Piranesi(54)

I did not find the Gun – the Tides must have taken it deep within themselves; but later that morning I found Dr Ketterley’s boat, still idling on the Waters in the First Western Hall which were now no more than ankle-deep. It was quite unharmed.

‘I wish that you had saved him,’ I told it.

I did not feel that it responded in any way. It seemed drowsy, dozing, only half alive. Without the Rushing Waters to animate it, it was no longer the devil that had danced on the Waves, first mocking Dr Ketterley and then abandoning him.

I have been thinking about what Raphael said about Matthew Rose Sorensen’s mum and his dad and his sisters and his friends. Perhaps I should send them a message explaining that Matthew Rose Sorensen now lives inside me, that he is unconscious but perfectly safe, and that I am a strong and resourceful person who will care for him assiduously, exactly as I care for any others of the Dead.

I shall ask Raphael what she thinks of this idea.

As the Shadows fell in the First Vestibule Raphael returned

SECOND ENTRY FOR THE TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY OF THE NINTH MONTH IN THE YEAR THE ALBATROSS CAME TO THE SOUTH-WESTERN HALLS

As the Shadows fell in the First Vestibule Raphael returned. We sat on a Step of the Great Staircase as before. Raphael had a shining little device like the one that the Other had. She tapped it and it brought forth a shaft of white-yellow Light to illuminate the Statues and our faces.

I told Raphael my plan to write to Matthew Rose Sorensen’s mum and dad and two sisters and friends, but for some reason she did not think this was a good idea.

‘What should I call you?’ she asked.

‘Call me?’ I said.

‘As a name. If you’re not Matthew Rose Sorensen, then what should I call you?’

‘Oh, I see. I suppose you could call me Pir …’ I stopped. ‘Dr Ketterley used to call me Piranesi,’ I said. ‘He said it was a name to do with labyrinths, but I think perhaps it was meant to mock me.’

‘Probably,’ agreed Raphael. ‘He was that sort of guy.’ There was a little silence and then she said, ‘Would you like to know how I found you?’

‘Very much,’ I said.

‘There was a woman. I don’t suppose you remember her. Her name was Angharad Scott. She wrote a book about Laurence Arne-Sayles. Six years ago, you contacted her. You told her that you were also thinking of writing a book about Arne-Sayles and the two of you had a long conversation. Then she never heard from you again. In May of this year she called the college in London where you used to work because she wanted to know what had happened about the book – whether you were still writing it. The people at the college told her that you were missing; that you’d been missing pretty much the entire time since she’d first spoken to you. That rang all sorts of warning bells for Mrs Scott because she knew about the people who had disappeared around Arne-Sayles. You were the fourth – the fifth if you count Jimmy Ritter. So she contacted us. It was the first time that we – I mean the police – knew that there was any connection between you and Arne-Sayles. When we talked to the people who remained of Arne-Sayles’s circle – Bannerman, Hughes, Ketterley and Arne-Sayles himself – it was obvious something was going on. Tali Hughes kept crying and saying she was sorry. Arne-Sayles was thrilled by the attention and Ketterley couldn’t open his mouth without lying.’ She paused. ‘Do you understand any of what I’m saying?’

‘A little,’ I said. ‘Matthew Rose Sorensen wrote about all these people. I know that they are connected to the Proph … to Laurence Arne-Sayles. Did he tell you where I was? He said that he would.’

‘Who?’

‘Laurence Arne-Sayles.’

Raphael took a moment to process this. ‘You spoke to him?’ she asked in a tone of incredulity.

‘Yes.’

‘He came here?’

‘Yes.’

‘When?’

‘About two months ago.’

‘And he didn’t offer to help you? He didn’t offer to take you out of here?’

‘No. But to be fair, if he had offered I wouldn’t have wanted to go. In fact, I’m still not sure that I want to go.’

A pale owl glided out of the First Eastern Hall into the First Vestibule. It settled on a Statue high up on the Southern Wall where it gleamed whitely in the Dimness. I have seen owls portrayed in marble. Many Statues incorporate them. But I had never seen their living counterpart until now. Its appearance was, I felt sure, connected with the coming of Raphael and the departure of Dr Ketterley; it was as though a principle of Death had been replaced with a principle of Life. Things, I thought, were speeding up.

Raphael had not perceived the owl. She said, ‘You’re right. Arne-Sayles told us the truth straightaway. He said you were in the labyrinth. But of course … Well, we thought he was just trying to wind us up. Which was right. He was just trying to wind us up. My colleagues put up with it for a while, but they gave up on him eventually. I had a different idea. I thought: he likes talking. Just let him. Eventually he’ll say something useful.’

She tapped her shining little device. It spoke with Laurence Arne-Sayles’s haughty, drawling voice: ‘You think that all my talk about other worlds is irrelevant. But it isn’t. It’s absolutely key. Matthew Rose Sorensen attempted to enter another world. If he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have “disappeared” as you call it.’