She knew where, who and what he meant, of course. But isn’t that a sinister sort of place, Harry?
‘It was.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it still is. But at least I won’t be hunted there. I would be hunted here, eventually, if I stayed. Which means I’d be forced to hunt, too. And that’s what I’m afraid of and what I’m trying to avoid. I’m a plague in a bottle, Ma, safe only so long as no one shakes or tries to break me. But in that other place the plague has already run its course. What’s unthinkable here is understood there. Not acceptable, never that, but a reality all the same.’
She sighed. I’m glad you’re not just giving in, son. And with something of her old fondness: You’re a fighter, Harry. You always were.
‘I suppose I was,’ he agreed, ‘but I can’t fight here. That would only bring it on. And in the end I’m afraid it might be stronger than me. There are still things I have to do here, that’s all, business that needs clearing up. Which is how I’ll occupy myself until it’s time. You asked about my plans.
They’re simple, really. When my head’s on straight I can read them like words in a book. There’s a girl who died horribly and didn’t deserve it, because no one deserves to die like that; and there’s the creature who killed her and other innocents like her, who does deserve it. There’s a long talk – an explanation – which I owe to Darcy Clarke; and oh, there are talents I’d like to gather, which might be useful to me in the other place.
‘That’s all of it: a few things to do, something I have to straighten out, and one or two new things to learn. And then it will be time I walked. I’d rather walk than be chased.’
And you’ll never come back?
‘I might, if I learned how to hold the thing permanently in check. But if I can’t . . . no, never.’
How will you deal with this man, murderer, monster you’re looking for?
‘As quick and as cleanly as he’ll let me. You don’t know what he does, Ma, but I can tell you I won’t soil my hands on him, not if I can help it. Killing him will be like cutting out a tumour in the flesh of humanity.’
You’ve cut out a few of those, son.
‘And one more to go,’ Harry nodded.
And the girl who doesn’t deserve to be dead? That was a strange way of putting it, Harry.
‘It’s such a recent thing for her, Ma,’ (Harry knew he’d strayed into a minefield, looked in vain for a safe landmark). ‘She’s not used to it yet. And . . . and she doesn’t have to get used to it. I mean, I can help her.’
You’ve learned a new thing, Harry, she answered, but very slowly, and he sensed something different in her voice which was never there before – fear? You learned it from Janos Ferenczy, and I can feel it. Yes, and it’s what puts you apart from us now. We can all feel it! And suddenly her deadspeak was wracked with small shudders.
His Ma, too? Had he alienated even his warm, sweet Ma? Suddenly he had the feeling that if he let her go she’d just drift away from him and keep on drifting. Perhaps into that beyond place which she sensed waiting there.
But he had one trump card left, and now played it: ‘Ma, am I good or bad? Was I born good or evil?’
She read the anxiety in his deadspeak and returned at once. Oh, you were good, son. How can you doubt it? You were always so good!
‘Well, nothing’s changed, Ma. Not yet, and not here. I promise you, I won’t let anything change me, not here. If and when I feel it – as soon as I feel I can’t hold it any longer-then I’ll go.’
But if you bring that girl back, what will she be?
‘Beautiful, just as she was. Maybe not physically beautiful – though it’s a fact she was lovely – but alive. And that’s to be beautiful. You know that.’