The Magus of Hay(53)
He started to rearrange the shelves with more books face out: Natural Magic, The Book of English Magic, A Witch’s Bible.
If one in three books was face out, he reckoned he could fill all the shelves. Also, they needed to think about getting some of these signed by the authors. Famous pagans. Jeez, how many famous pagans were there these days? Gerald Gardner, Alex Sanders, Doreen Valiente – all dead.
Days ago, he’d brought his old Black and Decker and some wooden steps. He shook out some wall plugs into his hand, wondering if they’d be deep enough to plug the outside wall, take big enough screws to hold the sign up:
Thorogood Pagan Books
That seemed so feeble now. It needed a cooler name, more enigmatic.
Too late. Everything was too goddamn late.
Robin lugged the sign outside. Damn. Gonna need a second pair of steps, so he and Betty could hold it up from either side of the doorway. He went over to the cricket shop, see if Kapoor had any.
Kapoor looked suspicious.
‘You OK up a ladder?’
‘Sure.’
‘We could get some guys.’
‘I don’t know anybody.’
‘I’ll get Gore,’ Kapoor said.
‘Gore?’
‘Gwenda’s guy. You know Gwenda’s Bar?’
‘Not sure.’
‘Dead centre of town, opposite the clock. Actually, I was finking… you need to meet people, don’t’cha? Few of us fetch up there most nights. We meet up to bemoan our lot, as Connie Wilby likes to say.’
‘Wilby?’
‘Veteran bookseller. Long established. You wanna meet some other whingeing booksellers, come over to Gwenda’s tonight… say nine? That convenient for you?’
‘I get to bring my wife?’
‘Good idea. Course, the first fing they’ll tell you is to rip up the lease and run like hell.’
Robin grinned. Then he didn’t.
‘Kapoor… seriously, is there anything we aren’t being told?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like about the store? The cop was here. Jones? Crime books? Guy who told you how I got to be a cripple?’
‘They don’t use that word any more, Robin.’
‘Cripple’s what I am. It’s like you can’t touch a black guy for calling himself a nigger.’
‘I’ll work that out later. What did Jones say to wind you up?’
‘Nothing. He just kept looking around the place. And not much at the books. Like he knew something and didn’t know whether he needed to tell me or not.’
‘You’re too sensitive, mate.’
‘That’s Betty,’ Robin said.
‘What is?’
‘OK, I realize you don’t believe in this shit, your god being a guy in cricket pads—’
‘Nah, nah, that’s different, innit?’ Kapoor came out from behind his computer. ‘My gran, she was… she’d tell you fings and she was… most times she was on the money. More fings in heaven and earth, all that. I don’t knock noffing, mate.’
Robin stared down at his feet. He used to like discussing this stuff.
‘Betty picks up memories. Vibes. Back when I was in one piece, she got something we’d discuss it. Now… I dunno.’
‘Seems to me that ain’t how it works, mate. Else she’d’ve foreseen a bleedin’ wall coming down on you. Let’s get that sign up, eh? You can put a cloth over it till Saturday. You don’t wanna leave fings too late.’
‘Maybe it’s already too late,’ Robin said.
Kapoor was back towards the end of the afternoon with a crop-haired, close-bearded guy in his thirties. Wore a Welsh rugby shirt and carried a short orchard-type ladder under an arm.
‘Same size as Oliver’s?’
The guy had like an army officer’s voice. He looked up at the gap where Oliver’s sign had hung.
‘Bigger, but it oughta fit,’ Robin said. ‘But it’s pretty damn heavy. It’s oak. I’m just hoping it isn’t gonna drag out any stone.’
‘Should be OK.’ Guy’s hand came out. ‘Gore Turrell. You want to do it now?’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Jeeter said you had a drill. Masonry bits?’
‘I guess.’
Robin went back into the store, found the drill, lugged out the sign. It was heavier than he remembered. Was the storefront even gonna take this kind of weight?
‘Hmm.’ Gore Turrell stood looking up, his hands on his narrow hips. ‘Let me get some more steps.’
‘Anybody can do it, it’s this guy,’ Kapoor said.
Gore Turrell was gone no more than five minutes, returning with a toolbag, the steps under his arm. Kapoor extended a hand like a TV host.