get this right – Cherry don’t… Cherry don’t do it no more.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Outside the door.’

‘That’s all she said?’

‘No, there was other stuff. She said – this makes some kinda sense now – she said… it was like she’d warned this Cherry not to come.’

‘To the bookshop?’

‘I guess. And she said she’d put her up at her place. One night. Something like that.’

Gwyn Arthur said, ‘You’re absolutely sure about this? You were drunk, were you not?’

‘Not so drunk I’d get that wrong.’

‘This indicates Mrs Villiers knew there was something wrong. Back when she was compos mentis. If Cherry was a prostitute… woman of the night…?’

‘If she knew something,’ Bliss said, ‘how come she didn’t come forward at the time?’

‘If you’d known Mrs Villiers then and now,’ Gwyn said, ‘you would probably not ask that question. But we do need to talk to her. Try and talk to her.’

‘Dead right, Gwyn. Meanwhile, anything any of you hasn’t told me, you need to bring it out. Gore – why Gore? How did George become Gore?’

‘Sigil,’ Robin said.



Merrily looked at him.

‘Turning words and phrases into magical symbols?’

Bliss closed his eyes wearily.

‘No, see,’ Robin said, ‘if you’re making a sigil, you start by like condensing a word to its essence. If a letter’s repeated, you take one out. George has two Gs and two Es. You remove the extras, you’re left with Gore. Might be just a coincidence.’

‘Interesting.’ Merrily looked at Bliss. ‘Claudia would explain it a lot better than me, but it gives… George… a certain focus.’

‘A sigil’s a symbol of intent,’ Robin said. ‘You write down something you wanna happen and then reduce the letters, then make what’s left into a symbol you can focus on.’

‘Suggesting that Gore was a symbol of someone’s intent,’ Merrily said. ‘Blood and gore.’

‘Then you put it at the centre of a ritual… and you make something happen.’

‘Like a killing?’ Bliss said. Then he shook his head. ‘It’s not good enough, is it?’





63

The case for atheism


GETTING ON FOR midnight when Robin moved stiffly into Gwenda’s Bar. How welcoming it looked, like a softly lit hollow tree. More like a real home than either of his half-homes, all mellow light, a little smoke and comfortable, companionable people.

He ordered a pint of shandy. He was sweating.

‘Parched,’ he said.

Gwenda placed a cool hand on his moist cheek.

‘You can do better than a shandy, Robin, surely.’

‘Uh?’ Robin put his hands up, shaking his head in mock horror. ‘After last night?’

Gwenda laughed. He looked into her eyes and saw how pale they were for a woman with such dark hair. Not eyes you could easily connect with. All the small things you noticed when your cherished world view had fragmented like a smashed mirror.

Gareth Nunne regarded Robin with faint distaste, sucking the froth from his half of Guinness.

‘You been running, boy?’

‘Shovelling, Gary. Shovelling and scraping till we’re knee-deep in rubble.’

‘Alterations, refurbishing, I don’t do any of that. Anything don’t look right I just cover it up with books.’

‘Get any of you guys a drink?’ Robin said.

‘Go on, then,’ Gareth Nunne drained his glass. ‘Just a half.’