The Book Eaters(109)

“I—” Hester began dazedly.

From the hallway came the sudden noise of people chattering; it sounded like Killock, and perhaps some of Hester’s other siblings. They both started guiltily.

“Remember, seven P.M., at the brewery,” Devon said, retreating to the opposite door. She added over one shoulder, “I do think the drawing is creative, you know. It’s your vision. Your spin on it.”

Hester stared at her, lips parted.

Devon darted out through a side door just as Killock and a few other men entered, then she headed up to her bedroom where Cai would be waiting. Both of them impatient for darkness to fall.





32

DARK HORSE





PRESENT DAY


Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.

—Charlotte Bront?, Jane Eyre

Evening settled over Traquair House like a freshly washed duvet, thick and damp. Watching the darkness descend, it occurred to Devon that it was this exact day two years ago when she’d tried to flee Matley.

The situation was different, at least. She actually had a plan this time, and help. It would go better. Devon pushed aside her worries and cracked open her bedroom window. She checked the time; 6:45 P.M.

Her son lounged on the window seat, slowly eating one of the New Scientist magazines they’d bought in town. Jarrow’s Game Boy lay next to him, inert.

“How does it taste?” she asked, enjoying that this was a question she could put to him.

“Like stars and thunder,” he said, stuffing another page into his mouth. “Not salty and hot, the way you know tastes. I’m so glad I don’t have to eat anyone, ever ever ever again!” An uncertain pause and he added, “That’s right, isn’t it? If we leave here, I don’t have to, and Killock can’t make me?”

“I swear by every computer game ever made, I will never again ask you to eat someone,” Devon told him, and was pleased to see his happy expression. She meant it, too.

“I’m bringing the Game Boy, right?” Cai moved to perch on the edge of the bed, legs swinging. “Oh, and my favorite shirt, the one with Doctor Who on it.”

“I’d no more leave your Game Boy behind than leave your fingers and toes behind,” she said. “Absolutely take the shirt, too. Leave nothing good behind.” Her own new clothes looked almost smart: black jeans, black shirt, denim jacket. The joy of once again having trousers with pockets.

“What have you packed?” he said.

“All I’m taking is money”—she showed him a soft folding wallet full of cash—“and the clothes on my back, and Salem’s compass.”

“And Redemption.”

“And Redemption. Once we collect it up from the brewery.” She picked up his backpack, full of other magazines and some clothes, and the signal blocker. “Pop that Game Boy in here. We should get going.”

He tossed in the handheld, slinging the backpack on. “Everything always seems to happen at night.”

“That’s how it is, with princesses. Shit goes down at the witching hour.” She slung the bag over one shoulder. “Take my watch. You can be my timekeeper.”

“Okay.” He slipped the too-large band over one wrist, tightening it carefully.

“Is your signal blocker turned on?”

He nodded, showing her the black plastic box, switch flicked to the right setting for both of them.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “You’re giving me sad-orphan eyes.”

“Nothing. Sort of. Actually, my stomach hurts.” He made a face. “I hope we don’t get caught and stuff. I hope things don’t go wrong.”

Devon didn’t have an answer for that, so she kissed his forehead and said, “Are you ready?”

Five minutes to seven, and the house had quietened. The drawing room accrued tired folk, chatting lazily and playing card games; outside, nature seemed to have fallen into a lull. The wind had died down, creating a perfect absence of sound. Book eaters walked softly at the worst of times, and the carpets here were thick, so Devon drifted like a fluffy moth. A six-foot-tall, black-clad fluffy moth. Cai, meanwhile, was so light on his feet he seemed almost ethereal.

Hand in hand, they crossed in companionable quietude through the corridors, through the main entrance and the enormous iron-studded door that—mercifully—didn’t creak on opening, and out into the night. White flakes drifted from the sky; another light snowfall.

The noise of someone clattering around came through a downstairs window as they crossed the courtyard. She yanked Cai to a standstill, holding him against her. Through the window came the sound of a toilet flushing, and a tap running. Evening trip to the loo, then. A door banged and she breathed a soft sigh. Cai stifled a giggle into his palm.

Up ahead, the brewery loomed silent as they crossed the empty drive on light feet. No sign of anyone else out here. And no sign of Hester, either. Disappointment nettled, subsiding into resignation. What else had she expected? They’d met two days ago, and completed a single fraught trip together. Hardly the basis for absconding in the night as partners in crime.

All the same, it stung just a little.