Napier's Bones (28 page)

“You
remember
this?” Dom felt his voice approaching hysterics, and took a breath to get
himself under control. This was worse than the giant cobblers at Cromarty; at
least they had only paid attention to Dom when it was absolutely needed.

Billy nodded.
“It’s the eye of God, or so I called it.” He looked around. “But if that’s the
case, then my younger self should be here.”

“The Bones have
flung us across the land,” said Dom, “but do you think they can send us across
time as well? Maybe we’ve gone deep into your memory instead.”

The eye moved,
up and down. Dom sensed that the head the eye was a part of had just nodded in
agreement. He blinked in surprise, and in the fraction of a second that it took
for that blink to be completed, what Billy said was God’s eye had disappeared.
Billy took charge of the body and rushed to the door, had his hand on the knob
and was pulling it open before Dom could think to put a stop to things.

They were in a
garden, and the trees were thick with angels.

Dom spun around,
but the door, the room, the building they had been in, had all disappeared.
They were surrounded by trees and flowers and, as a boundary, tall and
carefully trimmed hedgerows, and on every branch of every tree perched angels.

Each one was
lithe, very thin without being boney, and it seemed that each angel’s body
shone with a different colour from the next, a vast, winged prismatic array.
Great feathered wings stretched out from their shoulders or else tucked up
above and behind their backs. One feather, immense and perfect in its shape and
whiteness, slowly drifted to the ground at Dom’s feet, briefly dancing in the
air as it was tugged by a warm breeze.

Dom looked up
from the feather, saw that all the angels had their eyes on him, saw that those
same eyes were hooded and dark in the harsh shadows caused by the high sun of
noon. He finally forced some spit into his dry mouth, asked, “What the hell is
this?”

Billy tucked a
hand behind his neck and rubbed at a small pool of sweat that had gathered
there. “They’re angels, Dom. Just what they look like.”

“Who the hell
has memories of God looking in on him through the window and of a bunch of
angels sitting on branches like something out of Hitchcock?”

Billy shrugged.
“What can I say? I had a somewhat strange life. The numbers spoke to me in a
rather different fashion, and what many of my contemporaries likely dismissed
as drug-fuelled hallucinations or the ravings of a loon were, for me, very real
events.” He smiled. “You’ll have to read some of my poems some day.”

“There’re
hundreds of them,” whispered Dom, looking at all of the angels. “Maybe
thousands.” Was this his next line of defence? Had spinning the Bones
deliberately brought him to places where the number ecology would be able to at
least try to protect him when Napier tracked him down? And would this hideously
frightening flock of angels really be willing or able to protect him?

A figure
approached them now, a human-shaped mass of numbers walking out of the
hedgerow. Even from here, Dom was somehow able to tell that these numbers had
nothing to do with Arithmos.

“Sir Isaac,”
said Blake, nodding his head. He smiled. “Still feeling as rational as ever?”

“Don’t be so
smug, Blake. The Mysteries I studied may have proved to be a fruitless dead
end, but I stand here, safe amidst the Heavenly Host, while you seem to be on
the run.” The numbers shimmied and swirled, then walked a circle around Dom.
“In fact, I’m here, and you’re in the body of a much smaller host who seems
unaware that the end is soon to come.”

Dom felt his
eyes roll. “Spare us any talk of God’s return, Sir Isaac. He seems more than
content to maintain an anchor in the Garden.”

Somehow, Dom
could tell that the shifting storm of numbers had just raised an eyebrow. “Who
said anything about God returning? You’re only here as a temporary respite from
your own Armageddon.”

Another figure
emerged, this one from the shadows cast by the wings of the angels. It was
tall, almost reptilian in appearance, and carried a large metal bowl in one
hand. Its body was mostly reddish-brown, its skin scaly, pointed ears set low
and aimed backwards on a large, bumpy head.

“The Ghost of a
Flea,” whispered Billy, likely for Dom’s sake. The numbers that Billy had
called Sir Isaac, and Dom had guessed were Isaac Newton, turned and bowed low,
then stepped back.

“I need blood
for my bowl, Blake,” growled the creature, waving its bowl at them, its tongue
flicking out a foot or longer. “Shall I have yours?”

Billy shook his
head. “Today you are nothing but a manifestation of my mind, Ghost. And
besides, I think Napier would prefer to take me himself.”

The creature
leered, flicked its tongue. “Who says Napier doesn’t speak through me this
day?”

“If Napier spoke
through you, this would have ended much earlier,” replied Billy. “I don’t know
why the numbers have chosen to show me this, but I know it is nothing
controlled by our persecutor.”

“It was enough
to fully bring you back to yourself, Blake,” said Newton. “And now that that has
been accomplished, perhaps it is time for you to leave again.” There was a
great whoosh from overhead as, in unison, the angels in the surrounding trees
flapped their great wings, and the roiling air plucked Dom from his feet and
into darkness.

Any fears about
how long it would take to learn what she needed to learn were quickly allayed
when Jenna realized that, outside of where she stood right now, time did not
pass. More accurately, it did pass, but only when she paid attention to it.
When focused on the task at hand, learning how to harness these new numbers and
the strange new abilities they gave her, the world around her slowed to a crawl
and sometimes even stopped completely. Several times, still not used to this
situation, she forgot herself and looked up with a start, worried that she was
leaving Dom and Billy in grave danger, and the world would pick up where she
had left it, for the briefest of moments seeming like it wanted to dash madly
to catch up to her, waves crashing forward with a renewed intensity and birds
darting through the sky at almost dangerous speeds, but then something about
the numbers would grab her attention again and she would turn her gaze back to
them, and once again the world would slow down and finally, if she hid from it
long enough, stop.

There was a lot
to learn, and even with all the time she knew she had, there wouldn’t be
enough. At best, she would have to leave here and march into battle to protect
Dom and Billy and even the whole world with limited knowledge and abilities and
just hope for the best.

“You can’t do
that,” said a voice.

Jenna turned.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the world briefly try to start again
before crashing to a sudden halt as her attention zeroed in on a new group of
numbers, like Arithmos, only more dynamic, even unknowable, shimmying and
shaking like they were caught in a curiously localized earthquake. “Can’t do
what?” she asked.

“You must stay
until you have mastered this new world you are about to enter.”

She shook her
head. “I have to go soon. You know that.”

The numerical
creature appeared to shake its head. “If you stay long enough, you will be able
to do all, including bending time on purpose, rather than simply as you’ve been
doing up until now, by accident.”

“What do I call
you?” asked Jenna.

The numerical
creature seemed to think for a second, and then replied, “You may call us
Quanta.”

Jenna shook her
head. “Well then, Quanta, I’m sorry but I’m getting too tired to concentrate,”
she protested. “Soon I won’t be able to keep all my attention on the numbers,
and then time is going to go on as it always does. When that happens, I won’t
have much of it left to save Dom and Billy.” It was true: she knew as she spoke
that the more tired she became, the more difficult it was to concentrate on
what she needed to learn, which meant that she was turning her focus more and
more to the world around her. Soon, time would travel as fast as it was meant
to, and if she didn’t get moving soon she wouldn’t be able to do anything to
save Dom and Billy. And her mother.

“We worry about
what will happen if you leave now, without taking the proper time to align
yourself and your abilities with this new universe we have presented to you.”

Closing her eyes
and casting out her new senses, she could just detect a hint of panic emanating
from far away, panic she knew was coming from Dom. After the briefest flash of
her own panic, Jenna steeled herself and frowned at the numbers. “They need my
help, and I’m going. Are you with me or not?”

Quanta seemed to
heave a great sigh. “With you, of course. But may we recommend a course of
action that might go a short distance to aiding both of us in our goals?”

They were back
in London, and the Bones were still spinning. To his right was the Thames, and
across the river sirens still wailed. To his left was a building that looked
old, albeit in remarkably good shape.

“The Globe,”
whispered Billy. “I remember reading with my previous host that they had
rebuilt it.”

From over the
edge of the wall that led down to the river they could hear the clatter and
roar as metal lions with mooring rings stuck in their mouths came back to life.
“Inside the theatre,” said Arithmos, suddenly beside them. “We think we know
how we can end this.”

Dom turned and
ran, hoping to hell that bringing all of this to an end didn’t include offering
him up as a sacrifice. In the distance he heard a booming roar, and people
around him screamed and scattered, blessedly none of them running for the
building.

A security guard
tried to grab him as he ran past the ticket seller, but he reached into his
pocket and grabbed the puck, skated past the man and up some stairs, through
another door and out into the theatre itself.

“Psalm 46,” said
Billy, looking up at the sky over the centre of the theatre, away from the roof
hanging low over the gallery where they stood.

“What?” There
were no people in here. No metal or stone creatures, either, thankfully.

“I often thought
that Shakespeare was a numerate.” He looked down and gestured at the stage,
which Dom saw was crawling with numbers. “In the King James Bible, the
forty-sixth word of Psalm 46 is ‘shake’ and the forty-sixth word from the end
is ‘spear.’ I always thought he might have noted that and perhaps even set it
down someplace. An attempt at becoming an adjunct, although I’ve never heard of
him being anywhere.”

“Nice
synchronicity,” said Dom. “But the chances of finding an artefact like that are
pretty slim, aren’t they?”

Arithmos arose
from the teeming mass of numbers on the small stage below them. “You must come
down to me,” called the numbers. “Now!”

Dom didn’t pause
to think about what might require the urgency he heard in Arithmos’ voice. He
jumped over the railing and dropped to the ground below, calling up numbers to
soften the blow of the fall. On the stage, Arithmos briefly shimmered, static
overriding its presence, but when Dom dismissed the numbers they rushed back to
rejoin the body of his numerical companion. “Sorry,” he called.

“It was
understandable,” replied Arithmos. “Now please, onto the stage.”

All around them
now were roars and calls, as well as screams and calls for help from people
outside of the theatre. The sky overhead was swiftly turning black with
numbers, both from the spinning Bones and from flocks of numbers that came from
every direction to join in. With one last frightened look above, Dom pulled
himself up to join Arithmos on stage.

“Oh my,” said Billy.
“I can taste the numbers, the history here.” He stepped across the boards of
the stage, testing its limits, swinging his arms wide. He tilted his head back
and shouted, “I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. ‘There is divinity in odd
numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death!’”

Dom rolled his
eyes. “That one of your poems?”

Billy shook his
head. “It was Shakespeare. Mind you, he also wrote, ‘Rumour doth double, like
the voice and echo, the numbers of the feared.’ Not quite as reassuring, I
think.”

“‘A victory is
twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers,’” said Arithmos, and
Dom could swear he heard some humour in its voice.

“I get it,” he
answered, nervously tapping his right foot. “You’re both better read than me.
Maybe I could quote some baseball stats instead of a play some dead guy once
wrote.”

Billy grinned in
return, but said nothing.

In the meantime
in the sky above, gryphons and dragons were fighting off all manner of other
flying beasts, as well as numbers that had coagulated into deadly, angry forms.
But they were horrendously outnumbered, and soon the last of the defenders
broke into thousands of tiny pieces and fell from the sky. Numbers and animated
statues alike now swarmed the floor of the theatre, and Dom flinched as he
reached for the hopelessly tiny help the puck might bring, but all of them
stopped dead at the foot of the stage.

“How is this
possible?” asked Dom, shouting to be heard over the roar of the swarm of
creatures and numbers at their feet.

“It’s the stage
itself,” replied Billy. “The numbers in the boards are somehow able to resist
Napier’s call.”

“Yeah, but . .
.” said Dom, willing his body back to the centre of the stage. Billy had
marched them right to the edge, daring one of the hissing and roaring multitude
to reach across and tear him, them, to pieces. “I’m pretty damn sure that the
boards that make up this stage aren’t the same ones that made the stage when
this theatre first existed.”