Weaveworld. Клайв Баркер
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‘It’s seeing the carpet,’ said Shadwell. ‘It reminds you.’
‘It’s more than that,’ she said.
She went to the door that led through to the rest of Shadwell’s suite, and opened it. The furniture had been pushed to the edges of the large room beyond, so that their prize, the Weaveworld, could be laid out. She stood on the threshold, staring at the carpet.
She didn’t set her bare soles on it – some superstition kept her from that trespass – but paced along the border, scrutinizing every inch.
Half way along the far edge, she stopped.
‘There,’ she said, and pointed down at the Weave.
Shadwell went to where she stood.
‘What is it?’
‘A piece missing.’
He followed her gaze. The woman was right. A small portion of the carpet had been torn away; in the struggle at the warehouse, most likely.
‘Nothing significant,’ he commented. ‘It won’t bother our buyers, believe me.’
‘I don’t care about the value.’ she said.
‘What then?’
‘Use your eyes, Shadwell. Every one of those motifs is one of the Seerkind.’
He went down on his haunches, and examined the markings in the border. They were scarcely recognizable as human; more like commas with eyes.
‘These are people?’ he said.
‘Oh yes. Riff-raff; the lowest of the low. That’s why they’re at the edge. They’re vulnerable there. But they’re also useful.’
‘For what?’
‘As a first defence,’ Immacolata replied, her eyes fixed on the tear in the carpet. ‘The first to be threatened, the first –’
‘To wake,’ said Shadwell.
‘– to wake.’
‘You think they’re out there now?’ he said. His gaze went to the window. They’d closed the curtains, to keep anyone from spying on their treasure, but he could picture the benighted city beyond. The thought that there might be magic loose out there brought an unexpected charge.
‘Yes,’ the Incantatrix said. ‘I think they’re awake. And the Scourge smells them in its sleep. It knows, Shadwell.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We find them, before they attract any more attention. The Scourge may be ancient. May be slow and forgetful. But its power …’ Her voice faded away, as though words were valueless in the face of such terrors. She drew a deep breath before beginning again. ‘A day’s scarcely gone by,’ she said, ‘when I haven’t watched the menstruum for a sign of it coming. And it’ll come. Shadwell. Not tonight maybe. But it’ll come. And on that day there’ll be an end to all magic.’
‘Even to you?’
‘Even to me.’
‘So we have to find them,’ said Shadwell.
‘Not we,’ said Immacolata. ‘We needn’t dirty our hands.’ She started to walk back towards Shadwell’s bedroom. ‘They can’t have gone far,’ she said as she went. ‘They’re strangers here.’
At the door she stopped, and turned to him.
‘On no account leave this room until we call you.’ she said. ‘I’m going to summon someone to be our assassin.’
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