Napier's Bones (5 page)

“So there are
some hints in numerate literature that whenever whales beach themselves it’s
because they’ve come to collect the shadow of a person who has died,” said
Billy. “Of course, we can’t talk to whales, so we can’t say for sure, but they
are numerate creatures. Whether or not you need to die by the sea, well, nobody
knows.” Billy shrugged. “But it does seem that it’s always the same number of
whales as it is years the person, or even persons, has lived.”

“What’s also
interesting is that sometimes they seem to take shadows that want to go, and
sometimes they take them against their will. Mingus, I think he was voluntary.”
Dom leaned his seat back, turned his head to the right, feeling exhausted from
the heat and all the action. “Wake me up when you want me to spell you for
driving.”

Jenna turned on
the radio. A distant classic rock station was tuned in, ELO’s “Telephone Line”
playing, accompanied by the hiss and static of interference, and, Dom could
swear, harmony by the man from the phone call. But before he could say
anything, Jenna slipped a CD into the stereo, and he drifted off to the sounds
of Coltrane.

Jenna woke Dom a
few hours later and he drove on until he came to a town with a store big enough
to outfit the both of them. Again, he decided to bankroll her, and an hour
later they walked out with a couple days worth of clothes, toiletries, and two
small wheeled suitcases to carry everything. Jenna also bought some new sneakers,
having noted that she was finding the long drive in her sandals uncomfortable.

He gassed up the
car again, nervously listening for ringing pay phones, then drove on. They
stopped for supper, and when they were back in the car Jenna fell asleep, Dom
insisting that he had plenty of energy and that she should bank her sleep now,
in case it was suddenly in short supply.

After a search
showed that Jenna listened mostly to pop and hip hop with a sprinkling of house
music, he kept the Coltrane disc on, volume low and in the background, but
enjoying the numbers that wafted from the player with each note. He’d never
listened much to the jazz performer before, having focused most of his energy
on discerning the mojo that Mingus was able to give, but he was pleased to find
there was a lot of numerate subtlety here as well.

Jazz musicians,
like baseball players, also had it. In spades. Classical composers too, and of
course musicians who played other styles, like rock and bluegrass and reggae.
But the intricacies of good jazz worked well in Dom’s world, and knowledge of
how a musician had constructed a tune, not by notes, but by numbers, was a
handy tool to have when working through that world.

Billy was
silent, probably aware that Dom was feeling quiet himself. So he just sat back
and let himself enjoy the drive, once again able to relax, even though his ass
was being ridden by someone with numerate ability he’d never dreamed possible.

And that was the
biggest problem he had. Dom was strong, even if he was relatively new at this.
Until this latest stretch of fear and bad luck, he had felt pretty confident
that he was the strongest numerate around, maybe not in the world, but at least
in the circles he had travelled. He had plenty of natural talent, and not only was
he a quick study, he worked hard at learning what he needed, and once the world
of numbers had changed for him, opened up beyond his confused youthful
awareness of numbers and formulae and algorithms that floated through his
everyday life, he had been able to grab hold of every treasured piece of mojo
he had sought.

Sometimes
he was given a bit of a fight, but even so, the hardest time he’d had
retrieving an item had really been simple. He had talent, he used it well, if
selfishly, and life up until the past few days had gone fairly well, if a bit
lonely. He’d been on a smooth ride to the top, and the trip down to the desert
had been another step on the way to his ultimate target, a goal that was likely
shared by every numerate person on Earth. He knew that he would have some
trouble if someone got there first, but had frankly been unprepared for just
how much power would be involved.

Just as obvious,
Billy and his former host had also been unprepared; while they had carried more
experience into their duel, Dom felt sure from the numbers he’d seen that he
held more innate ability. With some new mojo and perhaps a bit more research,
and with Billy along for the ride to give solid advice, he’d be able to figure
out this mystery person and get what he was after.

The thought made
him smile.

“What?” asked
Billy.

“Hmmph. Just
thinking about this gal and the shadow she carries. Do you suppose she was this
strong before she got to whatever was sitting in the desert?”

Billy shrugged;
it was funny how natural the motion now felt. “I don’t know. She would already
have had to be very good, just making out the trail like we did. But to have
that much power before she got there, and for us not to have had any idea that
he existed, it seems a bit of a reach.”

“What if it was
the big gun itself?”

Billy shook his
head. “If she had held that, we would not be sitting here talking to each
other.”

Dom nodded and
chewed on his lower lip. “I guess it’s not like it would have been in the
middle of the fucking desert, either.”

“True enough,
although all sorts of powerful artefacts have somehow slipped the bonds of the
British Isles.”

“Well, there
were plenty that started out away from Britain in the first place, right?”

Billy nodded his
head. “Yes, but by far the majority came from there. Something there has always
been conducive to the creation of all this mojo.” In the passenger seat Jenna
snorted in her sleep and turned her head. Billy chuckled. “There are plenty of
items still sprinkled throughout the world, Dom. As a matter of fact, the way
I’ve seen things play out in the time I can remember, I’m pretty sure that
there are still a dozen or more of my own still lying around, even, ones
without my essence, but still fairly powerful artefacts.”

Dom cocked an
eyebrow. “If you found one do you suppose it would kick-start your memory?”

Billy made a
face, scrunched up his mouth as he cocked an eyebrow. The feeling Dom got from
the face was
consternation
, even though he wasn’t looking in a mirror.
“I hadn’t thought about that. The odds would be extremely long against finding
anything, but it might be a reason to go looking some day.”

Dom blinked.
“Must be hell knowing more about your host than yourself.”

Billy shrugged
again. “I live with it. And in the meantime, I even have a theory about why I’m
like this.”

“Which is?”

“Being numerate
doesn’t preclude anyone making a tiny mistake in the numbers, Dom.” Billy
turned the music down to a distant background whisper. “Think of the numbers I
laid out as the equivalent of DNA.”

“Um, okay.” It
occurred to Dom that he was now having a discussion about genetics with someone
who had died long before that particular science had come into existence.

“When Watson and
Crick first announced their discovery, my host did a fair amount of reading on
the subject, searching for more numerate possibilities in the building blocks
of life. Since then I have made an effort to keep up with the field, as a
layman, in case anything rears its head.

“Not long ago it
struck me that perhaps the reason I can’t remember who I am is the same reason
some people are born with genetic defects; a switch is thrown in the wrong
place or, more aptly, information is translated incorrectly. It’s there, but
for whatever reason it does not come across as intended. A birth defect, a handicap,
or in my case, numbers that either mean nothing or else mean something other
than intended.”

Dom chewed on
this for a minute. “So what you’re saying is that it’s possible that other
people made the same mistake in processing their numbers.”

“Probable, even.”

“Okay, probable.
And so there’s lots of shit lying around that no one has any idea where it is.”

“Indeed,”
replied Billy. “Certainly some of it has been destroyed over the decades or
centuries or even millennia, in wars, even in hunts for witches, but much of it
has just been . . . misplaced. And there’s no accounting for those unfortunate
souls whose numbers were wrong and whose shadows ended up either lost forever
or else mistranslated worse than my own were.”

“What happens
then?”

Billy grimaced.
“Empty husk without a spark is the description that has been used.”

Dom shuddered,
then squinted his eyes at an upcoming sign. Bozeman was soon. He leaned over
and tapped Jenna on the shoulder. “Hey. Time to wake up.”

She grunted and
stretched her arms as best she could in the car. “There yet?”

“Soon. I just
wanna stop and gas up in case we have to blow town as fast as last time.” He
signalled and hit an exit way too fast, kicking up rocks and grabbing hard at
the steering wheel to correct as he tapped the brakes. “Plus, I have to make a
call, considering how early we are. See if we can get in before things open.”

“I’ll fill it
up,” said Jenna as they pulled up to the gas pumps. “You make the call.”

“Right.” Dom got
out, thought about pocketing the keys to keep Jenna from suddenly getting cold
feet and booking while he still needed her and her wheels, but then just
sprinkled a few numbers over the hood to keep the thing from starting until he
came back. He headed for the pay phone, arms folded across his chest against
the cold.

“I don’t think
you want to risk using your own change,” said Billy.

Dom stood and
looked at the phone for a few seconds, thinking, then said, “Yeah. I don’t know
if I can cover up anything that’s been on my person when I haven’t been carrying
mojo.”

“But you may
also not want to use numbers to make the call.”

Dom rolled his
eyes. “Look, Billy, we were found last time because it was Jenna who made the
call. I’m a hell of a lot better at this than she is, especially right now.”

In answer, Billy
leaned against the phone and reached behind, came out with change for the call.
“Old traveller’s trick,” he said. “Leave money behind when you can, take it
when you need it.”

Dom blinked.
“Jesus. Can’t believe I’ve never seen that before.”

“It doesn’t
always work, my friend. Especially when times are tough.”

Dom dropped the
money into the slot, blew on his finger, then dialled the number. “It’s not
even five in the fucking morning,” said the voice on the other end; it had
taken eight rings before the phone had been picked up.

“I know. Sorry
about the time, Sy.”

There was some
shuffling and grunting. “Dom? That you?”

“Is too. Sorry
to do this to you, man, but I’m in urgent need of some stuff. Are you able to
meet me down at the library?”

“No can do, Dom.
Got a circular yesterday telling us that you’re a suspected book thief.”

Dom closed his
eyes. “Sonofabitch. Sy, you know that isn’t true. Hell, I’m the guy who made it
pretty much impossible for anyone to walk out from your area with anything.”

There was the
click of a lighter on the other end of the line, followed by a deep breath and
coughing. “Jesus,” said Sy. “I’ve gotta shake this nasty habit. Can’t even keep
myself from grabbing a puff at five a.m.”

“Sy.”

“I know, I know.
Dom, I trust you completely. But you know we have cameras everywhere, and the
memo said that you might be headed this way, so there are gonna be people
watching specifically for you.”

“I can take care
of the cameras, Sy.”

There was a
sharp laugh, followed by more coughing. “Listen, I don’t pretend to understand
everything there is to know about this special ability you have, but just the
fact that word has gotten out about you, right or wrong, tells me that you’ve
gone and gotten yourself good and fucked.”

Dom took a
breath, unsure what to say. Sy remained quiet on the other end, except for the
distant sounds of sucking on his cigarette. Finally, Dom just shook his head.
“Don’t believe any of the shit you might end up hearing, okay?”

“Oh, no doubt
about that, Dom. I hope you manage to get out of whatever scrape you’re in, and
I know that
I’ll
always trust you, but you’ll have to take it
somewhere where you don’t put me or my books in any danger.”

“Right. Take it
easy.”

“Done. You too.”

Dom hung up and
leaned against the wall. “Well, it looks like this fucker is getting ahead of
us now.”

“I don’t think
so,” replied Billy. “If he or she really was, then they would have responded to
our presence here in town with more than just a piece of paper. No, I think
that perhaps they managed to pick up some numerical spoor that you left behind,
maybe when you were unconscious, and is just sending out small packets of
search numbers wherever that scent leads. One of those packets found an old
scent of you here and created an alert that it had been programmed for.”

Dom thought
about this for a moment. “Makes sense. Let’s go get breakfast and then hope
that my other stop in town remains unsullied.” He walked over to the booth to
pay for the gas, then back to the car. Before climbing back in he brushed the
numbers from the hood, then drove off.

“Couldn’t trust
me?” asked Jenna.

“What?”

“The numbers on
the hood. Were you afraid I was going to drive off and leave you standing in
the middle of nowhere?”

Dom grinned, a
little sheepishly. “Too late for you to get cold feet now, Jenna. I need your
wheels, and you’re in deep enough that you need to stick with me. So to
preclude rash decisions, I did it for both of us.”

“All three of
us,” interjected Billy.