The Everlasting by Tim Lebbon Page A

here?”
    â€œThat’s what it says in his note.”
    â€œSo he chose a place like this to conceal part of the Chord of Souls.”
    â€œWhat better place? No one would think of looking here. And it had to be somewhere accessible for you to find.”
    Scott looked around. There were still a few dirtyglasses and overflowing ashtrays on tables, and there was a spray of crumbs on the floor by the bar. Glass cases held signed rugby shirts. A menu was chalked onto a wall board, offering standard pub food. A quiz machine glowed green where it had been left on, and at the shady rear of the pub a large white screen hung awaiting the next match. A basic city-center pub, with nothing to differentiate it from a dozen others. What better place, indeed.
    â€œSo where are they?”
    â€œDown.” Nina followed the L-shaped bar to the rear of the pub, turned the corner, and pushed through a door marked with male and female toilet signs. The light was poor back here, supplied by a rooflight covered with a decade’s worth of moss and city grime. Male toilet on their right, female on their left, but Nina chose a third door with a heavy padlock locking the hasp and staple latch. She went to work with her key ring again.
    â€œWhat were you in jail for?” Scott asked.
    â€œArmed robbery.” The padlock fell to the floor and Nina opened the door.
    â€œGreat.” Scott was not sure whether or not he wanted her to elaborate. She said no more. He felt around on the wall for a light switch, and by the time he’d found it Nina was already at the bottom of the stairs. Scott went down and stood beside her.
    They were in the beer cellar. It stank of spilled beer, a sickly, stale caramel stench that seemed to coat the inside of his nostrils in seconds. A dozen barrels, stacked two high, lined the wall on one side. The oppositewall was piled with boxes and crates of bottles, some of them opened and half-empty, others full. A few bottles lay smashed and disregarded on the floor, the largest glass chunks kicked to one side. The light down here was not very good, but Scott could still see the handful of rodent traps scattered beneath barrels and between boxes, a couple of them bearing dead, rotting mice. The stink of their demise was evident below that of spilled drink: old rot, dried fur.
    â€œSo where are they?” Scott asked.
    â€œWhere do you think?” Nina turned to him, a strange look on her face.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    She nodded. “Fine. So where do you think Papa would have hidden them?”
    â€œYou’re asking me? Don’t you know?”
    â€œIt was you he was hiding them for. I’m just curious. Wondering whether—”
    â€œYou told me you wanted to die.”
    Nina frowned. “I’d like the knowledge of how to end my curse, yes.”
    â€œBut you’re still curious. If you’re tired of life, I can’t imagine you being curious about anything.”
    â€œDon’t try to second-guess me, Scott. You’ll never understand. Now . . . where do you think they are?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œSure?”
    â€œNina—or whatever your real name is, or will be, or was—I have no fucking idea. Please stop playing games. I’m afraid. My wife has gone, I’m afraid, and I want to get her back as soon as I can.”
    Nina looked down at her feet. “Of course, I’m sorry. Truly.”
    â€œDeeper,” Scott said. “I think he’d have buried them deeper.”
    â€œI think so too.” Nina did not offend him by smiling, but he could see the satisfaction in her eyes as she walked to the end of the long, narrow room.
    At first glance the wall looked solid, but as Nina ran her hands across the painted surface her fingers seemed to draw the outline of something buried. Scott frowned, glanced slightly to the left and right, closed his eyes. When he opened them again a few seconds later the door