Decay Inevitable

“This is Gloat Market, quite evidently. There are signs as you enter.”

“Yeah, I know it’s Gloat Market, but what is Gloat Market in?”

George frowned. “Don’t follow you, friend.”

“I’m lost. I’ve never heard of this village, or Howling Mile or wherever else we’re near. What’s going on? What is this place?”

“Gloat Market,” George said irritably. “Crisp and oozing nips, man. I’ve never been to any of the other places. No need, really. I’m quite happy where I am.”

“What about everyone else?” Will persisted. “Are they happy where they are?”

“I’m quite certain of it.”

“Then where are they? It’s deserted. You and Alice are the only people I’ve seen all day.”

George gave him a look that suggested his leg was being pulled. “You’re tired, sir. Have a nap and all your nonsense will be forgotten.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Will spat, and rose from the table. George laid a hand on his arm.

“You might want to try to settle in here,” he said. “Sometimes it’s best not to look too hard for something, even if you don’t know what that something is.”

“What are you trying to say?”

George’s hands flew into the air and he smiled a shockingly toothy smile. “Nothing, dear man. Absolutely nothing whatsoever. Just sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you. As you were to me.”

Will said goodbye, and hiked up a short hill. The clouds gave up their attempt to hold on to the rain in their bellies and vomited a heavy, oily deluge that soaked Will to the skin in seconds. Cursing loudly, he ran to a cluster of trees and, once in their shelter, saw another house in their shade, its front door swinging merrily in the gusty blow of what was fast becoming a nasty little storm.

Will called a greeting as he entered the hallway and blinked hard as he saw a splash of motion – a woman carrying a tray – at the threshold to a dining room. There was nobody there. He hurried upstairs and flicked a light in the bathroom. There was nobody here either, despite the stroboscopic blip depicting a young woman soaping herself in a bath full of bubbles. He undressed and showered, leaning against the wall while the jet of water fizzed against his skin. When he finally stepped out of the cubicle and started drying himself in front of the mirror, he had to blink hard again, but not because he had seen the ghost of somebody sharing the bathroom with him. He reached out to the mirror and rubbed away the steamed surface. When it was clear, he was able to see the two patches of rot that were eating into his flesh: one on the side of his arm where George had touched him, the other on the back of his forearm: Alice.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: MARAUDER

PARDOE HAD SAID there were just three Inserts. Sean, Emma, and Naomi. But others, it seemed, had learned the secret. Crossing the bridge that spanned the river (known as the Timeless, according to an impatient tradesman on his way to buy calves at an auction), Sean had leaned for a moment on the parapet to watch the traffic below. A barge made its way to the north bank, farting black clouds of diesel smoke in its wake. At the bow, he caught a glimpse of Tim Enever. He was certain of it. By the time he’d nudged Emma to tell her, he was gone.

“I wouldn’t know him anyway,” Emma said, reasonably.

“Well, you won’t ever forget him when you do clap eyes on him. Come on.”

They hurried to the other side of the bridge in time to see the barge dock and the harbour master secure the boat with rope as thick as an arm. Goat-swift, Tim was off the boat and scurrying into a warren of backstreets, his arm clasping to his chest a package wrapped in cream-coloured paper. A red bloom was spreading across the bottom. For a moment, Sean supposed that the other was not Tim – how would such a physical wreck be able to move like that? – but then Sean himself was finding that he was able to move much more quickly over here. Over Here was how he preferred to call this place. Over Here and Back There. It tickled Emma to hear him talk in this fashion. She had christened it Tantamount.