“Shut up,” said Marklin. “It’s quite remarkable, isn’t it, the way that people—you and I for instance—respond to stress.”
“No, unfortunately, it’s not remarkable at all.”
They edged their way through the press. Strange faces to the right and left. People everywhere were drinking wine and beer. He could hear French, Italian, even people speaking Dutch.
There sat Joan Cross, in the first of the formal parlors, surrounded by faces unknown to Marklin, but all of them in serious conversation.
No Stuart.
“You see?” said Tommy, whispering in his ear. “They’re doing what comes naturally after someone dies—gathering, talking, as if it were a party. Now that’s what we have to do. What comes naturally. You understand?”
Marklin nodded, but he didn’t like it, no, not at all. He glanced back once, trying to find the door, but the door had been closed, apparently, and the crowd blocked his view in any event. He could see nothing. Indeed, it struck him as strange that there were so many foreign faces, and he wanted to say something to Tommy, but Tommy had moved away.
Tommy was chatting with Elvera, nodding as Elvera explained something to him. She looked as dowdy as ever, with her dark gray hair knotted at the nape of her neck, and her rimless glasses halfway down her nose. Enzo stood beside her, that devious-looking Italian. Where the hell was his twin?
How dreadful to spend one’s life in this place, he thought. Did he dare to ask about Stuart? Certainly he didn’t dare to ask about Yuri, though of course he knew. Ansling and Perry had told him about Yuri’s call. Oh God, what was he to do? And where were Ansling and Perry?
Galton Penn, one of the other novices, was pushing his way towards Marklin.
“Hey, there, Mark. What do you think of all this?”
“Well, I don’t know that people are talking about it here,” said Marklin. “But then I haven’t really listened.”
“Let’s talk about it now, man, before they forbid all conversation on the subject. You know the Order. They haven’t a clue as to who killed Marcus. Not a clue. You know what we’re all thinking? There’s something they don’t want us to know.”
“Like what?”
“That it was some supernatural agency, what else? Elvera saw something that horrified her. Something bad happened. You know, Mark, I’m very sorry for Marcus and all, but this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened since I was received.”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” Mark answered. “Haven’t seen Stuart, have you?”
“No, not at all, not since this morning, when he declined to take charge. Were you here when that happened?”
“No. I mean yes,” said Mark. “I was wondering if he went out or what.”
Galton shook his head. “You hungry? I am. Let’s get some chow.”
This was going to be rough, very rough. But if the only people who spoke to him were bright-faced imbeciles like Galton, he would do just fine, just fine indeed.
Sixteen
THEY’D BEEN ON the road over an hour, and it was almost dark, the sky clabbering with silvery clouds, and a drowsy look coming over the great expanses of rolling hills and bright green farmland, neatly cut into patterns as if the landscape were covered with a great patchwork quilt.
They made a pit stop in a little one-street village with several black and white half-timbered houses and a small, overgrown cemetery. The pub was more than inviting. It even had the proverbial dart board and a couple of men playing darts, and the smell of the beer was wonderful.
But this was hardly the time to stop for a drink, thought Michael.
He stepped outside, lit a fresh cigarette, and watched with quiet fascination the formal gentleness with which Ash guided his prisoner into the pub and inevitably towards the bathroom.
Across the street, Yuri stood at a phone booth, talking rapidly, having made his connection to the Motherhouse, apparently, and Rowan stood beside him, arms folded, watching the sky or something in it, Michael couldn’t be sure which. Yuri was upset again, wringing his right hand as he held the receiver with the left, nodding over and over again. It was plain that Rowan was listening to his words.
Michael leaned back against the plaster wall, and drew in on the smoke. It always amazed him how tiring it was to simply ride in a car.
Even this journey, with its agonizing suspense, was no different ultimately, and now that darkness had closed off the lovely countryside, he would grow more sleepy, he figured, no matter what was