Unseen by Jane, Thomas caught the Magpie’s eye and shook his head to signify that he could not tell her now. ‘Is there a pump handy?’ he asked. ‘I am sorely in need of a wash.’

  ‘There’s a pool yonder,’ said the Magpie. ‘Jane will show you. I’ll see if I can’t scratch you up some clean traps.’

  He vanished inside the cottage to re-emerge a moment later with a lump of soap which he shied toward them.

  Jane retrieved it and led the Kinsman by the hand down the flagstone path to where the brook had been dammed up to form a washing place. ‘Did Magpie tell you what happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, unfastening his cloak and dropping it to the ground. ‘Do you want to tell me about it? ’

  ‘No, not really. It was like a nightmare and I couldn’t wake myself up. Everything seemed to happen so slowly.’

  ‘And the wound?’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt any more. Mother Patch sewed it up for me. Look.’ She dropped the soap on to the stones at her feet and untied the bow on her bodice. Drawing aside her dress she exposed the outward slope of her left breast. In the center of a livid purple and yellow bruise the lips of the wound made by the blade of the Magpie’s bolt had been drawn together by three neat little knots of black horse hair.

  Jane contemplated it wistfully for a few seconds then pulled her dress together and retied the laces. ‘There’ll hardly be a mark when I get back to Tallon,’ she said.

  The name jerked Thomas back to the horror of what he knew. It was as though a hand gripped him by the throat and was squeezing the breath out of him.

  Her alarmed eyes scanned his face. ‘What is it, Thomas? Are you ill?’

  He shook his head dumbly. ‘Sick at heart, Jane,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know how to tell you. I have no words.’

  ‘Something’s happened.’ Her eyes were huge with apprehension. ‘What is it, Thomas?’

  He reached out and took her trembling hands in his. ‘They came for your father the morning after we fled,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing left for you at Tallon any more, Jane. Nothing at all.’

  Her lips parted and a little faltering sigh crept out between them. ‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘Oh no, oh no.’

  If Thomas could have died at that moment and spared her such pain he would have done it a hundred times over. His aching heart reached out to her and he drew her to him and held her close and cherished her, murmuring he knew not what to comfort her. But it was as if the finger of the Ice Spirit had touched her on the breast and she could feel nothing. Her eyes were dry, wide with the shock of irreparable loss, and she lay as stiff as a wooden doll in his arms. ‘Fly with me to Corlay, little bird,’ he murmured.

  ‘There will be no more pain there; no more fear. There everyone will love you and I will sing my songs to you all the day long.’

  She spoke then, quite calmly, but in a strange, dead little voice. ‘Were they both killed?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And your house is burnt to the ground. There is nothing there for you now.’

  ‘Then I must go back and bury them.’

  ‘You cannot, Jane. You are a fugitive like me. They would only kill you too.’

  ‘They’ve done that,’ she said. ‘What more could they do?’

  The Magpie emerged from the cottage with a bundle of clothes under his arm. As he came down the path toward them, Jane loosed herself from Thomas’s arms and turned to him. ‘Is it true?’

  Magpie’s eyes flickered to the Kinsman’s strained face and then back to the girl. ‘Aye, lass,’ he said. ‘It’s all true. I had it from the lips of “One-Eye” Jonsey this afternoon.’

  ‘You did not huesh it?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Nor I,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Magpie, why not … why not that?’ Her face crumpled and she sank to the ground and smothered her pain in the Kinsman’s discarded cloak, shuddering and whimpering like a wounded animal with the anguish of it.

  Thomas crouched down beside her and laid his hand upon her quivering shoulder, praying as he had never prayed before in his life. As he did so he discovered words upon his lips that no conscious thought of his had placed there: Wilderness of woman’s woe: Hearts hurt, griefs groan …’ The world rocked all around him and in one single, pulsing, inrush of awareness he remembered what it was he had glimpsed in the lamplight of the potter’s kitchen an eternity ago. All became fused, inchoate, glowing as though the evening light in the little valley were rushing downwards, draining into them both, leaving behind a wrack of insubstantial shadow. The burden of the mystery was lifted and the still air all about his head became awash with the tumultuous sighing downrush of huge invisible wings. For a timeless moment they hovered all about him and then slowly, slowly faded away, to vanish far off among the imperceptible reaches beyond the stars.

  Beneath his hand he felt Jane stir. Opening eyes he scarcely realized he had closed he saw her lift her head and turn it slightly to one side as if she too were listening.

  ‘Jane?’

  Her tear-streaked face turned slowly and her wondering eyes met his. ‘It came,’ she whispered. ‘The White Bird came.’

  Thomas nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It came for you.’

  After supper that evening the Magpie told Jane all he had learned from Jonsey. She listened to him in silence then rose from the table and walked out into the cottage garden. Thomas half made as if to follow her but the old woman waved him back. ‘Let her weep her fill, Kinsman,’ she said. ‘She’ll ha’ need o’ thee presently.’

  The Magpie fetched a jar of strong spirit and poured it out for them. ‘Jonsey’s holding the Kingdom Come till night tide tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’ll lift you both down to Broadbury in the van and slip you aboard at dusk. He’s bound out for Buckfast. You’ll surely find a Frenchie there who’ll ship you both to Brittany. Jonsey might do it himself if he can find a cargo to carry. ’

  ‘You think she’ll come with me?’

  ‘What other choice has she, poor lass? They’d burn her to ashes the moment she set foot on Quantock.’

  ‘It’s not Jane they want,’ said Thomas. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So if I gave myself up to them …’

  The Magpie’s mouth dropped. ‘Are you crazy, man? Dos’t think to strike a bargain with the devil? And even if you did, what’s to become of her after?

  What sort of life could she lead in Tallon? She saved your skin, Thomas, but not to buy back her own. She needs you alive, man – alive and warm in her bed.’

  ‘He’s right, Kinsman,’ chirped the old woman. ‘Ye owes her all o’ that.’

  Thomas flushed. ‘But she already has a sweetheart. She told me so herself.’

  ‘So now she has another,’ said the Magpie, jerking back his head and swallowing off his liquor at a gulp. ‘Better a bird in the hand any day. Sure you must know that it’s you she’s sweet on, man! Go, seek her out. Heal her hurt and let her know it hasn’t all been in vain.’

  Thomas looked from the son to the mother then picked up his own cup and drained it off. The harsh bite of the raw spirit made his eyes water. He thrust back his stool and stood up.

  The old woman grinned and lifted her claw-like hand in an archaic love-sign. ‘There’s all the sweet hay ye’ll need in the barn, Kinsman. An’ us’ll not be botherin’ ye.’

  Thomas stepped out into the fast-gathering dusk and closed the cottage door behind him. To the west, behind the distant moors, the sky still glimmered with a few, faint, coppery-green streaks of dying day. Among the dark trees higher up the valley an owl hooted derisively and bats flickered to and fro like falling leaves in the still air. He walked slowly down the path toward the stream, peering about him into the shadows, until finally he caught sight of Jane sitting crouched beside the edge of the pool. Her head was resting upon her bent knees, her fingers laced behind her neck so that she appeared as if folded in upon herself like a sleeping flower. So poignant was her attitude of grief that for some minutes he stood still, not daring to intrude upon it, until above the faint bubble of the water he heard her muffled sobbing. As though released from a spell he ran forward, knelt down beside her and took her into his arms.

  For a moment or two she remained, passively weeping, then he felt her face turning toward his. The taste of salt came sharp upon his tongue as her warm, wet mouth sought and found his own.

  Hours later Jane opened her eyes, saw the crescent moon shining in through the slit window of the barn and felt a sigh like some enormous, left-over wave of her storm of grief, rise shuddering through her to ebb away upon the quiet air. Thomas’s right arm lay diagonally across her pale nakedness. Gently she touched his shoulder with the fingers of her left hand, dreamily tracing the line of slack muscle down to the elbow and then on along the scarred forearm and wrist to where his fingers lay cozily bedded down between her thighs. She spread her own hand to cover his and stroked it softly, whereupon he stirred, mumbled something in his sleep, and opened his eyes.

  They lay and looked at one another by the dim moon-glow then she leaned over him and pulled his cloak across to cover them both. ‘I did not mean to wake you, love,’ she murmured. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  His answer was to seek her mouth with his own. Nor was she averse to his finding it.

  TWELVE

  Considering the complexity of the operation the transfer of the Encephalo-Visual Converter from the laboratory in Holmwood House to the Intensive Care Unit of the General Hospital was effected remarkably smoothly. The equipment was housed in a small ward which adjoined the one in which Michael Carver was lying. Peter Klorner supervised the installation which was completed almost exactly forty-eight hours after the initial monitoring of the second tape. The first unmistakable ‘contact’ was obtained and video-recorded at 16.52 hours, a bare fifteen minutes after the circuit went live.

  It soon became apparent to the rapt observers that an alteration had taken place in the nature of the signal. The new ‘direct’ image had a quality of depth that was wholly remarkable. None of the watchers doubted that the girl, whom they all recognized as the one they had seen on the boat, was in some manner contributing to the change. They first saw her emerge from a cottage doorway carrying a basket. As she turned to face them the basket dropped from her hand and she scampered toward them. At the instant her laughing face filled the screen, two curious aspects of the vision struck all the watchers: the first was her remarkable facial resemblance to Rachel Wyld: the second a faint but unmistakable attenuation of the atmosphere immediately surrounding her. This latter feature almost made it appear as if she were sheathed in some strange, refractive aura whose effect was slightly to distort the immediate background against which she was being seen .

  No sooner had Peter Klorner observed this than he announced: ‘I think we’d better watch out for p.k. backlash.’

  ‘You’ve met this before, have you, Peter?’ asked Dr Richards.

  ‘Something rather similar,’ said Klorner. ‘Be ready to throw the main switch the moment I give the word. How’s Doctor Carver, Ian?’

  ‘Just the same,’ called Ian from the next ward.

  ‘No sign of R.E.M.?’

  ‘None that I can see.’

  ‘Why aren’t I a lip-reader?’ said Kenneth. ‘What do you suppose she’s saying?’

  ‘God, he’s right!’ exclaimed George. ‘Why the hell didn’t I think of that? It might give us just the lead we need. Where can we get hold of one?’

  ‘Social Services maybe?’ suggested Kenneth.

  ‘By the way, where’s Miss Wyld?’ asked Klorner. ‘I think she should be here.’

  George glanced at his watch. ‘She said she had an appointment at the antenatal clinic for 3:30,’ he said. ‘She ought to be along at any minute. Do any of us recognize this place?’

  ‘I suppose that could be Dartmoor in the distance,’ said Kenneth.

  ‘What intrigues me is their clothes,’ said Ian. ‘Who wears that sort of gear nowadays? Hey! What’s the kid up to?’

  Standing beside the pool Jane was fumbling with the laces at her throat, tugging open her dress to expose the wound in her breast.

  ‘How about that?’ murmured Ian, sipping in his breath with a painful hiss. ‘Has she been stabbed or something?’

  ‘It looks like it,’ said George. ‘And not so long ago either, I’d say.’

  ‘What do you suppose happened, Doc?’

  ‘God knows,’ said Dr Richards. ‘All I can assume is that we’re seeing this through the eyes of Mike’s O.O.B. contact. But who is he? And where is he?’

  ‘And when is he?’ supplemented Ian. ‘If this is supposed to be happening now , I just refuse to believe it.’

  ‘Then what’s your alternative? Some sort of archetypal memory of Mike’s?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Ian admitted. ‘I suppose it could be.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking along those lines,’ said George. ‘I was reading up one of Walker and Sutherland’s papers last night. They’re working with deep hypnosis up in Newcastle. They’ve come up with some pretty impressive evidence of historical imprinting.’

  ‘She looks pretty upset about something, doesn’t she?’ said Kenneth. ‘Hello. Here comes that other bloke again.’

  At that moment there was a tap at the door of Michael’s ward and Rachel came in. ‘I see you’ve got it working,’ she said. ‘Has anything happened?’

  ‘It certainly has,’ said George. ‘We’re in continuous contact. Come and tell us what you make of this. ’

  Rachel made her way past the foot of Michael’s bed and entered the room where the four men were gathered around the E-V.C. screen. She stared at the picture in astonishment. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘She does look a bit like me though.’

  ‘Except for the hair I’d say she could be your twin,’ said George.

  ‘Was she the one who was in the boat?’

  ‘We think so.’

  ‘And where is she? Where’s it happening?’

  ‘We’ve no idea. We thought maybe you’d know.’

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Rachel, shaking her head. ‘What’s going on there?’

  ‘We’ve no more idea than you have, but he’s obviously said something to her which has upset her. Good Lord! Look at … What on earth—?’

  ‘Cut it!’ cried Klorner. ‘Quick!’

  As George snatched at the main switch there was a dull report from one of the metal servo-cabinets and the screen died. At the same instant they all heard Michael Carver cry out in sudden pain.

  In the two hours it took them to replace the blown inductor and to make the necessary repairs and modifications to the circuit, Dr Richards succeeded in locating a teacher at a school for handicapped children who was an expert lip-reader. She was perfectly willing to co-operate and, shortly after six, he fetched her to the hospital, sat her down in front of the video-recording and switched it on. ‘It’s a long shot, Mrs Huddlestone,’ he said. ‘For all we know they may be talking Anglo-Saxon.’

  She nodded, adjusted her spectacles, and gazed at the screen before her. As they watched Jane running yet again into the Kinsman’s arms, Mrs Huddlestone said clearly: ‘I knew he’d find you. Didn’t I say so? Didn’t I?’

  ‘Marvelous!’ cried Dr Richards. ‘That’s just what we’ve been hoping for! Do, please, carry on.’

  The interpreter nodded. When she reached the words: ‘Was there no boat from Sidbury?’ George stopped the film and said: ‘Sidbury? Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Not absolutely,’ said Mrs Huddlestone. ‘But I don’t think I was mistaken.’

  ‘Would you mind taking another look at it?’ he said. ‘It’s just the kind of clue we’re after.’

  She scrutinized the re-run and said firmly: ‘Yes, Sidbury. No doubt about it.’

  She took them right through the whole sequence, faltering only occasionally when Jane spoke with half-averted head. By the end Dr Richards had gleaned the two names ‘Sidbury’ and ‘Tallon’ and a word which Mrs Huddlestone thought might be ‘hesh.’

  ‘Hesh?’ he repeated. ‘Does it mean anything to anyone? ’

  The others looked blank, and Ian said: ‘If that’s Sidbury near Sidmouth in Devon, I don’t really see how he could have caught a boat from it. It’s about three miles in from the coast.’

  ‘And what about Tallon?’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘Still we do seem to be getting somewhere at last,’ George insisted. ‘Mrs Huddlestone, could we possibly prevail upon you to sit in for a little bit longer?’

  ‘Why, of course, Dr Richards,’ she said. ‘I confess I’m finding the whole thing absolutely fascinating.’

  ‘Splendid. How much longer will it take you to fix things, Ken?’

  ‘Any moment now.’

  Ian said: ‘You know, Doc, I have a feeling we’ve just seen your archetypal memory hypothesis shot down in flames.’

  ‘I don’t see why,’ said George.

  ‘Well, I could be wrong, of course, but I suspect the catching a boat from Sidbury ties in with Blackdown being on the edge of the sea. Somerset wasn’t the only place they sank in that “Forecast” program. The whole of the Exe valley was under water. Devon and Cornwall were an island.’

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ said Rachel, ‘is what happened when everything blew up. What is p.k. backlash, Peter?’

  ‘Psychokinesis invariably manifests itself through the pineal area,’ said Klorner. ‘With a direct link from the contact to Dr Carver’s mind there was nothing to prevent it breaking out.’

  ‘Is that why the picture went out of focus just before it happened?’

  ‘It seems likely.’

  ‘And she was responsible?’

  ‘There’s no way of telling,’ said George. ‘But Peter recognized the aberration phenomena as soon as the girl appeared.’

  ‘That sort of glow, you mean?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Do you think she’s somehow connected with it?’ asked Rachel. ‘Responsible for Mike’s coma?’

  ‘I wish I knew, Rachel. The fact that Mike responded physically to the p.k. discharge would certainly seem to indicate something of the kind. A psychological affinity maybe. The truth is we’re all still groping around in the dark.’