“Why don’t we walk on the path?” asked Jenna as she slipped on the grass again.
“The fields and forests are where you are safest,” replied Arithmos. “Not the roads. You’re further from prying eyes as long as you’re amongst the green.”
Dom waved an arm at the concrete. “What happened here? It looks like a giant came down and plucked away all the houses.”
“People used to live here, yes, but they were convinced to move on. When this hiding spot was chosen it was a quiet hill, and already the tourists have been enough to cause difficulties once or twice. Locals who actually lived here were even more trouble; none could be bargained with as those down on Seil Island.” They were near the top of the hill now, and Dom looked up ahead to see that several trees stood along a ridge. There was something funny about them, but for the life of him he wasn’t able to figure it out.
Jenna noticed as well. “They’re flagging,” she said. “But in different directions.”
“What’s flagging?” asked Billy. Dom wiped rain from his eyes, trying to see what she meant.
She pointed. “See how the branches all tend to lean in one direction? Trees that grow where there is pretty much constant wind will do that. I learned about it in high school, when we took a nature walk up a mountain for science class once. But these ones are all wrong.”
Dom saw it now. Every tree leaned over, stunted by the bad weather and probably pretty poor soil, its branches reaching out in supplication in the same direction, one side of each tree bare aside from the hunched shoulders of the branches as they turned towards the other side. But some trees pointed in one direction, some in another, which made no sense since it seemed that the wind would come quite steadily from the ocean, in which case all of the trees should be leaning inland, away from the water.
The rain let up as they got to the trees, and he was finally able to see that they were spilling small, secret numbers, all in binary.
And there was his answer. Binary. The trees were flagging in binary. But try as he might, Dom couldn’t make out the pattern or message they were giving off, aside from the hints of the numbers which only barely whispered at him before fading up into the grey above.
He reached out and touched one of the trees as they walked past it, and immediately found himself somewhere else, standing on a low rise, no trees, concrete pads or Jenna around. But his hand was still out, and he could still feel the now-unseen branch, gnarled and old beneath his fingers.
An invisible hand lifted his off the branch, and he was back where he’d been. “No time,” said Arithmos. “Please keep walking with us.”
Dom quickstepped to catch up. “What is this place?”
“It’s where we hid the last package in safety. After today it won’t be much use, though.”
“And what do the trees do?” asked Billy. Obviously he couldn’t tell what the hard-to-see patterns were for either.
“They were the protection. The binary codes the flagging produces disguise this area, make it impossible for ordinary people to not only see, but to visit. Flagging in the direction of the wind is Open, flagging the other way is Closed, and that sets up a numerical interference pattern that keeps this place invisible. Anyone who comes to the border will end up on the other side without knowing they were ever even close.”
“What about people who fly overhead?” asked Jenna. “Don’t they see it?”
“Numbers are numbers no matter how they show themselves,” said Arithmos. “Even with aerial photography, the film or digital file just shows what is expected, not what’s really here.”
Past the line of trees, Dom could see that they were the front edge of an enclosure, a circle of binary patterns that camouflaged an oval about forty by sixty metres in size. They walked along the top of the hill almost to the far edge of the oval. Looking down the other side of the hill was more pasture, and further down, more trees and water. The rain had finally stopped, it seemed, and from up close Dom could see how deep and rich purple the clumps of heather were, a pleasant counterpoint to the persistent green of the ground and the drabness of the sky.
Arithmos stopped them at a large stack of rocks, giant slabs sticking out from the ground at several different angles, accompanied by three man-sized boulders. “The last of the set is here,” said the numbers.
Dom stuck his hands in his pocket and frowned. “So does it come out to me, or do I have to toss all these big frickin’ rocks to the side so I can get at it?”
“Be patient,” muttered Billy.
Dom shook his head. “Patient ain’t the word for it. If Napier’s gonna show up I’d rather we just turned and walked away, but I know damn well that’ll only put it off for a little while.” He stuck his hands in his pants pockets and looked around; the rain had stopped, but the hard wind still blew in from the ocean. “So let’s do it.”
Arithmos leaned forward and the numbers that made up its body swarmed around the rocks, a thick black layer of tiny figures and formulae performing functions too numerous and too quick for Dom to follow. The three large boulders rolled towards them, fast enough that Dom and Jenna had to jump out of the way for fear of having their feet flattened. Once they had stopped, the slabs of rock parted, reminding Dom of a set of bad teeth, all gaps and jagged edges pointed in varying directions.
Embedded in a little hollow was another package. “Pick it up,” said Arithmos, now reconstituted in human-like form.
Dom reached down and grabbed it. “Do I open them now?”
“You do.”
Jenna grabbed her shoulders and shivered. “Hurry, Dom. I’m not comfortable just standing here.”
“We’re safe while we’re in the circle of these trees, Jenna,” replied Billy.
“I’ll still hurry,” said Dom. “I’m not too comfortable, either.”
He pulled everything from his pockets and placed them on the slab that was closest to the ground. The first package, the one that he’d received in Canada and that had supplied the numbers that made Arithmos, he set directly in front of him. As soon as the last package hit the stone, the first one opened itself, paper unravelling in a strange simulation of aging in a stop-motion film.
Inside was a small wooden box, about nine inches long, five wide, and three deep. It was very plain, no paint or stain or carvings, just a simple light brown wood, with a burnished brass latch and tiny iron padlock holding it closed, sanded smooth.
Arithmos reached forward and touched the padlock, which clicked open and fell away. The box opened. Hand-written numbers were laid out on the underside of the lid, but the body of the box was empty. “Open the others.”
Dom opened the other packages and shook out their contents. Ten cylindrical rods fell to the rock, and Dom quickly put down a hand to keep them from rolling off. Each rod had numbers on it, each numbered at one end from 0 to 9. Other numbers were etched into the rods, all around their circumference along with diagonal lines to divide them, from top to bottom. All were a faded off-white, none of it uniform, some portions stained darker, some closer to true white.
“You put them in—” began Arithmos, but Dom waved off the creature. He could easily see the pattern. The front of the box unlatched and tilted down, and then each cylinder clicked into place before the front was closed again; the cylinders were now in place, a little loose so they could spin freely, but not about to fall out now. His hands shook from both nerves and excitement, but he managed to put it all together in less than thirty seconds.
Jenna sat down on the flat rock opposite Dom. “This is what the big deal is? What exactly is it?”
Arithmos turned its attention to her. “Have you heard of Napier’s Bones before?”
She shook her head. “Well, aside from the little bits I’ve caught since this whole mess started the other day.”
“They were a tool invented by Laird John Napier to make multiplication and division easier. Think of them as a precursor to the slide rule. The original sets would have been made from wood, or me
tal, perhaps even ivory. The user would line them up to get a quick answer to a math problem.”
“So that’s what this is? A quick answer to math problems?”
“Yes, although fashioned from different materials than any others might have been. Before Napier died, he made a deal with one of his friends who also practised what people then thought of as the black arts. Upon his death his bones were stripped of their flesh and from them there were to be carved several sets of these mathematical tools.”
“The cylinders,” said Billy. “They’re carved from the skeleton of our persecutor.”
Jenna shuddered.
“You said several sets.” Dom pulled a hand from his pocket and slicked back his wet hair, getting it away from his eyes. “What happened to the others?”
“They weren’t made, at least as far as the numerical ecology can tell. Either Napier’s family got word of the plan and put a stop to it before he could do more than the one, or if the so-called craftsman who did the one set died or lost interest or went out of business, we don’t know.”
“So now that I have it, is there any way I can get it to the Vatican, like Father Thomas talked about? Maybe we can find this priest friend of his.” Dom gave the box a slight shake, listened to the distant rattle that sounded from inside.
Before Arithmos could answer, though, a loud series of cracks sounded, and they all turned to watch as the trees that protected them violently surrendered their branches, one after the other breaking off and flinging high into the air, carried by the wind and then dropped to the ground further up the hill. Seconds after this finished there was a sound from the sky out over the ocean, a whisper that quickly rose to a roar. Dom turned, saw numbers, whole sets whose purpose he didn’t recognize, streaming in and out of one small portion of the clouds, a mile or so off shore.
“Jesus.” He didn’t know if that came from him or from Billy, he was so caught up in the sight.
The numbers pushed the clouds aside, shuffled them out of the way like curtains at a window. Or, he saw more clearly, like curtains on a stage. Light streaked down from the hole in the clouds, a spotlight from the sun, focused on one small section of swells and whitecaps.
“This is not good,” said Billy.
In answer to that comment, the numbers in the clouds began to swirl in a new fashion, hustling the hole in the clouds closer to shore. The shaft of light moved with them, like a searchlight from a police helicopter, tracking an escaped prisoner.
Dom was that fugitive.
“Shit!” He looked around, hoping to find a new way out, but nothing came immediately to the eye. “Hey!” he shouted at Arithmos. “What the fuck do I do?”
“You leave now, before Napier is close enough to change our balance.” It pointed at the box in Dom’s hands. “Open it. The cylinders are like axles,” said Arithmos. “When they’re spun they reveal new numbers. If you spin them all at the same time, thus,” here it mimed running a hand along the lot of them, like it was playing a game that required random numbers, “then the Bones will take you elsewhere.”
“Wait a minute. What do you mean, elsewhere?”
The numbers shrugged and looked down the hill, already breaking up. The shaft of light was now shining on Dom’s rental car, which reflected the light back up the hill along the path they had followed.
“Places. Here on the Isles. Away from that.”
“What about Jenna?”
“You have the Bones, and Napier’s focus will allow him or his host to see nothing else right now. As soon as you spin them that will become even more evident.” The light was halfway up the hill now, picking up speed as it came closer. “Once you and Napier have left, we will lead her to her next stop.”
“How will I know she’s safe?”
“You’ll have to trust us.”
Dom looked into Jenna’s eyes. She was scared, as was he. “He wants the Bones, Dom. And you. I’m an afterthought, even if my mom is able to stick her head up from the deep. I’ll be okay.” She stepped forward and kissed him on the lips, hard. “Do it. Find a way. And I’ll definitely see you when this is done.”
Below, the light had reached the trees, but the flagging camouflage had been completely destroyed; the light still headed on an unswerving path towards Dom, probably less than a minute away now. He looked down to the Bones, trying not to think about what new trouble this would get him into. Instead he concentrated on the trouble that was coming, that was just about in his face.
Numbers swooped out of the clouds, bounced along the ground as they accompanied the spotlight, all of them looking malicious and hungry. The light itself raked across the grass and heather, tearing furrows in the ground and burning intermittent lines as it cast itself in a multitude of directions, making sure that it didn’t leave out any clues in its hunt. Steam rose as the outside edges of the light touched the sopping ground, and Dom could hear a hiss rising up as well.
Seconds before the first numbers and the first hint of light touched his foot, Dom spun the Bones.
Part three
. . . Discovered thinges he shall loose and remit, Of Magick art, well shall he knowe and wit The myteries and ecreet orceries The mightie God he makes a babe to be . . .
—John Napier
20
All was black around Dom, but he sensed someone else with him, outside of his body, which seemed to rule out Billy. Beyond the presence, though, Dom could sense nothing else. He could feel nothing, not even himself. It was like he had no weight, no existence. Perhaps he was dead.
I don’t think so, came Billy’s voice, not through his ears, but in his head.
Hey, I can hear you, replied Dom. And my lips aren’t even moving.
So who else is here? What am I feeling?
I dunno. I don’t even know where the hell here is.
Weight slowly settled down on him then, and one by one Dom’s senses drifted back into place. “Open your eyes,” said a voice. Arithmos, he thought at first, but the voice sounded different somehow.
Small waves gently slapped against rocks, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked, a strained and desperate-sounding yap. Dom stood on a strip of grass overlooking a small beach covered with stones, and behind him was a row of small, pleasant old houses, all of their windows boarded up with storm shutters. They were beside a harbour; land surrounded all of the water except for a small opening to the right, an egress to the ocean that eased between two hulking and ominous hills.
“Walk towards the Soutar,” said the voice, and he was given a soft shove to his back. “It will try to keep you safe, as it keeps danger away from the people here.”
Dom spun around, but there was only a wisp of numbers flitting about like gnats on a summer day, nothing else. “Who’s talking?” He clutched the box with Napier’s Bones tight under his arm, and with his free hand fished for the puck in his coat pocket, looking for protection.
“Just walk,” said the voice again, quiet and in his ear. “Turn back, walk towards the Soutar.”
Dom spun again. Still nobody. “Is that Arithmos? I don’t even know what a Soutar is.”
Numbers came out of the air, folded in on themselves and formed into a new figure, squat and boxy. “Arithmos? You’re not looking like yourself.”
“You may call me Arithmos, but I am different numbers this time, different forms from different places and times. But there is no time for all of this now; please do what’s best for you and for the good folk of this village and come with me. We walk to the Soutar.”
Dom followed, box of Bones still clutched in his hands.
Within moments they had left the tiny village and were walking up a small paved road, trees on one side and farmland on the other. The weather here was lovely, completely unlike what he’d been in just moments before, just a few puffy clouds in the sky, which was slowly shifting to a deep blue as the sun felt its way to the horizon behind them. There were no signs of people being out and about.
“Where is everybody?”
asked Dom.
Arithmos turned towards him, stumbled and turned back to catch itself. “Sorry,” it said. “Walking is a rather different sensation. I don’t know how you do it, really.”
“You speak of yourself in the singular,” said Billy.
“I do,” said Arithmos. It seemed to shrug. “As I said, different numbers.”
“Jesus,” said Dom as he shook his head in frustration at the redirection of the conversation. “Answer the bloody questions, will you?”
“Right.” The numbers stumbled again, caught themselves, and then slid into a smaller circular shape, lower to the ground, with six legs. “I hope you won’t mind my new form,” it said, scuttling along the edge of the road. “But if I have to concentrate so hard on getting from one place to another, I’ll never be able to answer you.”
Dom kicked a loose rock, watched it skitter across the gravel and through the cloud of numbers, kicking up dust that intermingled with the form. He didn’t say anything, though, just waited for the thing to reply to his questions.
“First off, everyone in the village is either inside or else they have taken their vehicles and left. Before we arrived they could sense something that hasn’t been felt on the Black Isle for at least two hundred years, and while they may not have the words to put to it, it’s in their bones and their blood. So right now they hide.”
“What happened to Jenna?”
“I don’t know,” said Arithmos. “It’s safe to assume that your departure left her free from harm, though. Your spinning of the Bones loosed more forces than you know, and the repercussions are going to travel wide and deep.”
“Repercussions?”
“Think of it like a signal. The Bones are back where they were meant to be and they’ve been spun, generating very loud, very random numbers. They are a locus, the source of all numerical attention throughout Britain.”
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