Uttuku

The Books of Darkness

by Robert N. Stephenson

Chapter 36

We’d slept late. Sarina was having a shower while I worked out a plan to get the book from Samantha. I still needed to get the letter from the lawyer, but it came later on my priority list. Checking my phone I found a message sent last night. I hadn’t heard the phone’s tone. It was from Bela and simply said.

‘Meet me in Norwood, by the Hotel. We get the book now.’

I waited for Sarina in the kitchen. The laptop showed two files in my work in progress folder. Sarina’s book, which had been a ruse to get us together, and something I didn’t think needed anything else done. The other, ‘The Seething’, was a book I had to complete over the next six months. I couldn’t concentrate enough to look at my latest novel. Once I would shelve my life just to get it done, but things being as they were I doubted I’d even make the deadline.

The Dark One wanted me to bring him the horse, that was clear. All the history and reasons behind it were like milk — black milk. My view of history had been fractured and partly reassembled into a new form, one that made sense but didn’t make sense.

As I combed fingers through my hair, letting the soft strands quiet my thoughts, I couldn’t help but think of Hitler, Churchill, Bela, Clare/Marie and Bethra. What was the connection here? I connected my wireless Internet and waited for the computer to log into the Internet. None of this was random; I felt it in my gut. With Google I started my search.

Hitler was Austrian, not German. An easy and straightforward link. Churchill wasn’t as direct, but he did view Austria as a war tool to be used against Germany, against Hitler. Not a great link, but it made some sense. Bela, or Béla Ferenc Dezsö Blaskó came from Austria-Hungary and Marie Antoinette was part of the Austrian royal family. Bethra I could not find, except for some site associated with medieval reenactments, but I was guessing there was an Austrian connection with her as well. I didn’t know what it meant or how it applied to me. As an afterthought I searched up Kurt von Trojan, the man Steven had cited in his book.

This was a messy search and I’d almost given up when I found an obscure reference on a site with more links than all of Japan’s golf courses put together. Kurt von Trojan was Austrian, a journalist who worked in Vienna and later moved to Australia. That was easy to find. His father was the last Knight of Austria, Sir Trojan. On Wikipedia I found that Kurt had died of bone and kidney cancer. The listing mentioned his last book. I made a point of ordering it. There might be something in it that might help make sense of all this. The Austrian connection was strong, but why?

Sarina entered the room brushing her hair and looking radiant, fresh. I felt dull and lifeless.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Research.” She looked stunning in a black business suit, black shirt and tie. Very masculine but feminine at the same time.

She stepped behind me and looked at the screen. She sighed.

“Every thing seems to point to Austria,” I said. “Even someone mentioned in Steven’s book is Austrian.”

“I know the name,” Sarina said, reading the Wikipedia entry. “I was there when his father received the Knighthood. I made a lot of friends in Austria, so of course there would be strong connections.”

“Hitler? Churchill?”

“Winston wasn’t Austrian,” she said.

I dropped it; it could have just been coincidence. I would have to work it through later; right now I had other things to do. I handed Sarina my phone, the message from Bela still on the screen. She sat, put the brush on the table and rubbed her brow.

“This is going to be risky,” she said, handing the phone back. “I can’t be with you.”

“Will Bela protect me?”

She shook her head.

“Can you distract The Dark One?” I needed two hours, maybe less if Bela had a more direct plan.

“I’ll try,” she said, taking my hand. “Just promise me you won’t touch Bela.” I frowned. “If you touch him, the darkness will flow from him immediately and you will be lost. I don’t want to lose you, Diana.”

It was agreed that I meet Bela in Norwood, and together we would visit Samantha. I called her to make sure she would stay home. The promise of half a million dollars didn’t make it hard. I knew Bela wouldn’t pay the money; as Sarina explained it, the Darkness has no need for such human commodities. It takes what it wants whenever it wants. I also didn’t want Samantha dead, I needed her alive to face charges of murder.

Sarina stood in the front room looking out at the sea. She turned as if knowing I was watching her. Unfolding her arms she touched the sides of the horse. I heard a stony clink. Carefully she lifted the head, free of the body. I’d never seen a seam, even the slightest flaw in the body. Sarina dipped a finger inside, the drew it out, covered in a light grey powder.

With her free hand she replaced the head and the clink locked it home.

“He will come to me as soon as I am outside,” she said. “I will keep him for as long as I can.”

I kissed her goodbye. A long hunger-driven kiss. We both knew this would be the last time we’d see each other. I held her as close and as tight as I could.

“I love you,” she said into my hair, then kissed the top of my head.

“I know,” I said. I wanted to say those words, but found I couldn’t. I didn’t know how I felt about her or anything at this moment. She gave me a little squeeze then released me.

I had to leave, to get the book back. For a time I wanted to know why it was so important, what was in it to cause the death of so many people, but now I just wanted it gone. I didn’t care about its contents.

Out in the street, I walked to Jetty Road and took a tram into the city, then took a taxi to Norwood. I couldn’t afford to have my car recognized or seen anywhere near Samantha’s place. With a black scarf covering my hair, and large Hollywood glasses covering most of my face I felt confident in my anonymity.

The taxi pulled up in front of the Hotel on the Norwood Parade side. The street was packed with cars, and pedestrians streamed past like an ever flowing river. Bela was standing, leaning against the old stone walls of the Hotel. He looked like a young business executive in his trim black suit and tie. He wore thin dark glasses. I paid the cabbie and waited for him to drive off before approaching Bela.

“Is it far?” he asked.

“A few streets away, about ten minutes’ walk.” He placed his hand in the middle of my back and gently eased me to the crossing lights.

If I sighed deeply once, I sighed a hundred times. Facing Samantha in her and Steven’s home would have been difficult under normal circumstances, but with a Ta’ibah in tow I didn’t know what would happen. The tree-lined streets offered welcoming shade from the sun. The day would be warm and I was already feeling uncomfortable in my black dress and rib-high jacket.

As we walked I thought we looked like The Addams family. By the time we arrived at the front of her house my heart was trying to climb out of my chest and I thought I could smell my sweaty underarms. Bela looked as cool and comfortable as when we had first hooked up. We stood in her narrow driveway; the house was hidden a little by trees and bushes. Again the gentle hand in the back and the walk to her door. Tall white standard roses gave off a subtle scent. Bela sighed.

The doorbell didn’t scream. I could hear its tone somewhere in the house. I heard Samantha’s heels approaching down the entrance way’s tiled floor. I drew in a deep breath as the door, slowly swung inwards. Sam was all smiles and easily welcomed us inside.

She looked at Bela. “One of your Goth freaks?”

“Please,” Bela said, pointing to the main part of the house.

Samantha led us into the large, open planned living area. The dining table was where I remembered it, though the place had been repainted in soft yellows since my secret visit. She stood by the table, her light floral dress more akin to the weather than mine.

“The money?’ she said, looking between us and not seeing a bag.

Bela looked at me. “Is this her?” I nodded, I couldn’t speak. He approached Samantha. She took a step back.

“What’s going on?” She hid her fear well. “I won’t tell you where it is this way.” Her voice, strong and deliberate showed her resolve.

Bela moved quickly. His right hand plunged through her forehead, his hand disappearing up to the wrist. Samantha gasped. Eyes closed, she fell forward into him.

“No!” I cried. “Bela, no!”

He released her, and she dropped to her knees. I ran to her aid, dropping beside her, holding her. She was breathing rapidly; sweat beaded her brow, the top of her lip.

A ceiling access cover, above the table, crashed upwards into the roof. Bela, a blur of black, disappeared through the square opening. I laid Samantha on the floor, using a chair cushion as a pillow. Her eyes were still closed, but her breathing began to slow.

Bela dropped from the hole, he could have been a feather drifting to the ground. In his hands he held the briefcase Uri had given me. He placed it on the table and ripped the top off as if it were made of paper.

“Have you read it?” he asked. The words sharp.

Now wasn’t the time for honesty. “No. I just looked at the first page.”

“Good.”

I stroked Samantha’s brow, she was hot. “Will she be okay?”

“I took what I needed,” he said. “She will feel a little empty once she wakes.” he turned away from the book. “I saw through her memories how she killed Uri. He was a human; facing your laws will not bring attention to us.” He looked pleased. “Though I don’t need it, Uri needs justice to be done.”

I left Samantha and joined Bela at the table. The handwritten pages stared up at me. The old script, the fountain-pen marks. What now?

He placed his hand in the centre of the pages, fingers splayed. His hand looked as if it were soaking the top page. Black ink on blotting paper. Wind whipped up around us as he removed his hand. The pages in the case were lifted up, scattered like confetti around the room. The wind, brief, but fierce, stopped and the pages fluttered to the floor, onto the table and settled over everything. I picked up a page. It was blank. Every page from the case was now blank.

“Now I mean to take your life energy,” he said, flatly and plainly. “I suggest you leave before I have a chance to do this.”

I didn’t have to be asked twice. I was out of the house and running back to Norwood Parade as fast as I could. I’d kicked off my heels and held a shoe in each hand; my small shoulder bag was slapping against my back. I had to get back to Sarina’s. I’d be safe if I could just make it back.

Proceed to Chapter 37...

This link goes to the book website.