‘There is that woman too,’ Natalie said, shaking with excitement. ‘We mustn’t forget her, Wendy. The woman once known as the Grey Lady in some local parts, but Choker Lotty by the press before she was hanged. She was a poisoner whose rage still burns as white as the vapours that she was said to have evoked from her own sister’s belly . . .’
‘Quite, Natalie. Her sister was carrying the child of Lotty’s lover.’
Wendy had relaxed and momentarily closed her eyes after an unbecoming flutter that made her appear even more unstable than she was. ‘Your old friend Ewan has met them both since he took his place amongst the alumni at the Tor. And we know that you have encountered at least one of them, in some distant, half-remembered form, and right here too.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Natalie said. ‘I can confirm that Thin Len has passed by here. He knows how to find this place.’
‘Exactly. The image was shared, was it not, Natalie? The two images were put together, here and over there.’
‘The image was shared. We deplore such tactics, but in some special cases we’re left with little choice. And alas, this connection has already been made.’
‘It is said their passage is marked by a gliding, is it not, Natalie?’
‘The gliding of the double it is called. And that which manifests, becomes corporeal, yes, yes, yes.’
‘But for us to remove this bargaining asset from our ongoing relationship, we would require from you another work. One far more ambitious than the last.’
Wendy looked at the manuscript on the table and curled her lip with disapproval. ‘A work that will see you find your utmost potential as a vehicle, a conduit, who will faithfully transcribe the experiences of our patron, and the wonders that he continues to behold. But, our dear Seb, you will not be the author, but more of a secretary, an assistant this time. It is time for a far more substantial and meaningful vision to see print than one that you could ever produce on your own.’
Natalie nodded rapidly. ‘Quite. Quite. Yes. And there is a residential component, is there not, Wendy?’
‘There certainly is. We would not be remiss in calling this a writer’s residency at our beloved Tor.’
At this point I came to be sitting on the floor with my back against the sliding doors before the balcony. But I did manage to say, ‘Never.’
‘I’m afraid the wheels are in motion, Seb. You are to begin immediately.’
‘I can’t. Not there. Not again. Who . . . who could stand it?’
They meant for me to record Hazzard’s strange experiences, but in that place. To actually live at Hunter’s Tor and to endure him until my mind went out like the minds of those others who, even now, must still be circling the rose garden each night, while seeking the light that will never again shine upon their wretched faces.
‘Your accommodation during this residency will be the gardener’s cottage. That’s far more suitable. It’s been our home for many years,’ said Natalie. ‘We’ve been very happy there, haven’t we, Wendy?’
‘We’ve managed, Natalie. We’ve coped. Though I believe that our time in our leader’s inner circle, on site, is also under review within this little reorganization that we are undergoing. Sometimes the old wood has to make way for new blood. Fresh ideas. New faces. And there’s practicality to consider. If you are going to be working together, it makes perfect sense for you to live near him. An exchange, in effect. An exchange of living space. Though we’ll all be working for the same side, our close presence will not be required quite so much, while you are hard at work on the new book. Our fundraising activities will be far better positioned . . . well, right here.’
‘It is a lovely house,’ Natalie said, and clapped her withered hands like a little girl. ‘We’ve always enjoyed coming here and admired what you’ve done with the place, Seb.’
‘Indeed, Natalie. You could say this house has become a prominent asset to the organization.’
‘Indeed. Yes, yes.’
I finally broke my stupefied silence. I’d commented upon their mental state before, but couldn’t resist repeating myself. ‘You’re mad. You think you can take my home . . . and deposit me out there, in that place?’
‘And we can only hope,’ Wendy said, elatedly, ‘that you will feel compelled to record what will be shared with you, faithfully this time. We can only hope that it does not compromise your artistic integrity.’
‘Agreed,’ said Natalie, beaming. ‘Because you don’t have any fucking choice.’
29
Looking at Myself from Nothing
The psychic stream flows thickly through this place.
Those who have detached and who continue their search rarely bother me while I work. I’m not sure they are even aware of me. But I do see them, and often. Sometimes by day, but mostly at night.