Alyzon Whitestarr (39 page)

“How does Alyzon’s da fit in, and all these artists and musicians whose lives Rayc messed with? Do you think they’re all infected?” Harrison asked.

“I think the arts might be a good trawling ground for victims. A lot of painters and writers and musicians create out of the wounds to their spirit.”

“You think he set up the poetry group and published those books and arranges charity functions and patronizes artists to give the virus more targets?” Gilly said doubtfully.

“There’s no reason to suppose Rayc would not be as ambitious and creative and diverse in serving the virus as he would be as a successful businessman.”

“Maybe it’s not your da he’s interested in, Alyzon,” Gilly said. “Maybe he comes around to keep an eye on Serenity.”

It made a kind of sense, especially when I remembered how eagerly Aaron Rayc had said her name the first time he came to the house.

“What I’d like to know is how he met Harlen Sanderson,” Harrison said. “Do you think Rayc infected him before he stopped being able tae infect anyone?”

“I think it must have happened like that,” Raoul said. “Harlen went to school in Shaletown and Aaron Rayc was
courting a wealthy widow there, so there is certainly a possibility that they might have met.”

Raoul broke off and insisted we eat then, even though it was clear that no one had much appetite. It felt so sane and good to wash and shred lettuce and chop spring onions, and I realized Raoul had suggested eating as a way of drawing us out of the nightmare dimension we were creating with our speculations. Maybe that was why, when the lasagna and garlic bread came out of the oven, they smelled so wonderful. Once again, we ate at the jungle table. Raoul even insisted we light candles, and that reminded me of Gilly’s gran, talking about making things beautiful as a sort of response to all the ugliness in the world.

As we loaded the dishwasher, Raoul told us the names of the directors of ORBA were listed on the confirmation e-mail, and Aaron Rayc’s name was among them.

“I’d say that is why ORBA ended up funding residencies and running events at the Castledean Estate.”

“So what are we going to do?” Gilly asked suddenly. “We have to do something about Alyzon’s sister.”

Raoul nodded. “Obviously we can’t warn her that a boy at her school is trying to infect her with a sickness of the spirit. Which leaves us with only one option—watching over her. Alyzon, do you know where she is now?”

I nodded. “She’s with my mother tonight, sitting for a painting.”

“Good. She’s safe for now. But in the future, she must not be left alone if there is any chance she will go out. And when she does, one of us must follow her.”

I bit my lip. Keeping tabs on Serenity would mean dealing with her fury if she spotted me trailing around after her. But it had to be done; Raoul was right.

“It is possible that infection isn’t something that happens all at once,” Gilly said hesitantly. “Could there be something happening in those poetry groups—a slow process of infection?”

Raoul shook his head. “Of course, we don’t know anything for sure, but from the little Sarry has said, I’d say infection would occur all at once. I’d also suspect that at the moment of infection, the spiritual wound that makes a person vulnerable would need to be reopened or deepened.”

Peeling a kiwi fruit, Gilly said, “Alyzon told us those guys who were with Harlen didn’t smell infected. Why wouldn’t they be, if this virus is so hungry?”

“I think infection cannot be so simple a matter, especially if, as we have reasoned, the infected person does not know what they carry,” Raoul said. “I think only certain types must be naturally vulnerable, and they have to be set up for it.”

“You think Alyzon is that type?” Harrison asked.

“We don’t know what attracts the virus. It may be something quite random, like a certain scent or something else that we can’t identify,” Raoul answered.

I thought of the way the air churned between Rayc and Da and wondered if it was simply that the sickness in Rayc was drawn to something in Da’s scent that it identified as a weakness; the ammonia scent, maybe? Or the smells that expressed his love for his family?

Raoul began to dish out fruit salad, and dimly I registered that the others were talking about how infection might take place, but I shut out their voices and focused on my train of thought, sensing that it was carrying me somewhere.

Aaron Rayc had stopped or altered the output of those artists he had been involved with. I just didn’t believe that could be an accidental side effect of whatever else was happening. And such a fortunate side effect it would be, because the dark stuff they produced after getting involved with Rayc was enough to wound anyone’s spirit.

My mind made a quantum leap, and I stood up so abruptly that the chair I had been sitting on crashed to the ground.

“Oh God!” I whispered. “I know what Aaron Rayc wants from Da! He wants to change him so he can use him to reach people, soften them up so that they are easier to infect. That’s why he messes with all those artists! Some of them must work fine just as they are—ones like the Rak who produce bleak, dark, and hopeless stuff of their own accord. He’d only need to promote them and make sure people hear and see what they do. Then there would be others he just manipulates until they are broken enough to produce the sort of art he wants from them. And the ones that won’t change, he stops from working.”

“But your da won’t change,” Gilly said soothingly. “He’s too strong and kind and good.”

I sat down, because of course she was right. Aaron Rayc had manipulated Da, but he could not change Da’s essential
nature. Put him with two confused and angry young rappers, and he would help them to build on their strengths and lift their spirits. Give him someone like Portia Sting, who was wounded in spirit, and his instinct was to heal her.

I had a sudden vivid image of the way the air around Aaron Rayc bent inward while the air around Da pushed out. The first time I had noticed the effect, I had thought it looked as if they were opposing forces. And now I saw that this was exactly what they were. Aaron Rayc carried a sickness that urged him to wound and break and darken people, and Da carried something that lifted and strengthened people.

Raoul’s last words were that we had to find some way to break Aaron Rayc’s influence, since we could not go to the police. We needed to learn something about him that could be used against him, and maybe the activities of the Shaletown gang were his weak point. If we could establish a real connection between them, all we would need then was a way to publicize it.

I thought of Gary Soloman then, and told them I knew just how to get publicity, if we came up with something.

The next day Serenity caught the early bus to school and I did as well, having set the alarm to make sure I was up in time. It was early enough that once I had seen her go into the school, I was able to double back out of the school yard and call the newspaper office. I didn’t expect Gary Soloman to be in, and I had written out a message for the receptionist to leave, but she insisted on putting me through to his voice mail. I hate leaving recorded messages, so I just read out my note, asking that he meet me at the Quick Brown Fox so that we could discuss matters of mutual interest.

I felt a bit pompous saying those last few words, but I hadn’t wanted to be specific. The time I had given him was when Serenity would be with Mum in the studio for at least a couple of hours. Keeping tabs on her at lunchtime and recess was no small feat, and I had little time to talk to Gilly. She would have come with me, but that would have made us too conspicuous. The one good thing about tracking Serenity was that it brought me face to face with Harlen’s old friend Cole at a moment when I knew that Harlen was on the sports field with the rugby team.

“Hi, Cole,” I said, stopping him with a bright smile. “Listen, I was just wondering if you’ve always lived here.”

“I have,” he said, looking puzzled. “Why?”

I feigned disappointment. “Oh, I’m just doing this project and I need to interview someone who used to live somewhere else. Someone said you used to live in Shaletown.”

There was no mistaking his reaction. He paled and looked sick. But at the same time he seemed to brace himself. “I never lived there,” he said.

“Oh, damn,” I said lightly. “Do you know anyone who did?”

“Live in … Shaletown?” The faintest hesitation, but again unmistakable. It was as if he disliked saying the word.

“Not just there,” I said airily. “Anywhere other than here. It wouldn’t have to have been for long, but it has to be living there, not just visiting or vacationing.” I was babbling, wanting to allay any suspicions.

He mentioned a few people I might speak to, and I muttered as if I were fixing the names in my memory. I thanked him and at the same time I reached out and lightly tapped his hand. Then I walked away without looking back.

My heart was hammering from the jolt of electricity I had got from the touch, but I had been expecting it so it shook me a lot less than the accidental touches. I had wanted to know something in particular, and for a second I had gotten a flash of something. Cole standing on a white sandy road blazing with reflected sunlight except where the blocky shadow of a building fell over it. Some long grass by the road,
shimmering in the heat. Not enough to guess where it was, but enough to tell me that it was a place Cole had been, which he associated with Harlen Sanderson.

Next period I was separated from Gilly by one of those teachers who seem to think close friendship in class is a bad thing, and made to sit next to Marilyn Bloom. I would have been annoyed except I suddenly remembered that she had a younger brother named Karl who was in the same year as Cole. On impulse, I asked if she knew him.

“He came round a couple of times,” she said. “He was a hanger-on type who’d do anything to belong. You couldn’t like him no matter how slavishly he tried to please you. I don’t think the teachers like him any better than the kids, even though his aunt’s a teacher here.”

“His aunt?”

“Mrs. Barker,” Marilyn said. “Her sister is Cole’s mother.” I stared at her. Could what had happened between Cole and Harlen be the reason that Mrs. Barker had acted so strangely about Harlen?

* * *

Back at home that afternoon, once Serenity was in with Mum, I changed out of my uniform, shoved some homework into a shoulder bag, and set off, calling out to Jesse that I was going to the mall. If Gary Soloman didn’t come, and it was a definite possibility, I would simply do my homework at the Quick Brown Fox.

I reached the mall at ten past five, and twenty minutes later Gary Soloman strode in, frowning. When he sat down in
the booth, he emanated annoyance. “All right, what is it? I don’t have time for these sorts of games,” he said.

I lost my temper a little. “Fine, then I won’t take too much of your valuable time. I just wanted you to know that I am investigating Aaron Rayc with my friends, and we have found out some things you might like to know. I haven’t mentioned you to my friends because I promised not to, but I want to suggest we give you what we’ve learned, and that would mean breaking my promise.”

His expression tightened as I spoke. “Alyzon, I warned you to be careful ….”

“I
have
been careful,” I said firmly. “We all have.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

Two could play the secrecy game. I looked into his eyes, smiled, and said, “That’s none of your business.”

He smiled, too, briefly. “Well, you are discreet, I’ll give you that. And you keep your word. Look, I’m sorry I was so sharp just now. It’s just that it was a hell of a job to get here, and I was afraid that you were going to tell me that … well, anyway, what have you found out?”

“I can’t tell you until I talk to the others.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked, offering me his handsome prince’s smile.

“Won’t,” I said coolly.

He shook his head with amusement. “All right, you can tell them. When will you talk to me?”

I considered for a moment. “Next week maybe.” After Raoul had been to the ORBA function, and after Daisy found out what she could about Rayc Inc.

Despite his avowal that he didn’t have time to spare for such meetings, the journalist spent another twenty minutes trying to talk me into giving something away. Then he switched tack and began asking me about myself and my life and my interests. He was being so nice and smooth and friendly that alarm bells rang, and I thought of a film I had seen a while back.

“You can’t romance it out of me,” I said bluntly.

For a moment he looked astounded, then he burst out laughing. His eyes were so admiring that I flushed with plea sure in spite of myself. He offered me a lift home, but I said I’d call my brother. The truth was that I wanted a few quiet moments to think before I headed home. Ten minutes later I rose and turned to leave—and was shocked to find myself face to face with Harlen Sanderson!

“H-Harlen,” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled coldly. “Looking for you.”

I knew he must have called the house and spoken to Jesse, and I prayed that he hadn’t seen Gary Soloman, because he would certainly remember that Gary was an investigative journalist and wonder why I was meeting him.