Will didn’t look at her. He was too busy studying the cremation of the second moth.
‘Yes, we will,’ Jacob said softly. ‘And when everything’s gone a darkness will come upon the world such as we can none of us imagine. It won’t be the darkness of death, because death is not utter.’
‘A game with bones,’ the woman said.
‘Exactly,’ said Jacob. ‘Death is a game with bones.’
‘We know about death, Mr Steep and me.’
‘Oh indeed.’
The children I have carried and lost.’ She moved behind Will as she spoke, reaching out to finger his hair lightly. ‘I look at you, Will, and I swear I would give every tooth in my head to call you mine. So wise—’
‘It’s getting dark,’ Steep said.
‘Give me another moth then,’ Will demanded.
‘So eager,’ Mrs McGee remarked.
‘Quickly,’ Will said, ‘before the flame goes out!’
Jacob reached into his pocket, and pulled out another moth. Will snatched it from his fingers, but in his haste he missed catching hold of its wings, and it rose above the table.
‘Damn!’ said Will, and, pushing back his chair, along with Mrs McGee, he stood up and reached for the tinder. Twice he snatched at the air, twice he came away empty-handed. Enraged now, he wheeled around, still grabbing for the moth.
Behind him he heard Jacob say: ‘Let it go. I’ll give you another.’
‘No!’ Will said, jumping to snatch the creature out of the air. ‘I want this one.’
His efforts were rewarded. On his third jump his hand closed around the moth.
‘Got it!’ he cried, and was about to deliver it to the flame when he heard Frannie say:
‘What are you doing, Will?’
He looked up at her. She was standing at the Courtroom door, her shape murky and remote.
‘Go away,’ he said.
‘Who’s this?’ Jacob said.
‘Just go,’ Will said, suddenly feeling a little jittery. He didn’t want these two parts of his life talking to him at the same time; it made him dizzy. ‘Please,’ he said, hoping she’d respond to civility. ‘I don’t want you here.’
The light was guttering out behind him. If he wasn’t quick about it, the fire would die completely. He had to feed it again before it went out. But he didn’t want Frannie watching. Jacob would never share what he knew – that knowledge which only the wisest of the wise understood – while she was in the room.
‘Go on!’ he shouted. His yelling didn’t move her, but it intimidated the hell out of Sherwood. He fled from Frannie’s side, off down one of the passageways that led from the Courtroom.
Frannie was furious. ‘Sherwood was right!’ she said to him. ‘You’re not our friend. We followed you in case something had happened to you—’
‘Rosa…’ Will heard Jacob whisper behind him, ‘…the other boy…’ and glanced out the corner of his eye to see Mrs McGee retreat into the shadows, in pursuit of Sherwood.
Will’s head was spinning now. Frannie shouting, Sherwood sobbing, Jacob whispering, and worst of all, the flame dying and the light going with it—
That had to be his priority, he decided, and turning his back on Frannie, reached out to put the moth to the flame. But Jacob was there before him. He had put his entire hand – which he had made into a cage of fingers – into the dying fire. Inside the cage was not one but several moths, which caught alight instantly, their panicked wings fanning one another’s flames. An uncanny brightness spilled through Jacob’s fingers, and it occurred to Will that he was not seeing anything natural here: that this was some kind of magic. The light washed up over Jacob’s face, and flattered it into something beyond beauty. He didn’t look like a film star, or a man on a magazine cover: he wasn’t all gloss and teeth and dimples. He was burning brighter than the moths, as though he could be a fire unto himself if he wanted to be. For an instant (this was all it took) Will saw himself at Jacob’s side, walking in a city street, and Jacob was shining out of every pore, and people were weeping with gratitude that he came to light their darkness. Then it was all too much for him. His legs gave out beneath him, and down he went, as though he’d been struck a blow.
Sherwood had intended to retreat to the vestibule, away from the Courtroom and the smell of burning there, which turned his stomach. But in the guttering darkness he took the wrong route, and instead of being delivered to the front of the building, he found himself lost in a labyrinth. He tried to double back, but he was too frightened to think clearly. All he could do was stumble on, tears stinging his eyes, as it got darker and darker.
Then, a glimmer of light. It wasn’t starlight – it was too warm – but he made for it anyway, and found himself delivered into a small chamber in which somebody had been working. There was a chair and a small desk, and on the desk a hurricane lamp, which shed its light on a selection of items. Wiping away his tears, Sherwood went to look. There were bottles of ink, maybe a dozen of them, and some pens and brushes, and lying in the midst of this equipment a book, about the size of one of his school-books but much thicker. The binding was stained and the spine cracked, as though it had been carried around for years. Sherwood reached to flip it open, but before he could do so, a soft voice said:
‘What’s your name?’
He looked up and there, emerging from the doorway on the other side of the chamber, was the woman from the Courtroom. Sherwood felt a little shudder of pleasure pass through him at the sight of her. Her blouse was unbuttoned, and the skin exposed fairly shone.
‘My name’s Rosa,’ she said.
‘I’m Sherwood.’
‘You’re a big boy. How old are you?’
‘Almost eleven.’
‘You want to come here, so I can see you better?’
Sherwood wasn’t sure. There was definitely something exciting about the way she was looking at him, smiling at him, and maybe if he got a little closer he’d see that unbuttoned place better, which was certainly a temptation. He knew all the dirty words from school, of course, and he’d glimpsed a few well-thumbed pictures that had been passed around. But his schoolmates kept him out of the really smutty conversations, because he was a little daft. What would they say, he thought, if he could tell them he’d set eyes on a pair of naked bosoms, in the flesh?
‘My, but you stare,’ Rosa said. Sherwood flushed. ‘Oh it’s quite all right,’ she said. ‘Boys should see as much as they want to see. As long as they know how to appreciate it.’ So saying, she reached up and unbuttoned herself a little further. Sherwood tried to swallow, but he couldn’t. He could see the swell of her breasts very easily now. If he stepped a little closer he’d see her nipples, and by the look of welcome on her face she would not censure him for doing so.
He stepped towards her. ‘I wonder what you could get up to,’ she said, ‘if I let you loose?’ He didn’t entirely understand what she was talking about, but he had a pretty good idea. ‘Would you lick my titties for me?’ she said.
His head was throbbing now, and there was a pressure in his pants so intense he was afraid he was going to wet himself. And as if her words weren’t exciting enough, she was opening her blouse a little further, and there were her nipples, large and pink, and she was rubbing them a