Second Night

by Gabriel J Klein

  She pouted. ‘I’m not negative.’

  ‘Listen to yourself, especially when you think. You might be surprised.’

  ‘I’m not negative about you.’

  He was silent.

  ‘Now you’re supposed to say that you’re not negative about me,’ she prompted.

  ‘I’m not negative about you.’

  There was something abstracted in his tone. She saw that he was writing rapidly on a scrap of paper.

  ‘Do you write a lot of poetry?’

  ‘It depends. Simple, separated words sometimes weave themselves into a dream.’

  ‘And then you write down the dream?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Several cleverly executed steps brought her leaping to a standstill directly in front of him. ‘Have you written anything about me?’

  He heard her heartbeat falter, just once, and the note of challenging insecurity in her voice. ‘I don’t usually write about people.’

  ‘Would you, if you were in love?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been in love.’

  She missed his ironic emphasis on the last two words. She pirouetted once more and threw the fine, silken, shimmering shawl into his lap. ‘So how will you get to my place? Is there a bus that late?’

  ‘I’ll be there at eleven o’clock and we’ll walk. How much you enjoy it is up to you. I have no control over that.’

  ‘Don’t you want just the tiniest little bit of control over me?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘That’s not very romantic.’

  He stood up and returned to the console, leaving the shawl discarded on the floor. His voice sounded oddly disembodied whispering into the sound system. ‘You must learn to value your skin, Lauren. Life bruises take a long time to fade away.’

  She turned her back, pretending to sulk. The bell rang for afternoon class. The lights snapped out. Alone and disoriented on the totally black stage, she remembered Gin saying, ‘He’s dangerous, I think.’

  She edged forward, feeling for the drop at the front of the stage, calling out nervously. ‘Caz? Where are you?’

  A door opened. She saw him silhouetted against the light. ‘I’m here,’ he said.

  Would he be there for her on this cold, clouded night and make the sky light up with stars? It was almost midnight before she thought she heard hoofbeats cantering lightly down the road. The street lamp beside the house went out and she opened the window, straining to listen.

  He’s crazy enough to come on horseback! she thought excitedly.

  The muted light from the curtained windows in the rooms below outlined every raindrop dewing the grass on the wet lawns. She saw Caz then, standing under the shadow of the trees at the end of the garden.

  He looks like he’s wearing a cloak!

  She waved, closed the window and sneaked down the stairs, her heart thumping. Her mother was talking on the telephone, making another call home to New York. She heard her father in the kitchen making coffee. For a moment she thought about asking Caz in to meet her parents, then changed her mind. This is my night. I want lift-off and a love poem!

  She ran across the lawn, stifling a scream when a great black bird shape swooped over her, flashing shining claws. Caz reached out, steadying her as she stumbled into the shadows.

  ‘What was that?’ she cried, clutching at him. ‘What was it?’

  He wrapped the cloak around them both and laughed. ‘It’s only my familiar.’

  She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant but it didn’t matter any more. ‘You’re here,’ she said instead.

  In the day, he tastes of aftershave and coffee. In the night… he tastes like the sea.

  CHAPTER 26

  He left, painfully aroused and raging. Unaware, Lauren went to her warm bed, blissfully picking out promises between words that had never been said – while he sent Kyri thundering through field and copse, heedless of direction or time, smashing the spear into anything that stood in their path. A tornado trail of broken branches and wrecked fencing stretched out far behind them, until at last he allowed himself to be lulled by the rhythm of the filly’s flawless pacing, allowing her to carry him where she would. He knew Lauren smiled as she slept. He drew the cloak around himself, wrapped in a turmoil of frustration and despair.

  I’m just a ghost to her, he thought bitterly. She doesn’t want me for who I am. She wants the ghost of what she needs me to be, and I don’t want her. He saw himself weeping alone in a dark pit. Snakes crawled over his feet and wound around his legs. Constantly flickering tongues tasted his tears. I’m just a ghost to me too. I don’t know what’s real about me any more. All my faces are false. I have disappeared. I’m nothing.

  He cried out and allowed the tears to fall and the vision shifted. White hands soothed his brow… a cloud of dark, perfumed hair fell over him… the silver-bright eyes of the lady of his dreams looked down upon him.

  ‘You’ve been gone such a long time,’ he murmured, and fell forward onto the filly’s neck and slept.

  A change in her pacing woke him as she leapt a fence into a field. They had reached a broad stretch of pastureland. Cattle left their grazing and ran with them the length of a long meadow to where the field touched a shallow pool, dammed by debris caught against the fallen wreck of a large tree. Beyond the broken trunk, coiling skeins of dark water slid silently between high banks.

  He knew where Kyri had brought him. On the other side of a locked wicket gate, a bridle path joined the riverbank. They had only to follow the river downstream to the village to get home. The cattle gathered along the line of the fence, calling after them mournfully. He felt their warm breath rising as Kyri jumped the gate.

  In the cold hour before dawn, powder-grains of frost dusted the grass verges on either side of the road to the village. As the church clock struck four, Caz heard the sound of an engine. Lights appeared and a car careered around the bend behind them. It swerved drunkenly across the road to avoid hitting them and disappeared. When they reached the crossroads beside the church, Caz noticed a handcart turned on its side, its contents spilled onto the pavement. A figure huddled on the kerb under a black umbrella. The old beggar woman rocked backwards and forwards, holding her arms across her chest and whimpering.

  Caz slid down from Kyri’s back. She stood over the spear, guarding it while he crouched down in front of the woman.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked. ‘Did that car hit you?’

  She took no notice of him. There were no signs of blood or bruising about her. He set about picking up the tattered bags and putting them back in the cart.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked again. ‘Shall I call someone?’

  She gripped his arm, staring wildly into his face. Her eyes glittered.

  ‘Hurt?’ she hissed. ‘What do you know of hurt? You think you know the wounding?’

  He stepped back from her. ‘What did you say?’

  She gazed past him, muttering: ‘Much have I fared, much have I found, much have I got of the gods.’

  He knew those words. She was quoting from the Ballad of Vafthruthnir, the giant who the God challenged to a contest of wisdom. He took her by the shoulders. ‘How do you know that verse, woman?’

  She huddled over the kerb, repeating the same lines over and over: ‘Much have I fared, much have I found, much have I got of the gods, much have I fared, much have I found, much have I got of the gods.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ he demanded.

  She opened a toothless mouth filled with mindless laughter: ‘What maidens are they so wise of mind, that forth over sea shall fare?’

  He shook her. ‘How do you know those words? Tell me how you know them?’

  ‘How do you know them?’ she countered, suddenly cunning.

  ‘Tell me! You’re going to tell me!’

  ‘Tell you? What have I got to tell you?’ She bent towards him, whispering. ’What do you want me to say? Why should I tell you anything?’ She pointed at the
filly and screamed. ‘Keep that witch-mare away from me!’

  Caz gripped her shoulders so that she whimpered, cringing under his hands. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Who are you to ask me?’

  ‘You will tell me!’

  ‘I have nothing to tell you.’ Her eyes stared vacantly over his shoulder.

  He picked up the spear and leapt onto the filly’s back. The old woman resumed her rocking and her muttering. He would get nothing more out of her. Murderous rage goaded him. He wanted to spill her blood all over the tarmac. The spear would smash right through the old bone-bag and no one would be any the wiser, he thought savagely.

  He allowed Kyri to bear him swiftly beyond temptation. They were far down the road when he heard the woman shouting after him.

  ‘They lied! You’ll find no maiden in that ship, Heartbiter! Only trial and death!’

  He sent the filly flying back to the crossroads, but there was no sign of the old beggar or her cart. The roads were empty in every direction. The frost was melting on the pavements.

  CHAPTER 27

  Sara’s job interview was fixed for the following weekend. She was invited to take afternoon tea with Sir Jonas in the library and, as she carried the loaded tray along the passageway from the kitchen, she put aside all that she had heard about the old man from Jasper. She didn’t want any preconceived notions or prejudices to jeopardise any future working relationship with someone who might become her employer.

  ‘Come in! Come in!’ called Sir Jonas in answer to her cautious tapping on the library door.

  The enormous room was crammed with books from floor level to the ornate ceiling. Logs burned cheerfully in both fireplaces. A spray of yellow chrysanthemums decorated the table by the window. The old man was wearing his favourite yellow cravat and brown silk waistcoat. His new brown leather slippers were recently delivered from London. A brown silk eyepatch was firmly in place in honour of the occasion.

  Sara was glad she had put on her best jeans. She greeted him with a smile. ‘Hello, Sir Jonas, where shall I put the tray?’

  ‘Oh, on the table, my dear, don’t you think? It is so pleasant to take the view unhindered by the rather grey curtains of rain we have been obliged to peer through during this past season.’

  He cleared his throat and showed her to the seat where she had a clear view across the lawns to the lake, settling himself in the chair on the opposite side of the table. Her appearance was decidedly at odds with what he remembered. He was sure her hair was a different colour, or several different colours, but there was more to it than that. She was wearing glasses, and then he noticed with great astonishment that her eyes were now a rather fine shade of clear blue-grey. But her smile was charming and her voice well modulated with not a hint of the local village accent, which was a great relief.

  ‘Shall I be mother and pour?’ she asked, lifting the teapot.

  ‘Oh indeed, indeed!’ he exclaimed, delighted. ‘And do help yourself to cake. I requested that Madame Marguerite bake one of her very finest.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Ah, am I correct in making the assumption that Caspar has already prepared the way for our little chat?’ he asked.

  Sara nodded. ‘He told me you were needing someone to catalogue the books in the library.’

  ‘Indeed yes, and not just in the library! I fear a meticulous search would produce a variety of volumes scattered all over the house. Mister Charles is rather cross with me about it. I have put this off for some considerable time, you see. The collection in my study must be excepted for the present, although I have no doubt that a decision will eventually have to be made to include them.’

  ‘Do you know how many books there are?’ she asked.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea. Some several thousand, I suppose. They’ve never been counted.’

  ‘Are you in a rush to get the job done? Is there a deadline?’

  ‘Not at all. It could take years if necessary, as long as it was done well. Mister Charles has indicated that we require each book to be fully catalogued to include a useful degree of cross-referencing.’ The blue eye twinkled. ‘No small task, I would say, although perhaps to the right person it would be more of a labour of love.’

  Sara’s eyes sparkled behind her glasses. ‘It’s a dream job. I’ve never seen so many antique books in a private collection. How long has it taken to put it all together?’

  ‘My grandparents combined the Pring and the Lewis family collections on the occasion of their marriage. Those of the more literary persuasion are housed at our London establishment in Kensington. All of these are primarily reference works, ranging from ancient history and warfare to the more mystical subjects.’ The blue eye fixed upon her quizzically. ‘I must say that, unless your interests lie in this direction, you would probably find the task rather too dry and dull in view of the long timescale of the project. I’m afraid there are a great many accounts of battles, both ancient and modern, to be waded through.’

  Sara wrinkled her nose in delight. ‘I always knew I was headed for the dusty reference section and the older the better! I just love it!’

  Sir Jonas beamed. ‘How very fortunate!’

  What a treasure she is, he thought, as she poured his second cup of tea without being asked. I believe I may have gravely underestimated the Prince of Aggravation’s capacity of discernment. In his choice of partner, at least, I must admit that he has shown a significant and unforeseen degree of sensitivity!

  Sara pointed to the portrait on the wall above the fireplace nearest to the study. ‘Is that your grandfather?’

  ‘Yes, indeed it is. That is Sir Saxon Pring.’

  The corresponding place over the second fireplace at the opposite end of the room was empty.

  ‘So where is his wife?’

  ‘As you have quite correctly deduced, her portrait was originally hung in this room also, but my grandfather’s overwhelming grief at her passing caused him to have it taken down and re-hung in the library in London, where she has remained ever since, at the request of Mister Charles. I believe he finds her continued presence in the house inspiring.’

  ‘Does he live there alone?’

  ‘Yes, he has never married, but his charm is such that he has never lacked female companionship, I believe.’

  ‘And he works for you?’

  ‘Yes. I believe you would find him very courteous and quite agreeable as a fellow worker.’

  Sara smiled. ‘But that will depend upon your accepting me, won’t it? I have never done anything on this scale before and I have no idea how long it would take.’

  ‘Do you think you could do the job, given the time and the correct equipment, not to mention the singularity of the working conditions?’

  Sara had no doubts. ‘Oh yes! I would love it.’

  Sir Jonas coughed deeply. ‘Of course there is the question of your salary to be considered before you decide.’ He named a sum four times larger than the maximum she could hope to earn at the supermarket.

  She gasped in astonishment. ‘That’s very generous, Sir Jonas!’

  ‘But is it enough?’ he asked anxiously. ‘You young people have so many expenses in these troubled times, and Caspar informs me that you have the added burden of saving for university. I wouldn’t want to have you go short on our account.’

  ‘Believe me, I will not go short,’ she assured him. ‘My parents have offered to help me, but I decided a long time ago that I would pay for my education myself. I don’t want to be facing years of paying back debts at the end of it.’

  ‘That is quite understandable and very commendable,’ he agreed. ‘So perhaps you would care to consider the offer for a few days and discuss it with Mister Jasper before coming to a decision?’

  ‘There’s no need. You’ve got yourself a librarian. When do you want me to start?’

  The blue eye shone. ‘You can start tomorrow if you so wish. Unless of course you have employment that requires a term of notice.’

 
‘I’ll hand in my notice at the supermarket tonight and be ready to begin by the end of next week. How’s that?’

  ‘Excellent! Excellent!’ he beamed. ‘And, ah, while we are still in the process of arranging things, would you mind very much if I were to address you henceforth as Lady Sara? The “miss” title does rather sound as though one is speaking to an unwed servant, don’t you think?’

  Sara grinned. ‘But I’m not married.’

  ‘No, no, of course not!’ The old man spluttered and cleared his throat again. ‘Good heavens! Such a step would take years of profound consideration before it could be undertaken! But you are already part of the family, if you understand me, and I would be more comfortable with Lady Sara. If you are completely in agreement, of course!’ he added hastily.

  ‘I’m quite comfortable with Lady Sara,’ she assured him.

  ‘I am very grateful,’ he said humbly. ‘I shall telephone Mister Charles this evening and instruct him accordingly.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Sir Jonas. I will do my very best, I promise you.’

  ‘I have no doubt of that, my dear Lady Sara, no doubt at all.’

  They looked at each other and laughed. The interview was ended. Sara stood up and prepared to leave. It was all she could do not to hug him. ‘I’ll take the tray to the kitchen.’

  ‘That is most kind. I would venture to carry it back myself except that poor Madame Marguerite appears to become unduly nervous regarding my state of health whenever I step into the kitchen.’ The blue eye twinkled. ‘Now is there anything else I can do for you before you go? Do you have any particular request you would like to make of me?’

  ‘Actually there is one thing.’

  ‘Well?’ he enquired encouragingly.

  ‘I would love to learn to ride,’ she said.

  He clapped his hands as though he were about to summon a genie from a bottle. ‘Nothing could be more simple! I shall speak to Caspar on your behalf. He is an extremely gifted instructor and Nanna is a very amenable first mount. Do you have any previous equestrian experience?’