I spend the night going over and over the memory. Looking for more clues. I see Mercury’s home clearer every time. It’s not a castle, country house, cottage, or eyrie—it’s much more difficult to find than that. It’s a bunker. Completely underground, completely out of sight, inside the hill.
The next morning I try to describe the place, the lake, and the hill. Gabriel says, “Can you draw it?”
That I can do. Everyone watches as I draw the lake with the iceberg floating in it. The land around is undulating; there are no trees or shrubs, just yellowed grass and bare ground; patches of snow lie in wide hollows. As I draw I realize that there’s a sign by the road that runs along the lake.
“Can you see the place name?” Van asks.
I don’t know what the sign says. I close my eyes and describe what I see. “It begins with a V and is a sort of medium-length word.”
“Well, that’s a big help,” says Nesbitt. “It’s somewhere cold and begins with a V? Sure rules out a heck of a lot of places—”
“Yes, it does, thank you, Nesbitt,” Van interrupts. “We need maps. Can you read maps, Nathan?”
“Yes. There’s something else as well. I know the shape of the word.”
“The shape?” Nesbitt laughs. “Well, why didn’t you say that before? The shape of the word . . . that makes all the difference.”
“Nesbitt, if you can’t contribute positively do you mind awfully not contributing at all?” Van turns back to me. “The shape?”
I shrug. I draw it in the air with my finger.
“Good. And how long is this word? Do you know the number of letters?”
“Or what the letters are?” Nesbitt chimes in again. “I mean, that might be a question worth asking.”
“The sign was by the road, a long way off.” But I know it wasn’t that far off and it’s just that I can’t read the sign and, every time I try to remember it or focus on it, it goes to a jumble of black on white.
Gabriel gives me a book, saying, “Which word is it most like?”
Nesbitt flaps his arms and shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”
I put the book down and stare at him. Van and Gabriel stare too.
“What?!”
“Why don’t you bring the atlas, Nesbitt,” says Van. “Then prepare lunch and go for a long walk.”
While he’s gone I look through the book and try to find a word that reminds me of the place name that I saw. I don’t find any.
Gabriel brings scissors and cuts up some letters. He rearranges them until I say stop.
“That’s sort of what it’s like. What does it say?”
“Volteahn. It doesn’t mean anything. And”—he’s leafing through the atlas index—“it isn’t listed as a place.”
“Is there anything similar?” Van asks.
Gabriel studies the index.
I get up and go to the kitchen. Nesbitt is slicing a loaf with a bread knife. He glances up when I enter.
“Hey, mate.”
I guess I don’t look too happy because he says, “You know I didn’t mean anything.”
“I can’t read, OK?” I walk up to him. The knife is pointed at my chest. It’s a bread knife but it could still kill me.
I walk further so the point of the knife is hard against my skin.
I push. The point begins to go in but then Nesbitt pulls the knife away. There’s blood on the tip.
“OK?” I insist.
“Yes, sure, Nathan. I was just kidding around.” His voice is the same, and his stupid grin, but now I’m close to him I see that his eyes have lost their movement: the flow of blue and green is frozen. He’s afraid.
And I’m so surprised that I stop. I never realized he was scared of me.
“Nathan, what’s happening?” Gabriel asks as he comes into the kitchen. He hesitates, then says, “We think we’ve found it. The place.”
“Seems I don’t need to be able to read,” I say to Nesbitt. “And,” I add, “your soup is too salty.” I turn and walk away.
Nesbitt says, “Too salty? Too salty? I . . . but . . .”
As I walk out of the kitchen I notice Pers. She’s sitting in the corner on the bench. She must have been there all along. I recognize that look in her eyes again and she bares her teeth to hiss at me as I leave.
*
Gabriel points to the name of the village on the atlas. “Is that it? Veltarlin. Is that the name you saw?”
“I can’t be sure. It looks the same. The lake seems right but I’d need a more detailed map to be certain.”
Nesbitt joins us at the table. “You got it?”
I say, “Yes. It has to be the place: it’s cold and begins with a V.”
“Righto.” Nesbitt grins at me.
“Now what?” asks Gabriel.
Van stands up, stretches back in a stiff arch, and then paces round the room. She takes her cigarette case out but plays with it rather than opening it. “We’ll head there. We can get more detailed maps on the way to ensure you’re correct. Assuming it is, Nesbitt will form the advance party.”
“An advance party of one?” he asks.
“Don’t pretend that you’re anything other than flattered.”