Napier's Bones (24 page)

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 metal, 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.

. . .
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
. . .

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.”

The thought of
it made him dizzy. If he was carrying the source of “all numerical attention,”
as Arithmos called it, then not only was Napier after him, but almost every
number in the land. Numbers that he often used for personal gain, as well as
protection. What could he do against numbers if they decided they’d had enough?

“You’ve been
quiet,” said Arithmos. They were on a steeper section of road now, and it had
adjusted its legs again, still looking for the ideal configuration. “I believe
that I can anticipate your concerns. May I try?”

“Go ahead,” said
Dom.

“I know some of
what you discussed before. Individual numbers are not sentient. Numbers that
group together can be, although not always. But even numbers such as those that
comprise me, while sentient and in control of my situation, are prone to
control by numerates.”

“So I could use
you now? Call up your numbers to help me?”

Arithmos paused,
one leg halfway up into the air, twitching and shimmering. Finally, it said,
“You’re strong enough, yes. But I’ve decided to throw my lot in with you as
best as I may. That decision came because of choices I—we—have seen you make
during this journey, and because of who you face.” The leg came down, but it
still didn’t walk. “Was I wrong in this decision?”

Dom absentmindedly
waved his fingers about for a second, and then shook his head. “No. No, you
weren’t wrong.”

They started
walking again. “This leads to another troubling question,” said Billy. “One
that came to me just as Dom spun the Bones back at the Point of Stoer. What
happens if Napier tries to control you?”

“Then his shadow
takes control,” replied the number creature. “I have set up as many protections
as possible so that he doesn’t detect me and call me to his aid, but if the
call comes, I’ll have to answer.”

“Sonofabitch.”
Dom gritted his teeth together. “So what the hell do I do then?”

There were no
eyes, but as Arithmos paused it seemed to turn and look him in the eyes. “Spin
the Bones again, and go where they take you.”

They walked in
silence after that, no sound from boats or cars to accompany them. Eventually
they came out above most of the trees, high on the hill. The view showed them a
similar hill across the gateway to the harbour, open ocean to the right. No
ships were in sight, although several oil drilling platforms rested in the
harbour, waiting their turns to journey out to the North Sea.

“We’re here,”
said Dom. “But why are we here?”

“This is one of
the Soutars,” said Arithmos.

“You used that
word before,” replied Billy. “What’s a Soutar?”

“The village we
left behind is called Cromarty. In ancient times, the Black Isle—which isn’t
really an island—and the villages along it, which now includes Cromarty, were
protected from pirates by the two Soutars.” It gestured down with one leg, and
then across the water towards the other hill.

“What, these
hills protected them?”

“The Soutars
were giant cobblers, shoemakers of immense proportions. There were days when
the villagers would stand in the distance and watch as the Soutars tossed their
tools across the entrance to the firth, sharing them with each other, or
sometimes just doing so as a game.”

Dom looked
around him. The hill he was on seemed like any normal hill, with farmland and
trees, a fence, and even a bench for visitors to sit on. The hill across the
water was, if anything, even more bare of features, an easy slope from the far
side of it, more steep leading down to the water. “These
shoemakers—Soutars—just how did they protect the villages from pirates? Their
tools?”