The Bone Clocks

“And Xi Lo–in–Jack loved you too,” I say gently. “Very much. He even loved Newky, the smelliest dog in Kent. None of that love was a lie. But none of what we’re telling is a lie, either. Xi Lo’s soul was older than your pub. Older than England. Older than Christianity.”

Holly’s heard enough. She picks up the knocked-over chair. “My plane flies back to Dublin this afternoon, and I’ll be on it. As you spoke, there were … bits I believed, bits I can’t. A lot of it, I just don’t know. The dreamseeding stuff was incredible. But … it’s taken me so long to stop blaming myself for Jacko, and you’re ripping that scar tissue off.” She puts on her coat. “I lead a quiet life with books and cats in the west of Ireland. Little, local, normal stuff. The Holly Sykes who wrote The Radio People, she might’vebelieved in your Atemporals, in your magic monks, but I’m not her anymore. If you are Marinus, good luck with … whatever.” Holly retrieves her handbag, puts the green key on the table, and goes to the door. “Goodbye. I’m off.”

Shall I suasion her to stay?subasks Arkady.

If her cooperation is coerced, it’s not cooperation.

“We understand,” I tell Holly. “Thanks for visiting.”

Arkady subreminds me, What about Esther?

Too much, too fast, too soon. Say something nice.

“Sorry I was rude,” says Arkady. “Growing pains.”

Holly says, “Tell Batman’s butler goodbye.”

“I will,” I answer, “and au revoir, Ms. Sykes.”

Holly has closed the door. By now the Anchorites’ll know she’s here, substates Arkady. Shall we have Ф shima shadow her?

I’m unconvinced. Pfenninger won’t abort his meticulous plans on a premature strike.

If they suspect that Esther Little is walled up inside Holly’s head, Arkady’s fingers make a gun, they’ll strike all right, and hard.

I drink cooled tea, trying to see this morning from the Anchorites’ view. How could they know that Esther’s in Holly?

They can’t know for sure. Arkady cleans his glasses on the sleeve of his Nehru shirt. But they could guess, and off her to be safe.

“ ‘Off her’? Too many gangster films, Arkady.” My device trills. The screen reads PRIVATE CALLER and I intuit it’s bad news even before I hear Elijah D’Arnoq: “Thank God, Marinus. It’s me, D’Arnoq. Look, I just found out: Constantin dispatched a cell to abduct and scansion Holly Sykes. It won’t be consensual. Stop them.”

The words sink in. “When?”

“Right now,” answers D’Arnoq.

“Where?” I ask.

“Probably at her hotel. Hurry.”

ФSHIMA’S WAITING ACROSS the road as I emerge, his collar up and his rain-spotted porkpie hat angled low. He points with a jerk of his head in the Park Avenue direction, subsaying, I guess we failed the interview.

I recognize Holly from behind by her long black coat and head-wrap. My fault. I told her that Jacko was older than Jesus. I step aside for a skateboarder. More urgently, D’Arnoq was just in touch, I subreply, to say that a cell has been sent to pick her up for scansioning. I put up my rainbow umbrella as a shield and we set off, Фshima matching my pace and position on the south side of the street, me on the north.

Remind me, subsays Фshima, why we don’t just suasion her into a nice deep sleep and then go in subhollering for Esther?

One, it’s against the Codex. Two, sheis chakra-latent, so she may react badly to scansion and redact her own memories, unraveling anyone who is in residence. Three … Well, that’s enough for now. But we’ll need her goodwill, and should only suasion her as a last resort.

The green man flashes as Holly reaches Park Avenue, so Фshima and I rush, dodge traffic, and get honked at to avoid being stranded on the island in the middle. We lengthen our strides and get to within twenty paces of Holly. Фshima asks, Do we have a strategy here, Marinus, or are we just following her like a pair of stalkers?