The Bone Clocks

“Why would a … a Swiss engineer, who faked his own death and is now a French orphanage owner—right?—want psychic children?”

Arkady says, “The Anchorites fuel their atemporality by feeding on souls, as Marinus said. But not just any old soul will do; only the souls of the Engifted can be decanted. Like organ donation, where only one in a thousand is a compatible match. Around every equinox and solstice, the soul’s owner has to be lured up the Way of Stones into the Chapel. Once there, the hapless visitor stares at the icon of the Blind Cathar, who then decants the visitor’s soul into Black Wine. The body is disposed of through a Chapel window, and the Twelve Anchorites assemble at a ritual known as a Rebirthday where they drink the Black Wine, and for a season—three months or so—no cellular subdivision occurs in their bodies. Which is why Hugo Lamb’s body has remained in its midtwenties state, while his mind and soul are over fifty years old.”

Holly suspends judgment, for now. “Why’s Pfenninger now in Paris when you get to the ‘Chapel’ via a ruined Swiss monastery?”

“Any Anchorite can summon the Aperture anywhere.” Arkady lowers his palm over the candle flame. “And open it anywhere, too, from the inside. The Aperture’s why this War’s gone on for 160 years. For all intents and purposes the Anchorites are able to teleport themselves from place to place. It’s both the ultimate getaway car and a method of surprise attack.”

Holly’s voice cracks as she realizes something: “Miss Constantin?”

“Immaculйe Constantin is Pfenninger’s deputy. We don’t know why the First Anchorite recruited her as the Second, but she was the governess of the girls’ wing of the Marais orphanage. No less a personage than Talleyrand referred to Madame Constantin as ‘a Sword-wielding Seraphim in a Woman’s Form.’ Eighteen decades pass and we find her in Gravesend, grooming Holly Sykes. She made a rare error in your case, however, by spooking you, so that one of my ex-students brought you to my attention. I inoculated you by draining off your psychosoteric voltage and rendering you unfit for Black Wine. Miss Constantin was annoyed, of course, and although she never forgot Holly Sykes or her promising brother Jacko, she moved on.”

“The arithmetic keeps them busy,” says Arkady. “The Anchorites keep their numbers to twelve, so each individual member must source a decantible guest once every three years. Their prey can’t be drugged, bagged, and dragged up to the Chapel. Anchorites must befriend their prey, like Constantin befriended you. If the prey isn’t conscious and calm during decanting, the Black Wine’s tainted. It’s a delicate vintage.”

The figures in the painting watch us. The stories they could tell.

“Am I to understand,” Holly gathers her strength, “that Miss Constantin and the Anchorites abducted Jacko and … drank his soul? Is this what you’re really saying?”

The clock’s tick is either loud or quiet, depending.

“The thing about Jacko is …” I close my eyes and subsay Wish me luckto Arkady, “… he was one of us.”

Maybe it’s thunder somewhere, or maybe a garbage truck.

“Jacko was my brother.” Holly speaks slowly. “He was seven.”

“His body was seven,” says Arkady. “But his body was the vehicle for the soul of Xi Lo, an Horologist. Xi Lo was much, mucholder.”

Holly’s shaking her head, wrestling with this outrage.

I ask, “Remember when Jacko had meningitis, when he was five?”

“Of course I do. He damn nearly died.”

The only way is on. “Ms. Sykes, Jacko diddie that day.”

This is an affront, a trampling, and Holly’s at breaking point. “ Er, sorry—but he bloody didn’t die! I was bloody there!”

There’s no way to make this easier. “Jack Martin Sykes’s soul left his body at two twenty-three A.M. on the sixteenth of October, 1981. By two twenty-four, the soul of Xi Lo, the oldest and best of Horologists, was in possession of your brother’s body. Even as your father was yelling for a medic, Jacko’s body was out of danger. But Jacko’s soul was crossing the Dusk.”

Ominous silence. “So …” Holly’s nostrils dilate, “… my little brother’s a zombie, you’re saying?”

“Jacko wasJacko’s body,” says Arkady, “with Jacko’s habits of mind, but with Xi Lo’s soul and memories.”

She shudders, lost. “Why saysuch a thing?”

“Good question,” says Arkady. “Why would we, if it wasn’t true?”

Holly stands up and her chair topples backwards. “It usually comes down to an attempt to get money.”

“Horology was founded in 1598,” Arkady says aloofly. “We’ve made a few investments down the years. Your nest eggs are safe.”

Behave, I suborder Arkady. “Consider Jacko’s oddities,” I ask Holly. “Why would a British boy listen to Chinese radio?”

“Because … Jacko found it soothing.”

“Mandarin was Xi Lo’s mother tongue,” I explain.

“ Englishwas Jacko’s mother tongue! My mum was his mum! The Captain Marlow was his home. His family’s us. We loved him. We still do.” Holly’s blinking back tears. “Even today.”