The Quickening Maze - Adam Foulds [54]
‘It is called an orrery.’
‘Heavenly bodies?’ she asked.
‘Of course. The sun there in the centre.’
‘It’s beautiful. Was it very expensive?’
‘What a vulgar question. Come here, my dear, and turn this handle.’
‘I won’t break it?’
‘Fear not. The heavens are at your command.’
He stood behind her and held her waist, warmed by the chase through the house. Eliza took the handle and turned. The mechanism was beautifully, gelatinously smooth. From left to right the worlds revolved with their moons waltzing around them while the large brass ball of the sun stood unmoved, adored, reflecting the lamplight.
‘What is the one with all those moons?’
‘Jupiter.’
‘Aren’t you clever?’
‘Terrifically. Prodigiously.’ Matthew kissed her neck.
The day was light and taut. A breeze hissed against the trees. High white cloud was dragged across the blue. She could smell the burnt dust of the path.There had been no reprisals, not yet, for her sin, no claws pouncing into her, no shame. She was in accordance with His will. There was yet work to do. The exorcism was reaching its climax. She closed her eyes and prayed.
A voice said, ‘Too frightened to look, is it?’
Mary opened her eyes and saw the one who she had been waiting for, Clara, the witch. Mary thanked God for sending her. ‘I have no fear of anything.You are the one who fears. Everywhere you see . . .’
Clara giggled.‘You are a liar,’ she said.‘I can do things to you.’
‘No, you cannot. I am invulnerable because . . .’
‘Yes, I can.Terrible things.You couldn’t invent them.’
‘I’m alone in a madhouse. I’ve nothing but His protection. What can you do? You have . . .’
‘You think this is the worst? You think this is the worst there is?’
‘I know there’s worse. I’ve known it. Most of us have. I’ve spent hours . . .’
‘But being Jew-Jesus’s whore, you’re preserved.’ Clara giggled again.
‘God loves you too. It is limitless. It is larger than this world. This world is so tiny . . .’
‘I’d piss on it.’
‘It’s there. Even after you’ve pissed on it, it will be full of kindness, radiant . . .’
‘Why don’t you show me? Why don’t you come with me? There’s something I want to show you. If you can stand it.’
‘There’s nothing you can show me . . .’
‘Then come and look at it. Come on.’
Clara started walking away, her hair twitching over her shoulder. Mary paused only for a fraction of a moment, then followed. Death could take nothing of value from her, so what could Clara do?
Simon trotted over to Clara to ask her where she was going. He grabbed hold of her shoulder. She dived away out of his grasp and turned on him.
‘But where don’t you . . .’ he began.
‘We’re going to the place,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t come.’
‘No . . .’ he lowed.
‘You cannot come.’
Simon knew not to try to disobey her. He put a finger in his mouth and stood back.
Clara led Mary to the gate. Peter Wilkins awakened from his seat, pushed his hat back on his head and unlocked the gate for them.
They immediately left the path. Clara stepped over brambles, the broken light flickering over her. Things flew. The forest made its little eating sounds.
‘A little further,’ Clara said.
A clearing of scraped earth. There was something on it.
‘Here. Now look upon it.’
‘You dwell in darkness and there is no need. Light is abundant. It searches out every part of you. It loves you.’
‘Shut your holy, stinking mouth. This is my place you’re in. Look upon it.’
‘What is it?’
‘It has powers.’
‘It has none. It has no connection . . .’
‘Shut your mouth and look upon it.’
Mary stepped forward and looked down. It had the form of a circle and was about the size of a large plate. It was beautifully made from tiny pieces. At its edge was a fence of small sticks. It had a spiralling, repetitive pattern made with feathers, remarkably matching stones, berries, insects’ shiny wings, nuts, leaves. At its centre was the swirl of a snail shell.