(The first day of the rest of their lives) 5 страница

One reason for this may have to do with the manner of Agnes Nutter's death, which more or less marked the end of the serious witchhunting craze in England. A howling mob, reduced to utter fury by her habit of going around being intelligent and curing people, arrived at her house one April evening to find her sitting with her coat on, waiting for them.

" Ye're tardie, " she said to them. " I shoulde have beene aflame ten minutes since. "

Then she got up and hobbled slowly through the suddenly silent crowd, out of the cottage, and to the bonfire that had been hastily thrown together on the village green. Legend says that she climbed awkwardly onto the pyre and thrust her arms around the stake behind her.

" Tye yt well, " she said to the astonished witchfinder. And then, as the villagers sidled toward the pyre, she raised her handsome head in the firelight and said, " Gather ye ryte close, goode people. Come close untyl the fire near scorch ye, for I charge ye that alle must see how thee last true wytch in England dies. For wytch I am, for soe I am judged, yette I knoe not what my true Cryme may be. And therefore let myne deathe be a messuage to the worlde. Gather ye ryte close, I saye, and marke well the fate of alle who meddle with suche as theye do none understande. "

And, apparently, she smiled and looked up at the sky over the village and added, " That goes for you as welle, yowe daft old foole. "

And after that strange blasphemy she said no more. She let them gag her, and stood imperiously as the torches were put to the dry wood.

The crowd grew nearer, one or two of its members a little uncertain as to whether they'd done the right thing, now they came to think about it.

Thirty seconds later an explosion took out the village green, scythed the valley clean of every living thing, and was seen as far away as Halifax.

There was much subsequent debate as to whether this had been sent by God or by Satan, but a note later found in Agnes Nutter's cottage indicated that any divine or devilish intervention had been materially helped by the contents of Agnes's petticoats, wherein she had with some foresight concealed eighty pounds of gunpowder and forty pounds of roofing nails.

What Agnes also left behind, on the kitchen table beside a note cancelling the milk, was a box and a book. There were specific instructions as to what should be done with the box, and equally specific instructions about what should be done with the book; it was to be sent to Agnes's son, John Device.

The people who found it& #8209; who were from the next village, and had been woken up by the explosion& #8209; considered ignoring the instructions and just burning the cottage, and then looked around at the twinkling fires and nail& #8209; studded wreckage and decided not to. Besides, Agnes's note included painfully precise predictions about what would happen to people who did not carry out her orders.

The man who put the torch to Agnes Nutter was a Witchfinder Major. They found his hat in a tree two miles away.

His name, stitched inside on a fairly large piece of tape, was Thou-Shalt& #8209; Not& #8209; Commit& #8209; Adultery Pulsifer, one of England's most assiduous witchfinders, and it might have afforded him some satisfaction to know that his last surviving descendant was now, even if unawares, heading toward Agnes Nutter's last surviving descendant. He might have felt that some ancient revenge was at last going to be discharged.

If he'd known what was actually going to happen when that descendant met her he would have turned in his grave, except that he had never got one.

* * * * *

F irstly, however, Newt had to do something about the flying saucer.

It landed in the road ahead of him just as he was trying to find the Lower Tadfield turning and had the map spread over the steering wheel. He had to brake hard.

It looked like every cartoon of a flying saucer Newt had ever seen.

As he stared over the top of his map, a door in the saucer slid aside with a satisfying whoosh, revealing a gleaming walkway which extended automatically down to the road. Brilliant blue light shone out, outlining three alien shapes. They walked down the ramp. At least, two of them walked. The one that looked like a pepper pot just skidded down it, and fell over at the bottom.

The other two ignored its frantic beeping and walked over to the car quite slowly, in the worldwide approved manner of policemen already compiling the charge sheet in their heads. The tallest one, a yellow toad dressed in kitchen foil, rapped on Newt's window. He wound it down. The thing was wearing the kind of mirror& #8209; finished sunglasses that Newt always thought of as Cool Hand Luke shades.

" Morning, sir or madam or neuter, " the thing said. " This your planet, is it? "

The other alien, which was stubby and green, had wandered off into the woods by the side of the road. Out of the corner of his eye Newt saw it kick a tree, and then run a leaf through some complicated gadget on its belt. It didn't look very pleased.

" Well, yes. I suppose so, " he said.

The toad stared thoughtfully at the skyline.

" Had it long, have we, sir? " it said.

" Er. Not personally. I mean, as a species, about half a million years. I think. "

The alien exchanged glances with its colleague. " Been letting the old acid rain build up, haven't we, sir? " it said. " Been letting ourselves go a bit with the old hydrocarbons, perhaps? "

" I'm sorry? "

" Could you tell me your planet's albedo, sir? " said the toad, still staring levelly at the horizon as though it was doing something interesting.

" Er. No. "

" Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you, sir, that your polar ice caps are below regulation size for a planet of this category, sir. "

" Oh, dear, " said Newt. He was wondering who he could tell about this, and realizing that there was absolutely no one who would believe him.

The toad bent closer. It seemed to be worried about something, insofar as Newt was any judge of the expressions of an alien race he'd never encountered before.

" We'll overlook it on this occasion, sir. "

Newt gabbled. " Oh. Er. I'll see to it& #8209; well, when I say I, I mean, I think Antarctica or something belongs to every country, or something, and& #8209; "

" The fact is, sir, that we have been asked to give you a message. "

" Oh? "

" Message runs 'We give you a message of universal peace and cosmic harmony an' suchlike. ' Message ends, " said the toad.

" Oh. " Newt turned this over in his mind. " Oh. That's very kind. "

" Have you got any idea why we have been asked to bring you this message, sir? " said the toad.

Newt brightened. " Well, er, I suppose, " he flailed, " what with Mankind's, er, harnessing of the atom and& #8209; "

" Neither have we, sir. " The toad stood up. " One of them phenomena, I expect. Well, we'd better be going. " It shook its head vaguely, turned around and waddled back to the saucer without another word.

Newt stuck his head out of the window.

" Thank you! "

The small alien walked past the car.

" C02 level up 0. 5 percent, " it rasped, giving him a meaningful look. " You do know you could find yourself charged with being a dominant species while under the influence of impulse& #8209; driven consumerism, don't you? "

The two of them righted the third alien, dragged it back up the ramp, and shut the door.

Newt waited for a while, in case there were any spectacular light displays, but it just stood there. Eventually he drove up on the verge and around it. When he looked in his rear& #8209; view mirror it had gone.

I must be overdoing something, he thought guiltily. But what?

And I can't even tell Shadwell, because he'd probably bawl me out for not counting their nipples.

– – -

" Anyway, " said Adam, " you've got it all wrong about witches. "

The Them were sitting on a field gate, watching Dog rolling in cowpats. The little mongrel seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

" I've been reading about them, " he said, in a slightly louder voice. " Actually, they've been right all along and it's wrong to persecute 'em with British Inquisitions and stuff. "

" My mother said they were just intelligent women protesting in the only way open to them against the stifling injustices of a male& #8209; dominated social hierarchy, " said Pepper.

Pepper's mother lectured at Norton Polytechnic.

" Yes, but your mother's always saying things like that, " said Adam, after a while.

Pepper nodded amiably. " And she said, at worst they were just free& #8209; thinking worshippers of the progenerative principle. "

" Who's the progenratty principle? " said Wensleydale.

" Dunno. Something to do with maypoles, I think, " said Pepper vaguely.

" Well, 1 thought they worshipped the Devil, " said Brian, but without automatic condemnation. The Them had an open mind on the whole subject of devil worship. The Them had an open mind about everything. " Anyway, the Devil'd be better than a stupid maypole. "

" That's where you're wrong, " said Adam. " It's not the Devil. It's another god, or something. With horns. "

" The Devil, " said Brian.

" No, " said Adam patiently. " People just got 'em mixed up. He's just got horns similar. He's called Pan. He's half a goat. "

* During the day. In the evenings she gave Power tarot readings to nervous executives, because old habits die hard.

" Which half? " said Wensleydale.

Adam thought about it.

" The bottom half, " he said at length. " Fancy you not knowin' that. I should of thought everyone knew that. "

" Goats haven't got a bottom half, " said Wensleydale. " They've got a front half and a back half. Just like cows. "

They watched Dog some more, drumming their heels on the gate. It was too hot to think.

Then Pepper said, " If he's got goat legs, he shouldn't have horns. They belong to the front half. "

" I didn't make him up, did I? " said Adam, aggrieved. " I was just telling you. It's news to me I made him up. No need to go on at me. "

" Anyway, " said Pepper. " This stupid Pot can't go around complaining if people think he's the Devil. Not with having horns on. People are bound to say, oh, here comes the Devil. "

Dog started to dig up a rabbit hole.

Adam, who seemed to have a weight on his mind, took a deep breath.

" You don't have to be so lit'ral about everything, " he said. " That's the trouble these days. Grass materialism. 's people like you who go round choppin' down rain forests and makin' holes in the ozone layer. There's a great big hole in the ozone layer 'cos of grass materialism people like you. "

" I can't do anythin' about it, " said Brian automatically. " I'm still paying off on a stupid cucumber frame. "

" It's in the magazine, " said Adam. " It takes millions of acres of rain forest to make one beefburger. And all this ozone is leakin' away because of. . . " he hesitated, " people sprayin' the environment. "

" And there's whales, " said Wensleydale. " We've got to save 'em. "

Adam looked blank. His plunder of New Aquarian's back issues hadn't included anything about whales. Its editors had assumed that the readers were all for saving whales in the same way they assumed that those readers breathed and walked upright.

" There was this program about them, " explained Wensleydale.

" What've we got to save 'em for? " said Adam. He had confused visions of saving up whales until you had enough for a badge.

Wensleydale paused and racked his memory. " Because they can sing. And they've got big brains. There's hardly any of them left. And we don't need to kill them anyway 'cos they only make pet food and stuff. "

" If they're so clever, " said Brian, slowly, " what are they doin' in the sea? "

" Oh, I dunno, " said Adam, looking thoughtful. " Swimmin' around all day, just openin' their mouths and eating stuff. . . sounds pretty clever to me& #8209; "

A squeal of brakes and a long& #8209; drawn& #8209; out crunch interrupted him. They scrambled off the gate and ran up the lane to the crossroads, where a small car lay on its roof at the end of a long skidmark.

A little further down the road was a hole. It looked as though the car had tried to avoid it. As they looked at it, a small Oriental& #8209; looking head darted out of sight.

The Them dragged the door open and pulled out the unconscious Newt. Visions of medals for heroic rescue thronged Adam's head. Practical considerations of first aid thronged around that of Wensleydale.

" We shouldn't move him, " he said. " Because of broken bones. We ought to get someone. "

Adam cast around. There was a rooftop just visible in the trees down the road. It was Jasmine Cottage.

And in Jasmine Cottage Anathema Device was sitting in front of a table on which some bandages, aspirins, and assorted first& #8209; aid items had been laid out for the past hour.

– – -

Anathema had been looking at the clock. He'll be coming around any moment now, she'd thought.

And then, when he got there, he wasn't what she'd been expecting. More precisely, he wasn't what she'd been hoping for.

She had been hoping, rather self& #8209; consciously, for someone tall, dark, and handsome.

Newt was tall, but with a rolled& #8209; out, thin look. And while his hair was undoubtedly dark, it wasn't any sort of fashion accessory; it was just a lot of thin, black strands all growing together out of the top of his head. This was not Newt's fault; in his younger days he would go every couple of months to the barber's shop on the corner, clutching a photograph he'd carefully torn from a magazine which showed someone with an impressively cool haircut grinning at the camera, and he would show the picture to the barber, and ask to be made to look like that, please. And the barber, who knew his job, would take one look and then give Newt the basic, allpurpose, short& #8209; back& #8209; and& #8209; sides. After a year of this, Newt realized that he obviously didn't have the face that went with haircuts. The best Newton Pulsifer could hope for after a haircut was shorter hair.

It was the same with suits. The clothing hadn't been invented that would make him look suave and sophisticated and comfortable. These days he had learned to be satisfied with anything that would keep the rain off and give him somewhere to keep his change.

And he wasn't handsome. Not even when he took off his glasses. And, she discovered when she took off his shoes to lay him on her bed, he wore odd socks: one blue one, with a hole in the heel, and one gray one, with holes around the toes.

I suppose I'm meant to feel a wave of warm, tender female something& #8209; or& #8209; other about this, she thought. I just wish he'd wash them.

So. . . tall, dark, but not handsome. She shrugged. Okay. Two out of three isn't bad.

The figure on the bed began to stir. And Anathema, who in the very nature of things always looked to the future, suppressed her disappointment and said:

" How are we feeling now? "

Newt opened his eyes.

He was lying in a bedroom, and it wasn't his. He knew this instantly because of the ceiling. His bedroom ceiling still had the model aircraft hanging from bits of cotton. He'd never got around to taking them down.

This ceiling just had cracked plaster. Newt had never been in a woman's bedroom before, but he sensed that this was one largely by a combination of soft smells. There was a hint of talcum and lily& #8209; of& #8209; the-valley, and no rank suggestion of old T& #8209; shirts that had forgotten what the inside of a tumble& #8209; dryer looked like.

He tried to lift his head up, groaned, and let it sink back onto the pillow. Pink, he couldn't help noticing.

" You banged your head on the steering wheel, " said the voice that had roused him. " Nothing broken, though. What happened? "

Newt opened his eyes again.

" Car all right? " he said.

" Apparently. A little voice inside it keeps repeating 'Prease to frasten sleat& #8209; bert. ' "

" See? " said Newt, to an invisible audience. " They knew how to build them in those days. That plastic finish hardly takes a dent. "

He blinked at Anathema.

" I swerved to avoid a Tibetan in the road, " he said. " At least, I think I did. I think I've probably gone mad. "

The figure walked around into his line of sight. It had dark hair, and red lips, and green eyes, and it was almost certainly female. Newt tried not to stare. It said, " If you have, no one's going to notice. " Then she smiled. " Do you know, I've never met a witchfinder before? "

" Er& #8209; " Newt began. She held up his open wallet.

" I had to look inside, " she said.

Newt felt extremely embarrassed, a not unusual state of affairs. Shadwell had given him an official witchfinder's warrant card, which among other things charged all beadles, magistrates, bishops, and bailiffs to give him free passage and as much dry kindling as he required. It was incredibly impressive, a masterpiece of calligraphy, and probably quite old. He'd forgotten about it.

" It's really just a hobby, " he said wretchedly. " I'm really a. . . a. . . , " he wasn't going to say wages clerk, not here, not now, not to a girl like this, " a computer engineer, " he lied. Want to be, want to be; in my heart I'm a computer engineer, it's only the brain that's letting me down. " Excuse me, could I know& #8209; "

" Anathema Device, " said Anathema. " I'm an occultist, but that's just a hobby. I'm really a witch. Well done. You're half an hour late, " she added, handing him a small sheet of cardboard, " so you'd better read this. It'll save a lot of time. "

– – -

Newt did in fact own a small home computer, despite his boyhood experiences. In fact, he'd owned several. You always knew which ones he owned. They were desktop equivalents of the Wasabi. They were the ones which, for example, dropped to half& #8209; price just after he'd bought them. Or were launched in a blaze of publicity and disappeared into obscurity within a year. Or only worked at all if you stuck them in a fridge. Or, if by some fluke they were basically good machines, Newt always got the few that were sold with the early, bug& #8209; infested version of the operating system. But he persevered, because he believed.

Adam also had a small computer. He used it for playing games, but never for very long. He'd load a game, watch it intently for a few minutes, and then proceed to play it until the High Score counter ran out of zeroes.

When the other Them wondered about this strange skill, Adam professed mild amazement that everyone didn't play games like this.

" All you have to do is learn how to play it, and then it's just easy, " he said.

– – -

Quite a lot of the front parlor in Jasmine Cottage was taken up, Newt noticed with a sinking feeling, with piles of newspapers. Clippings were stuck around the walls. Some of them had bits circled in red ink. He was mildly gratified to spot several he had cut out for Shadwell.

Anathema owned very little in the way of furniture. The only thing she'd bothered to bring with her had been her clock, one of the family heirlooms. It wasn't a full& #8209; cased grandfather clock, but a wall clock with a free& #8209; swinging pendulum that E. A. Poe would cheerfully have strapped someone under.

Newt kept finding his eye drawn to it.

" It was built by an ancestor of mine, " said Anathema, putting the coffee cups down on the table. " Sir Joshua Device. You may have heard of him? He invented the little rocking thing that made it possible to build accurate clocks cheaply? They named it after him. "

" The Joshua? " said Newt guardedly.

" The device. "

In the last half hour Newt had heard some pretty unbelievable stuff and was close to believing it, but you have to draw the line somewhere.

" The device is named after a real person? " he said.

" Oh, yes. Fine old Lancashire name. From the French, I believe.

be telling me next you've never heard of Sir Humphrey Gadget& #8209; "

" Oh, now come on& #8209; "

" & #8209; who devised a gadget that made it possible to pump out flooded mineshafts. Or Pietr Gizmo? Or Cyrus T. Doodad, America's foremost black inventor? Thomas Edison said that the only other contemporary practical scientists he admired were Cyrus T. Doodad and Ella Reader Widget. And& #8209; "

She looked at Newt's blank expression.

" I did my Ph. D. on them, " she said. " The people who invented things so simple and universally useful that everyone forgot that they'd ever actually needed to be invented. Sugar? "

" Er& #8209; "

" You normally have two, " said Anathema sweetly.

Newt stared back at the card she'd handed him.

She'd seemed to think it would explain everything.

It didn't.

It had a ruled line down the middle. On the left& #8209; hand side was a short piece of what seemed to be poetry, in black ink. On the right& #8209; hand side, in red ink this time, were comments and annotations. The effect was as follows:

3819: When Orient's Japanese car? Upturned.

chariot inverted be, four Car smash... not serious

wheles in the skye, a man injury??

with bruises be upon … take in …

Youre Bedde, achinge his … willowfine = Aspirin

hedd for willow fine, a (cf. 3757 Pin =

manne who testeth with a witchfinder (cf. 102) Good

pyn yette his hart be witchfinder?? Refers to

clene, yette seed of myne Pulsifer (cf. 002) Search

own undoing, take the for matches, etc. In the

means of flame from 1990s!

himme for to mayk ryght … hmm …

certain, together ye sharle … less than a day

be, untyl the Ende that is (cf. 712, 3803, 4004)

to come.

Newt's hand went automatically to his pocket. His cigarette lighter had gone.

" What's this mean? " he said hoarsely.

" Have you ever heard of Agnes Nutter? " said Anathema.

" No, " said Newt, taking a desperate defense in sarcasm. " You're going to tell me she invented mad people, I suppose. "

" Another fine old Lancashire name, " said Anathema coldly. " If you don't believe, read up on the witch trials of the early seventeenth century. She was an ancestress of mine. As a matter of fact, one of your ancestors burned her alive. Or tried to. "

Newt listened in fascinated horror to the story of Agnes Nutter's death.

" Thou& #8209; Shalt& #8209; Not& #8209; Commit& #8209; Adultery Pulsifer? " he said, when she'd finished.

" That sort of name was quite common in those days, " said Anathema. " Apparently there were ten children and they were a very religious family. There was Covetousness Pulsifer, False& #8209; Witness Pulsifer& #8209; "

" I think I understand, " said Newt. " Gosh. I thought Shadwell said he'd heard the name before. It must be in the Army records. I suppose if I'd gone around being called Adultery Pulsifer I'd want to hurt as many people as possible. "

" I think he just didn't like women very much. "

" Thanks for taking it so well, " said Newt. " I mean, he must have been an ancestor. There aren't many Pulsifers. Maybe. . . that's why I sort of met up with the Witchfinder Army? Could be Fate, " he said hopefully.

She shook her head. " No, " she said. " No such thing. "

" Anyway, witchfinding isn't like it was in those days. I don't even think old Shadwell's ever done more than kick over Doris Stokes's dustbins. "

" Between you and me, Agnes was a bit of a difficult character, " said Anathema, vaguely. " She had no middle gears. "

Newt waved the bit of paper.

" But what's it got to do with this? " he said.

" She wrote it. Well, the original. It's No. 3819 of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, first published 1655. "

Newt stared at the prophecy again. His mouth opened and shut.

" She knew I'd crash my car? " he said.

" Yes. No. Probably not. It's hard to say. You see, Agnes was the worst prophet that's ever existed. Because she was always right. That's why the book never sold. "

* * * * *

M ost psychic abilities are caused by a simple lack of temporal focus, and the mind of Agnes Nutter was so far adrift in Time that she was considered pretty mad even by the standards of seventeenthcentury Lancashire, where mad prophetesses were a growth industry.

But she was a treat to listen to, everyone agreed.

She used to go on about curing illnesses by using a sort of mold, and the importance of washing your hands so that the tiny little animals who caused diseases would be washed away, when every sensible person knew that a good stink was the only defense against the demons of ill health. She advocated running at a sort of gentle bouncing trot as an aid to living longer, which was extremely suspicious and first put the Witchfinders onto her, and stressed the importance of fiber in diet, although here she was clearly ahead of her time since most people were less bothered about the fiber in their diet than the gravel. And she wouldn't cure warts.

" Itt is alle in youre Minde, " she'd say, " fogett about Itte, ane it wine goe Away. "

It was obvious that Agnes had a line to the Future, but it was an unusually narrow and specific line. In other words, almost totally useless.

– – -

" How do you mean? " said Newt.

" She managed to come up with the kind of predictions that you can only understand after the thing has happened, " said Anathema. " Like 'Do Notte Buye Betamacks. ' That was a prediction for 1972. "

" You mean she predicted videotape recorders? "

" No! She just picked up one little fragment of information, " said Anathema. " That's the point. Most of the time she comes up with such an oblique reference that you can't work it out until it's gone past, and then it all slots into place. And she didn't know what was going to be important or not, so it's all a bit hit and miss. Her prediction for November 22, 1963, was about a house falling down in King's Lynn. "

" Oh? " Newt looked politely blank.

" President Kennedy was assassinated, " said Anathema helpfully. " But Dallas didn't exist then, you see. Whereas King's Lynn was quite important. "

" Oh. "

" She was generally very good if her descendants were involved. "

" Oh? "

" And she wouldn't know anything about the internal combustion engine. To her they were just funny chariots. Even my mother thought it referred to an Emperor's carriage overturning. You see, it's not enough to know what the future i.. You have to know what it means. Agnes was like someone looking at a huge picture down a tiny little tube. She wrote down what seemed like good advice based on what she understood of the tiny little glimpses.

" Sometimes you can be lucky, " Anathema went on. " My great-grandfather worked out about the stock market crash of 1929, for example, two days before it actually happened. Made a fortune. You could say we're professional descendants. "

She looked sharply at Newt. " You see, what no one ever realized until about two hundred years ago that The Nice and Accurate Prophecies was Agnes's idea of a family heirloom. Many of the prophecies relate to her descendants and their well& #8209; being. She was sort of trying to look after us after she'd gone. That's the reason for the King's Lynn prophecy, we think. My father was visiting there at the time, so from Agnes's point of view, while he was unlikely to be struck by stray rounds from Dallas, there was a good chance he might be hit by a brick. "