The Aylesford Skull
Page 38
The rift was closing in on itself again. The harmonic vibration had reached a crescendo, awakening St. Ives from his rapt attention on the spectacle before him. Debris fell from above, the marble beneath his feet shuddered, and the panes of glass in the roof and walls shivered themselves to pieces as he turned and ran toward the portico, ducking under the domed roof as if out of a hailstorm. There sounded the screech of rending metal high overhead. The gondola fell nose-downward, hung for a moment by the stern, and then dropped, the glass orb in the bowsprit carrying it straight downward into the narrowing chasm, which closed on it with a vast exhalation of air, shattering the craft utterly, the rudder and propeller skittering away across the floor amid a confusion of broken sticks.
Within moments, the cathedral walls and roof had been reduced to an iron skeleton. The south wind blew across the floor, stirring up little whirlwinds of coal dust from beneath the pews. The great window depicting the death of the Oxford Martyrs still stood, however – perhaps the only glass remaining entire. Rays of light beamed through it in a myriad of colors, the morning sun showing in the heavens through broken clouds.
FORTY-FOUR
THE JAM POT
The afternoon weather was particularly fine – a warm breeze out of the west, perfect for eating outdoors. St. Ives contemplated birthdays, his own having come round again, time passing away. They’d had some shrewdly hard knocks, including a cool and bewildered acknowledgement from the Crown. There would be no recompense for the destroyed airship despite the arrest of Guido Fox, betrayed by de Groot along with Lord Moorgate, who was assumed to have fled.
But there was much to celebrate, most of it assembled before his eyes at this very moment. Eddie practiced throwing a boomerang that was a gift from Bill Kraken, who had carried it out of Port Jackson when he had fled Australia. He had given Cleo a kite decorated with a grinning moon face and with an immensely long tail. The kite rode above the broad lawn in front of the hopping huts, rising and swooping on the breeze, the sun high overhead and the sky a deep, luminous blue. Next week the huts would be full of workers, bringing in the harvest.
Eddie held his boomerang now, readying himself, squinting toward a platoon of enemy soldiers that stood in neat ranks on a distant crate, threatening the peace of the quiet afternoon. He threw the boomerang smoothly, and instead of wheeling off into the roses and smashing blossoms as it had the habit of doing, it described a neat circle, rising and then dipping toward the ranked enemy troops, falling upon them soundlessly and destroying them. St. Ives applauded, shouted encouragement to Cleo, and then turned his attention to Gilbert Frobisher who was telling Alice that he had finally seen the great bustard, on the wing over the marsh just yesterday, the creature’s body the size of a Smithfield ham. Hodgson had sought out the nest after seeing the bird take flight and had photographed a wonderful golden egg like something out of the Arabian Nights.
Mother Laswell and Mrs. Langley came out through the open door of the gallery now and down the several steps, carrying covered dishes toward three great tables set up on the broad lawn. Hasbro carried a tray bristling with bottles of French wine – Chateau Latour, which Gilbert and Tubby had brought from the marsh along with crates of Gilbert’s pale ale, two vast pheasant-and-mushroom pies, and a tremendous treacle and cream pudding. Arthur Doyle and Jack Owlesby, seeing the train of food and drink crossing the lawn, gave off their game of Irish skittles and hurried forward. Dorothy had just knocked another pin out of the circle, and so accused them of abandoning the game from fear of losing to a woman.
St. Ives regarded the food and drink with an openly gluttonous look and thought of Tubby Frobisher’s signifying jam pot. Abruptly he wondered what had become of Finn Conrad, who had been away this past hour and a half on a mysterious errand. Hot food wanted eating, after all, but he didn’t like the idea of sitting down to it without Finn in the company.
Cleo let out a sudden shriek, handed her roll of kite string to Bill Kraken, and set out at a run toward the wisteria alley, catching and passing her brother, who waved his boomerang as he ran. St. Ives heard Alice laugh, and he stood up, feeling her hand on his shoulder.
“Happy birthday, darling,” she said to him.
Across the lawn, coming in from the direction of Aylesford, Finn rode atop an immense Indian elephant draped in scarlet and gold cloth decorated with bangles. It came into St. Ives’s head that he was quite possibly dreaming, but Alice’s touch and her happy laughter were far too real to be a figment. The beast skirted the rose garden with an admirable delicacy and walked placidly toward them, looking around with what appeared to be satisfaction on its wrinkled face before raising its trunk so that Finn Conrad could hand it a length of sugar cane.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-892468-ad1f-1a49-56a0-fd46-2928-5c57e3
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 23.01.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.13, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
James P. Blaylock
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