Текст книги "The Weight of Souls"
Автор книги: Bryony Pearce
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
7
SO DISAPPOINTED
Dad had fallen asleep at his desk again. The Tale of Oh-Falay open beside his microscope. If I took it I could get it back in place by the morning. I ached at the thought of actually reading the words that my mother had once spoken. Automatically I picked it up and opened it to the front page. The familiar sentences danced in front of me, drawing me in.
The journal of Oh-Fa, translated from the Chinese by his daughter, Oh Yehao
Entry the first
I have consulted the I-Ching. That is how I know my son will be born on this date. The fact that I will not see him until he is near walking is a source of great pain. But my heart’s ache is unimportant; our family needs this salary.
Today we begin working on a new grid so maybe we will find the sign the Professor seeks and this interminable misery will end.
I sit on my tiny camp bed to write. The overseer I call Sunbird, because of his bright red hair, permitted me to use these old requisitions once he witnessed my industriousness. Not all of the company work so hard. Even now, despite the brutality of the sun burning through the tent, I see the lankiest of them still fast asleep, one arm slung over his face, knees off the end of his too-small bed. The others have gone for breakfast. The last of them stumbled and cursed into the glare only moments ago. Only he and I remain, one too lazy and the other too excited to eat.
I am tempted to waken him, but the last time I did so, he attacked me and today I am happy to let him lie.
Today I become a father.
First bell is ringing, calling us to work. I must go too. Still it occurs to me before I put down this charcoal that hours in different lands flow inversely. Although it is early here, in Egypt, it may be late at home. I wonder if I will feel different once the time comes.
Is it possible that I am already a father?
A wave of exhaustion rocked me and I stroked the soft paper, almost pitying the man whose story had begun with such hope but ended in despair. One more entry and I would waken Dad.
Entry the second
A miracle has occurred. The discovery has been made and, incredibly, I myself was the one to make it. As I brushed sand aside, just as I have done a million times, the visage of a dog’s head on a man’s body resolved itself from the sand. It was just as the Professor had described.
The Sunbird overseer was the first to notice my shock. Sand puffed around him as he slid to a stop by my feet, barely able to believe after all these months of failure. Then he wheezed his way to the Professor’s tent, calling for our employer who swiftly emerged with his wiry daschund, Titus, dogging his heels.
Due to an excess of coffee and lack of hygiene, the Professor’s teeth have become dark yellow. The colour ensures that his tombstone incisors are the locus of his narrow face. When he reached me, he bared these decayed markers and leaned so close to the stone that his breath shifted fine dust around the dog’s carved muzzle.
“The jackal,” he breathed. “At last.”
Then he had the company clear a four-metre space around the cell where I had been digging. Once we had laboured to board back the sand and provide a canvas shade, he banished us.
Several card games have now sprung up and I have returned to our tent.
I cannot help but wonder if the ancestors are smiling on me. Today all my dreams will come true, I feel it.
What an idiot; if only he could see what was coming. With difficulty I pulled my eyes from the text. There was no point taking the book with me, I’d be asleep before the end of the next page and if Dad noticed it missing he’d never trust me enough to let me have Mum's notes.
I placed it carefully back down with a sigh and nudged him awake. “Dad?”
Groggily he sat up and pulled a document off his face. Smudges of ink blackened his chin and his wedding ring had dented his cheek.
“You should be in bed.”
“I was waiting for you.” His shoulders cracked as he stretched. “You’re still in your uniform. You haven’t been home before now?” He focused on his watch with a frown. “This is ridiculous. You have school in the morning.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting it to take this long.”
“It – another ‘murderer’?”
I nodded with an inward groan, waiting for Dad’s lecture on hallucinations. But he just turned to his microscope with a sigh.
“I don’t know what to do any more, Taylor.” His hand rasped over his stubble. “I can’t control you.”
I swallowed. “About that…”
“What?” He narrowed his eyes.
“I have to give you this from the school.” I handed him the rumpled letter. “You need to sign it and write a comment so I can get it back to Mr Barnes tomorrow.”
“What is it?” Dad put his glasses on to read and I let the letter speak for itself. “You attacked a boy in the playground?” His shoulders dropped and his hair fell into his eyes; I couldn’t see his reaction.
“It was Justin Hargreaves, Dad. You know what he’s like.”
“I know you don’t like him.” He shook his great head, took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “This has to stop, Taylor. The path you’re on doesn’t end well.”
“He started it.”
“The letter says it was unprovoked. I’ve had enough, Taylor. I’m going to have to ground you for the weekend and as of Monday you have a curfew. I expect you in the house, doing your homework, by 8pm every single day.”
“But–”
“It’s reasonable, Taylor.”
I rubbed my bare hand. It wouldn’t be too bad to stay in all weekend; thanks to Mum the ghosts couldn’t haunt me inside the house.
I nodded and as Dad scribbled a note on the letter I wished, not for the first time, that my parents had allowed me to be home-schooled once the curse had struck. If I stayed at home I wouldn’t have to risk encountering ghosts at school and I wouldn’t have to put up with Justin Hargreaves. But Mum had wanted me to have a normal life. I closed my eyes and thought of her once more.
“I have you and your Dad to keep me sane. You need friends; people your own age. You need to have time to think about pop music and clothes and – yes – boys. Otherwise...” Her eyes darkened and I know she was thinking about her own mother, who had killed herself when I was a baby. She shook herself then. “Anyway, you have to be on the lookout.”
“I’m always on the lookout for the ghosts, you’ve told me.”
Mum shook her head. “When your ancestor agreed to our curse, those of his line that bore it were each promised a great love. It's our reward and a way for Anubis to ensure the legacy gets passed on. Somewhere out there someone is waiting for you. That’s who you need to look out for – and you can’t do that if you never leave the house.” She sighed. “Also, Taylor, your dad doesn’t believe in the ghosts, so there’s no way he’ll agree to home-schooling to protect you from them.” She ruffled my hair. “You have to stop thinking of the departed as the bad guys. They’re souls seeking justice and we have the honour of being able to give it to them. Try and have a normal life.” The ruffling hand turned soft. “Look forward to finding the love of it. And in the between times, be proud of what you do for the dead.”
Dad folded the letter and rolled back from the table with a groan. “I’m just so disappointed in you, Taylor.”
8
LUCKY DAY
There was an odd atmosphere in the school corridor and it was unusually quiet for a Monday morning. Hannah was just ahead of me. I couldn’t suppress a grin as I watched her kiss her fingers and press them to the Dean Winchester poster that decorated the inner door of her locker. She was so in love with him.
With a sigh she slammed the sticky door until the latch caught, then started to walk on. I stopped her with a shout that felt strangely out of place among the whispers that dogged my heels.
“Hey, Tay.” Hannah gave me a tight smile and chewed the purple tips of her hair. “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“There’re policemen in Mr Barnes’ office.” She cut her eyes in the direction of the closed door.
“So?” I stowed a few books from my bag and glowered at Justin’s dogs, who were blocking most of the lockers. “They’re probably here for a safety talk or something.”
Hannah shook her head. “I saw them arrive; Mr Barnes was surprised to see them.”
“Oh. Then it’s probably drugs.” The idea brought a smirk to my lips and I glanced at the obvious candidates: James and Harley.
Hannah kicked her locker door with thick soled shoes. “Something isn’t right.”
“Nothing’s ever right in this place.” I glowered at Pete. He didn't acknowledge me. “Look at them.”
“Yeah, I know.” Hannah shoved her bag higher on her shoulder and lowered her eyes. “Time to run the gauntlet.”
Together we headed past the tables opposite the lockers, the tables where Tamsin Harper and her hags held court.
I pulled my sleeves over my hands and half hunched my shoulders as we drew level, but no barbed comments flew after us.
At the stairs I looked back. “That was easy.” Hannah was right; something was off. I scanned the room.
The boys were lined up like they were at a club but James’ blond hair hung messy and unkempt and instead of his usual alert posture he was slouching with his muscles bulging unflatteringly. Harley, whose jackal laugh could usually be heard wherever you were, was silent and he had dark circles under his eyes. Even Pete’s shirt was already hanging out of his trousers.
Only Justin looked together, but he was watching Tamsin like he was on a diet and she was dessert. Normally they’d be all over each other but Tamsin was looking everywhere but at Justin.
So that was why we’d got past so easily, the “it” couple were having a fight.
I nudged Hannah as one of the girls said something to Tamsin under her breath and she ran to the toilet.
“What’s gone on there, d’you think?” Hannah cocked her head at the fleeing queen bee.
I shrugged but didn’t take my eyes off Justin. He watched his girlfriend go, but made no move towards her.
As usual he stood a little bit away from the other lads. Five years on and he still lightly wore that sense of exotic newness he’d arrived with on his first day. Adding to the sense of slight unreality that always surrounded him, his eyes now darted restlessly from student to student, never stopping in one place. As his gaze landed on me, they narrowed and I couldn’t resist giving him the Losersign.
“Hey.” He straightened up as if I’d shoved him and I lifted my chin. I didn’t reallywant to get in a fight with the jerk, not again.
“Come on, Hannah.” I grabbed her elbow and steered her up the stairs.
Justin’s voice rose above the general clamour of the common room. “Get back here, Oh.”
“I don’t think so,” I muttered and stalked away.
“I know you heard me. Turn round.”
I grit my teeth. Only a few more steps and we’d be outside Mr Barnes’ office. He won’t dare start anything there.
Year eight girls clustered at the top of the stairs. I used my shoulder to barge our way through. They moved slowly, glowering at us, but weren’t far enough up the food chain to say much.
A gap opened ahead, but before I could dive into it, my bare right hand was caught from behind.
A shock both familiar and unutterably terrifying ran up my arm.
Suddenly the signs hit me: the strained hush, the policemen, Tamsin’s upset. It hadn’t been a fight that had prevented Tamsin from meeting her boyfriend’s eyes.
I dropped Hannah’s elbow and turned.
Justin’s hand was locked around mine. The cold flesh of his palm was flat against my own. The darting of his eyes – he’d been looking for a sign that someone saw him. Too late I recognised his flickering gaze as the confusion of the newly dead.
I swayed as his wintry touch continued sending spikes of ice up my arm and pulled away before the chill bit me to the bone. It was too late. I stared at my hand in sullen comprehension. Swirling on the palm like a smear of black ink was a Mark.
How dare he do this to me?
As my brain struggled to get past the shock I stared into Justin’s dark eyes, those eyes that said he hadn’t yet come to terms with what had happened to him.
Great. Sometime over the weekend Justin Hargreaves was murdered… and now I have to avenge the idiot.
A younger boy was standing behind Justin.
He glared at me. “What’s your problem?”
“I'm not looking at you,” I snapped.
“Freak.” He stepped around me and I turned to Hannah. “You go ahead. I’ve left my homework in the locker.”
Hannah headed for the classroom, unaware that she was leaving me with the ghost of my worst enemy.
“ Outside.” I spoke from the corner of my mouth, whirled and headed back down the stairs.
At the bottom I stopped. Mr Barnes was standing in the common area with two policemen at his back.
“We’ll speak to each class individually,” he was saying, “but just so you know, one of our students has disappeared. If anyone hears from Justin Hargreaves, please contact the police. If you know anything about what’s happened to him, if you aren’t comfortable talking to the police, come and speak to a teacher and we can do it for you.” He glanced back and one of the policemen nodded. He was holding his hat like a shield.
“You couldn’t have come out of your office five minutes ago?” I muttered.
Mr Barnes looked seriously at each group of students then shook his head sadly. “The bell’s about to go, you can start making your way to your classrooms.” He turned and left. I waited for a moment to make sure he was gone and then marched to the door.
Justin fell into step with me and I grit my teeth. Once in daylight, I hesitated.
“Where’re we going?” Justin’s voice in my ear left no impression on the air, no breath on my skin. Still I jerked back, not wanting to be in the same airspace.
I held my hand over my mouth. “Somewhere private so we can talk.”
“You don’t want to be seen talking to me? It can only improve your reputation.”
I whirled on him and one of the younger kids who took my bus stumbled over the step in his hurry to get away.
“Shut up if you aren’t going to help.”
He shrugged and gestured. “Bike sheds?”
I glanced contemptuously in the direction of his pointing hand. “Full of losers getting a smoke before class.”
My rucksack started to slide down my shoulder and I nudged it into a more comfortable position. As I did so I remembered my mobile. We weren’t supposed to use them, but if I stood at the bus stop people would probably leave me alone and I could talk to Justin without looking like a nutcase.
I set off towards the gates and pulled the phone free.
With the scratched bus shelter propping me up, I squinted into the reflection of the sun as it glared from a multi-storey office block. Rather than look at Justin, I lowered my gaze to watch the cars and taxis belch past.
A few late students were sprinting from the tube. As they passed, each looked at me curiously, wondering why I wasn’t running with them, trying to get into class before registration.
The number ten rounded the corner and I felt in my pocket for my pass. I hadn’t intended to bunk off school, but I couldn’t stay now.
As the bus pulled up I looked around. There was no one to stop me getting on.
The doors opened with a mechanical hiss. I gestured at Justin to follow and climbed on board.
As I swiped my Oyster card the driver glared disapproval. Almost too late I remembered the school speaking to the bus company about truancy. Quickly I groaned and clutched my stomach. With a shake of her head she waved me past.
The bus was practically empty, the work rush ended. Holding the phone to my ear I dropped onto the back seat. Justin sat in the seat behind.
“You’re skiving,” he muttered delightedly.
Hannah was going to kill me. She hated it when I left her alone at school. I glared out the window as the distinctive mix of architecture zipped by in jerks and starts. Finally I gave up and looked at Justin. He was slouched along his own seat, one arm draped over the back.
“So, what happened to you?”
He tensed. The humour left his eyes and he sat up. He knitted his lean fingers. “Would you believe I was starting to think no one could see me?” He stopped. “It’s stupid.”
“Why do you care what Ithink?”
He stayed quiet.
“So, what do you think now?”
He swallowed. “I… I don’t know. It’s some sort of trick, right? Everyone’s pretendingnot to see me and those policemen have to be in on it.” He thumped the seat and raised his voice. “This isn’t funny, guys.” He turned around. “I’m on YouTube, right?”
“You’re dead.”
He blinked. “You’re crazy.”
“Then why am I the only one who can see you?”
“You’re the only one not in on the joke. No offence, but it’s not like you’re part of the in-crowd, Oh.”
“Right… and Mr Barnes is?”
“Shut up.” He clenched his fists on his knees.
“You came with me. You’d never do that if you didn’t know I was your only hope.”
“Only hope for what?” He sneered, but his voice was hoarse.
“It’s your lucky day, Justin. I’m your only hope for vengeance and you can’t move on without it.”
9
YOU DON’T BELIEVE YOU’RE A GHOST?
“Right.” Justin regarded me from under raised eyebrows. “You’ll ‘avenge’ my ‘death’ so I can ‘move on’.” He used his fingers to create quotation marks. “You are in on it, aren’t you? This is your dare. See how far you can make Justin go? They don’t usually go all in like this, but I guess they have been spicing things up lately. Go on then, what do you have to get me to do?”
I exhaled noisily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dipwad. I don’t want you to do anything. Just tell me what happened.”
“What happened when?”
“When you died. Tell me who killed you.”
He crossed his arms. “You do what you have to, but I’m not going along with this.” He glowered around the bus. “C’mon you guys. Haven’t you had enough?” His voice had a quaver in it, so slight I could barely hear it.
Anger made me hiss. “How can you not believe this?” I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. The longer I carried the Mark, the more likely it was that the Darkness would come for me. I’d never had to deal with the newly dead before. I should be gentle with him…
My memory flashed up a scene. It was well-worn, but bright, like a silver locket often taken out of its box, rubbed and replaced.
“Dad! Are you alright?”
He looks like hell; his face so bruised and swollen that the only way I know it’s him is the wedding ring chained over his collar bone. It catches the light as he twists towards me. His arms are in bandages and he’s in plaster up to the waist.
He looks around anxiously. “Where’s your aunt?”
“She brought me in, I wanted to see you.”
He shakes his head and wheezes with the pain of movement. “I told her to keep you at home.”
My eyes fill with tears. He doesn’t want me here.
“She wanted to see Mum too, you know.”
He gives a little jerk, as if he wants to hold my hand, but he can't get to me. Suddenly the curtain around his bed twitches open. A nurse picks up his chart, checks it and gives me a smile.
“Here to see your dad, love? He looks scary at the moment, doesn’t he? Like a mummy. But he’s going to be alright.” As she says it, her eyes darken. “Do you have any sensation in your feet yet, Mr Oh?”
Dad shakes his head and beneath the swelling his jaw tightens. There is silence for a moment as she updates his chart.
“I’m just going to check your temperature and give you a dose of morphine.” She smiles down at me. “Your dad’s going to be a bit out of it for a while, love. Who are you here with?”
“My aunt.” I find that, nice as the nurse is, I can’t speak above a whisper. My whole body is prickling, as if something’s coming: a monster I can’t quite see. “She went to see how my mum’s doing. She’s still in s-surgery.” The word feels foreign on my tongue.
The nurse nods. “Let me go and find her for you.” She finishes taking Dad’s temperature just as the curtain moves behind her. I hold my breath and a doctor steps in. He looks exhausted.
“Have you given him morphine yet, Andi?”
The nurse’s smile freezes. “I was about to.” She hesitates with her hand in the air. “Will I need…?”
“Something stronger, a sedative, yes please.” The doctor comes to sit on the end of the bed. “And who’s this?”
“The daughter.” The nurse is pressing her lips together. They are white as her shoes.
“And she’s with…?”
“An aunt. I’ll send her in.”
Andi, the nurse, almost runs from the cubicle. I stare at the doctor. There’s a tiny speck of blood on the wrist of his gown. His eyes are bloodshot and he avoids looking at me. Dad is saying nothing. As soon as the nurse mentioned the sedative he went cold and still. It’s as if he thinks speaking will bring the monster into the room.
“Dad?” I touch his nose with my finger tip. It’s the only part of him that doesn’t look bruised.
His mouth stretches into a false smile; a rictus that fails to reassure and instead makes me shiver. “I hear your aunt.”
I turn. Dad’s ward is quiet but I can still hear a ringing telephone, running feet, a baby crying. Then my aunt’s voice. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t.”
I whip round and catch Dad’s expression; his features have collapsed like scaffolding. Then Auntie bursts into the room and throws her arms around me.
“We did everything we could…” the doctor begins.
He was kind. But hearing that Mum had died was the worst moment of my life. Wouldn’t finding out that it was you who had passed on be just as bad? Or worse?
I should be kind.
But it was Justin Hargreaves.
“You think this is all a big joke, right?” I wrapped my bare fingers around the rim of my chair. “Go on then, touch my seat.”
He blinked. “I’m sitting right here just fine.”
“Yes, but I want you to touch thisseat.”
“Why?” His eyes narrowed. “What’ve you done to it?”
“Nothing. All you have to do is knock on the back of my seat with your fist. What’s wrong, scared you can’t?” I tilted my head in a mocking challenge.
He exhaled. Then all of a sudden he leaned forward and knocked on the back of my seat. At least, he tried to.
As his hand went through the cushion he lost his balance and fell forward. His forearm appeared above my lap and I caught his clenched fist in mine.
Justin yelped and tried to pull away but I kept hold of him, forcing him to look at his arm as it vanished through the chair-back.
“I-it’s a trick of some sort. The seat isn’t there, it’s a… a projection.”
Wordlessly I knocked on the metal rim.
“It’s a trick.” He yanked and I had to let him go. The whites were showing in his eyes and he scooted back against the window. He cradled his hand as if I’d burned it and he was shaking. I was getting through.
“Justin, you’re a ghost.”
He licked his lips. “You touched me, you held my fist.”
“I’m the only one who can touch you. For the same reason I’m the only one who can see you.”
“I’m ending this.” Justin leaped to his feet and addressed the air. “This isn’t funny any more.” He strode down the juddering bus until he reached an art student who was sitting near the sliding doors.
“Hey, pal.” He waved his hand in front of the guy’s face. “I don't know who you are, but the joke’s over.”
The student rubbed his cheek and settled lower in the seat.
“Idiot.” Justin kicked out viciously and his foot connected with the art case that stuck out from the seat opposite. It rocked and fell to the floor with a thud.
Justin stared at his foot and the student swore and reached for his case. His arm went right through Justin’s leg.
Justin yelled and jerked back as the student checked his artwork with a relieved sigh.
I watched Justin desperately patting his leg. It looked like he was on fire. Finally he ran back to me. “Did you see that?”
“You’re a ghost. I’ve seen it before.”
He stared at his legs then slumped into the seat next to me. “It doesn’t make sense,” he whispered.
“You’re dead,” I growled without looking at him.
“Not that. How did that guy’s arm go through my leg after I was able to kick his case? How come I can sit on the bus?”
Surprise pulled my eyebrows upwards; I hadn’t expected him to be able to think clearly about his situation. “I’m not sure how it works exactly. I know you can’t touch anything living, attached to a living thing, or that a living thing is touching directly. The art case was on another seat, that guy wasn’t touching it.” I gestured towards the student, who’d gone back into stasis. “You can sit on your seat, but you can’t touch mine while I’m sitting here. You can’t affect the living in any way. Mum thought it was something to do with resonances. I don’t know.”
“So I could pick up a knife, but not stab someone with it.”
“You don’t have any substance, Hargreaves. You can feel yourself touch things, even knock things over. But you can’t pick anything up; people would notice stuff floating around.”
He frowned. “OK. You’re touching this bus. Shouldn’t I fall through the floor?”
“Everyone on the bus is wearing shoes, Hargreaves. No one is touching the floor directly. You won’t fall through it.”
Tentatively he reached for the back of my seat again. His hand continued through wood and plastic until he groped my shoulder.
“Get off,” I hissed and shrugged him away.
Justin stared at his hands. “You’re the only one I can touch. Ever?”
“Sorry.” I loaded my voice with sarcasm. “Look, once I’ve found your killer and transferred this Mark you left on my hand, you can move on and we’ll never have to see each other again.”
“But…” Justin looked up and his eyes swam with tears. “But I never…” his voice trailed off. His hands dropped to his lap. “I’m going travelling after A-levels. I thought I’d go back to Dubai for a bit. I’m applying to do engineering at Cambridge next year.” His voice broke. “Tammy and I…”
I saw his throat move like he was trying to swallow a huge lump. “I never did anything.”
I bit my lip. “I’m sorry,” I said and I actually was. “If you can tell me how it happened, we can… OK, we can’t make it right but I can avenge you. It’s what I do.”
Justin looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “This is bull.” He hurled himself from his seat and lunged for the back of the bus.
“Come back.” I grabbed for his jacket, but missed.
Ignoring me, he leaped off the bus and onto the Hammersmith overpass, dodged through the traffic and disappeared from view.
Stunned, I stood and wobbled with the movement of the vehicle. “Dammit.” I examined my hands, one clean, the other stained with a blemish that screamed murder. The Darkness was coming. And without Justin, I had no way of getting rid of the Mark before it came for the one carrying it.
