The String Diaries

by Stephen Lloyd Jones

  Sebastien frowned, and glanced across at her husband. ‘Did you see your father before you left?’

  ‘No. No I didn’t.’

  ‘Has he tried to contact you since?’

  She shook her head, not wanting to voice it aloud and admit to herself what that probably meant.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hannah. It’s an evil thing, this. It has to end. I’ll do everything I can to help you.’

  She fought back tears. Hooking tea bags out of the brews, she stirred in powdered milk and handed Sebastien a mug.

  Cupping his hands around it, he watched Leah. She was curled in the opposite armchair. ‘Can I make a suggestion?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘We put your little one to bed upstairs. There’s a child’s room with a bed already made up. The next few days are going to be tough on her, and she’s going to have to adjust fast.’

  Hannah looked over at the girl, resisting the urge to gather her into her arms. Before Leah’s birth, she had believed the emotions Nate stirred in her the pinnacle of what a human being could feel: love and terror, in equal quantities; love so powerful that it overwhelmed – but never conquered – her fear of exposing him to the shadows stalking her; terror that she could lose someone who made her feel like this. Yet when Leah arrived in their lives, she was startled once more by the power and complexity of her feelings: love and terror again, hopelessly intertwined, now on a colossal scale; love that did not compete with what she felt for Nate but reached out and gathered all three of them in its arms; terror multiplied, magnified now by the awful possibilities of losing them both, losing one and seeing that loss in the face of the other, or – this last thought one that whispered only in her darkest moments – having to choose between them, sacrificing one so the other might live.

  From that first day, she had promised herself she would not allow the events that destroyed her own childhood to spill over into her daughter’s. But already history seemed to be repeating, with Hannah a helpless witness. That it had to end was an easy thing for Sebastien to say. She had always told herself that when the time came, she would fight rather than flee. But flee was what she had been forced to do.

  It was, she vowed, a temporary flight. She could still fight. She still had Leah, and Nate still clung to life. If he lost that battle – she felt her throat constrict at the very possibility – then while a fundamental part of her life would be over, the responsibility to keep Leah safe would fall even more heavily upon her. And while she wasn’t ready to contemplate a world without Nate, she would readily trade her life to secure her daughter’s future.

  Yet what if the worst did happen? What if Nate lost his battle and Hannah traded her life for her daughter’s? Leah would be left utterly alone. After tonight’s appalling events, Hannah had to presume that her father was dead. That left no one. No one on Nate’s side. All her own family gone. For Leah’s sake, one of them had to survive this. Which led her back to the same dilemma. Fight or flee. She was starting to understand just what impossible choices those that had gone before her had been forced to make.

  Hannah made herself list the positives. The farmhouse could still function as her father had intended: a safe-house, a reprieve from the hunt. She had won them some time now – time to make plans, time for Nate to recuperate, time for her to explain things to Leah as best she could.

  She looked at Sebastien sitting in the armchair before her. She knew his eyes measured her, assessing the levels of her strength, her resolve. What part did he play in this? After his initial abruptness, the gentleness of his words had betrayed the warmth in him. She felt she had an ally here. But she also suspected there were things he had not told her. Knowledge had always been the most important weapon in all of this. It was still the one thing she lacked the most.

  She needed to earn Sebastien’s trust. And quickly. Everything he could tell her – about Jakab, and about her father – had the potential to be useful, had the potential to swing the needle of probability in their favour.

  Fight or flee.

  ‘You’re right, she needs to sleep in a proper bed.’ Hannah finished her tea and placed the mug on the counter. ‘But I don’t want her waking up alone. Not after all this. Can you show me around upstairs? There must be a master bedroom.’

  ‘Front of the house.’

  ‘Then she can sleep in there with me.’

  Sebastien nodded, wincing as he pulled himself out of the armchair. He clanked his mug down on the counter next to hers.

  Hannah went to the sofa and knelt at Nate’s side. He was still asleep, his pallor as awful and as frightening as when she had first turned on the Discovery’s overhead light. He breathed in shallow spasms. She wanted to check under the pads to see if the bleeding had stopped, but Sebastien had warned her not to disturb the bindings. She kissed the top of his head and smoothed his hair.

  The Maglite was by the fireplace where she had left it. Hannah picked it up. Even though Sebastien had managed to start the generator and they had electricity to power the lights, she found the solid heft of its aluminium casing reassuring. ‘Let’s go and check out upstairs,’ she said.

  Sebastien turned to the dog and gestured in Nate’s direction. ‘Stay here. Keep watch.’ Moses pricked up an ear. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he panted agreement.

  In the hallway, Sebastien flipped the light switch. A frosted bulb lit up a chandelier hung with dust-coated crystal. The light cast an eerie patina of shapes on to wallpaper lifting at its seams and brown with age. A door opposite the kitchen led to a dark living room. She could see the outlines of old furniture. Chill air leached from the doorway. Further down the hall a second door, this one closed, concealed what she presumed was a dining room.

  She followed Sebastien to the front door. He turned and led her up the stairs, wooden treads creaking beneath his feet. The passageway grew murkier as they ascended, the light from the downstairs hall unable to banish the shadows from the upper level of the house.

  They came to a landing and a tall chest of drawers. A display case stood upon it, the front smeared with grime. Inside, the glass eyes of a stuffed peregrine falcon watched her. The specimen was pitiful with age, its feathers brittle, some of them missing. A stain of brown had spread across the front of its chest. She vowed to get rid of it first thing in the morning.

  Off to their right, the stairs rose again. Sebastien went first and they arrived at a long passageway. He flicked on a light switch. The ceiling bulb, enclosed in a fabric shade, remained dark. He toggled the switch back and forth and shrugged. ‘Must have blown. Come on, this way.’

  At the end of the hallway he opened a door and turned on another light. She stepped into a large bathroom. In one corner stood a cold and uninviting roll-top, a verdigris stain around the plughole. A rusted metal shower hose snaked up from the mixer unit, its head hanging limp from a bracket, as if its neck had been broken. The shower curtain was spotted with black mould. On the basin next to the toilet, a plastic tub contained a dried brown sliver of soap.

  ‘Probably could do with a once-over,’ Sebastien muttered.

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘We can spruce it up a bit tomorrow. Come on, I’ll show you the master bedroom.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  He indicated a door and she poked her head inside. The room was huge, two tall sash windows overlooking the driveway below. The wind was fiercer up here, howling as it battered itself against the walls. Sebastien reached for the bedroom light switch but she knocked his hand away. ‘Don’t. We’re more exposed on this side of the house. Let me close those curtains first.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘I know it’s unlikely, but I’d feel better if I knew no one could see inside.’

  ‘Can’t blame you for that.’

  Hannah went to the heavy drapes and pulled them across the w
indows, flinching at the feel of the mildewed cloth. The house needed a good blast of heat to chase out the damp.

  Once she had shut away the sounds of the storm, Sebastien turned on the light. An ancient four-poster bed rested against the wall opposite the windows. A crimson bedspread covered it. Two mahogany wardrobes, with carved crests and ornate corbels, stood against the far wall. A dressing table and chair, in the same Renaissance style, completed the room’s furniture.

  Between the two wardrobes, a stone fireplace surrounded a grate with logs, kindling and a box of matches. A further supply of wood had been stacked in a basket on the hearth. ‘Did you do that?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll get it started for you.’

  ‘No, I can manage.’ She moved to the grate, struck a match and quickly had a fire going. ‘You can turn the light off now.’ Sebastien obliged. Lit only by the glow of the flames dancing around the logs, the room felt a fraction more welcoming.

  Hannah sat on the corner of the bed. ‘How did you meet my father?’

  Fetching the chair from the dressing table, Sebastien lowered himself down on to it. He rubbed the small tattoo on his wrist. ‘Charles tracked down a Council contact in Geneva. The Council selected me to go and meet him. We thought your father might be one of them at first. I was sent to discover the truth.’

  ‘The Eleni Council?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘You’re Eleni?’

  ‘Was. No longer.’

  ‘What happened?’

  He opened his hands. Studied the veins criss-crossing the backs of them. ‘I got old. Needed to find some peace. And I didn’t like the way things were going. The direction the Council was taking, I mean. There was a new generation and the whole thing was getting a lot more militant. Losing its way, I thought. Then again, I can’t deny that I’ve grown a lot less tolerant than I once was. So maybe it was just me that changed.’

  ‘What brought you here?’

  Sebastien lifted his head and met her gaze. Emerald fireworks glittered in his eyes, and she thought she detected great sadness in them, a loneliness so stark that it frightened her. ‘What I told you was true. I live here now. When your father was scoping out locations for his hideaways years ago, I came here with him. This was his first, you know. It just seemed a beautiful area, what with the mountains, the solitude. When he bought Llyn Gwyr, I found another place up for sale a few miles west. I’ve been here ever since.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘There’s Moses.’

  ‘A dog.’

  ‘Better company than some humans I’ve known.’

  ‘Which breed is he?’

  ‘Vizsla. An old Hungarian hunting breed.’

  ‘Hungarian?’ she asked, eyebrows arching.

  Sebastien smiled. ‘They’re not just great at tracking game, either.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps that’s what they were bred for, back in those days. Nobody knows for sure. You’ll find most Eleni keep them.’

  ‘Tell me about the tattoo.’

  His fingers moved back to the blue symbol on his wrist and he smoothed away the wrinkles. ‘The Imperial Eagle. It used to be the heraldic animal of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. And yet these days they’re all but extinct. All Council members have the bird’s head marked on them. Higher ranks receive more of it.’

  ‘You have the whole silhouette.’

  ‘Yes. I was signeur when I left.’

  She frowned. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘You know what that means?’

  ‘I know about the Eleni from what my mother told me, and from the snippets my father shared when he was in the mood. And I know that the signeur is one of the three chairs. And traditionally the holding seat for the Presidente.’

  He nodded. ‘Whereas you look at me and see an old hermit with bad manners and creaking joints.’

  ‘No, I—’ She paused, then shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Yes, I do.’

  He cackled. ‘We’ll get along fine, you and me.’

  ‘We’d better. I’m pretty short on friends right now.’

  Sebastien put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Hannah found herself absurdly grateful for his touch. ‘I’m not the only one,’ he told her. ‘But you can rely on me to do what I can to protect you.’

  ‘He’s not really after me. He’s after one of those two downstairs.’

  ‘I know. And . . .’ He hesitated. Appeared to consider something. ‘We’ll work together to stop that happening.’

  She nodded, warmed by his reassurances and quiet humanity. ‘You’re a good man, Sebastien.’

  He withdrew his hand and stood up, crossing the room to the door. Stepping out on to the landing, he peered over the rail to the stairs below. Satisfied, he walked back into the room and closed the door behind him. He returned to the bed and sat down opposite her, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Tell me again exactly what happened when you left Charles tonight.’

  The seriousness of his expression, and the care he had taken to ensure their privacy, sent fear crawling like a rash across her skin. She felt her heart accelerate in her chest. ‘I already did.’

  ‘Just do it.’

  After the gentleness he had displayed moments earlier, his sudden bluntness jarred.

  ‘Dad called me into his study. He was distressed, really paranoid. He said Jakab was already at the house. That he’d supplanted one of the staff. He told me and Nate to take Leah and leave.’

  ‘Keep your voice down. Then what happened?’

  ‘Leah was playing outside. Nate went to pack a bag and I grabbed her from the garden. I heard shots. I dialled Nate on the phone.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I was right around the other side of the house. It’s a big estate. Stables, the works. I didn’t want to bring Leah out to the front unless I knew what was happening.’

  ‘And Nate answered.’

  ‘He told me to get Leah into the car, to reverse it up to the side of the house. I’ve never been so scared. I didn’t know what was happening. I even considered driving away with Leah there and then. Hated myself for that. But I reversed up and Nate limped out.’

  ‘Did he say what happened?’

  ‘Just that there had been a fight, and that he’d been stabbed. I think he was trying to protect me, trying to stop me from panicking too much.’

  ‘And you think Nate shot Jakab.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No one else at all?’

  ‘No. I—’

  ‘Hannah, listen to me very carefully.’ Sebastien took both her hands into his. ‘Have you validated Nate since he got into the car with you?’

  ‘No, I—’

  She stopped. Suddenly knew why he had gone to the landing. Why he had closed the door. Why he was whispering.

  Horror embraced her, thrusting its talons deep. ‘Oh my God, no,’ she said.

  CHAPTER 6

  Gödöllö, Hungary

  1873

  Lukács was sitting in the toolshed playing with the mole rat when he heard his father calling his name.

  He knew why József wanted him. He also knew, without any doubt, that he had no chance of escape. Tomorrow’s journey loomed with a dark inevitability; Lukács could no more halt the events lined up before him than he could halt the clocks in his father’s workshop with a hopeful breath.

  It did not make the thought any easier.

  His first végzet night. One of four over the coming months that would symbolise his entry into adulthood. A night of celebration, of discovery, of girls flush-faced with the excitement of reaching womanhood.

  If, he reflected, he had been born whole like his brothers, instead of bringing them disgrace. Lukács suspected his own
passage through végzet would be greeted with little enthusiasm by his peers.

  On the sawdust floor of the toolshed, the mole rat lurched from left to right, dragging its shattered hind legs behind it. It had no eyes to speak of, testing the air with a wrinkled pink nose, the folds of which, his older brother assured him, resembled a woman’s vulva. He watched it quiver and twitch as the creature searched for an escape route. The comparison disgusted him. Typical of Jani.

  Sensing open space behind it, the mole rat turned and used its front paws to pull the rest of its body through the dust.

  Lukács blocked its progress with a stick.

  ‘Here he is!’

  Two figures had appeared in the doorway, one tall and broad, the other a child. Summer sun silhouetted them but he knew their shape, recognised the voice that had spoken. The taller one ducked inside the shed, walked over and stared down at Lukács, hands on hips. ‘Well, well. What’s the saying? A bad penny always turns up.’

  ‘Go away, Jani.’

  ‘Can’t you hear father calling you?’ Jani looked round to little Izsák, who was still peering around the door jamb. ‘So he’s deaf now as well. Our brother is truly blessed.’

  ‘I’m not deaf.’

  Jani hunched down and stared into Lukács’s face. ‘Then why do you linger here like a disobedient pup?’

  ‘He’ll find me soon enough.’

  ‘Yes, he will. When he does, he’s going to be angry with you for ignoring him. Perhaps you’ll get a whipping. Although probably not today. He needs his runt as pliable as possible if he’s any chance of getting rid of him at the végzet. Pity there isn’t a runt’s végzet, eh, pup?’

  Lukács said nothing in reply. To answer Jani too readily would incite violence. Not that he particularly cared.

  His brother looked down at the struggling mole rat. They both watched as it raised its vulva-like snout and sniffed the air. As if finding something distasteful in Jani’s presence, the rodent turned away.

  ‘Appropriate pet for you,’ Jani sneered. ‘Listen to me, runt. Tomorrow night, at your végzet, if any one of them asks, you don’t tell them about your brothers. You don’t have any brothers. Understand?’