Page 57

He says it to the three of us, with Katell in the door and the kettle not yet on.

“I put my hands on him last night, after we came in. The thing is dead, and it will never feed on him again. But what it took out of him is gone, and it is not growing back. He is where he was on Thursday. He is still dying.”

“You said if we stopped it we’d see.” The words sound hollow, even to me.

My husband looks away, as if he cannot meet my eyes. “I did. I have seen. I did not know this until I had my hands on him last night, and I am sorry for it. I let you hope.”

Corentin’s hand has not moved in mine. He heard it before I did. He has been waiting for me to catch up.

I say nothing. I have nothing. I am frightened past the point where talking does anything, and I have never once been there.

“I am not sure,” Riwal says. “But there is one more thing I can try.”

He will fix this. Riwal will fix this and all will be well, and suddenly I realize I’m still afraid.

“The door in my side takes the dead. That is what it is for. What the thing left in Corentin is a hole where part of him used to be, and if I’m right, I can take the wrongness, draw it out through the door, a little at a time, until it is gone. He would still be an old man with a bad winter ahead of him. But he would have an old man’s years in front of him, and not three weeks.”

“How long would it take to fix?” Katell says. “It’s been months building up.”

“I do not know. Hours. Once the door is open it stays open until everything that is going through has gone through. I cannot stop for a knock. I cannot stop for anything.”

“And what does it cost you?” I say.

He finally, finally looks at me.

“The door does not want the living. To put a living man’s hurt through it, I think I will have to put something living of my own through with it, and the only living thing I have is time. I have done one job for four hundred years. I will go on doing it for as long as I am able. I will still be called, and I will still carry, and the seam will still open for the work.”

His head bows, just a fraction.

“But I will get old. Someone will be sent to learn the work sooner than they would have been. And when you die, Enora, I will not be the one who carries you. I will be the one lying next to you.”

He has just told me he will die. He has said it as the good half of the bargain.

Nobody says anything. The fire ticks.

“I’m angry,” I say, “that it’s you paying again. I wanted to say that before anybody says anything else.”

“You’d give that,” Corentin says. “For me.”

“I am offering it to you.”

“And I might die this winter anyway.”

“There is very little left of you. I believe I can get it through while you have enough to bear it. I cannot promise what no one can promise.”

Corentin looks at me. Then at the empty door into the shop, where the furnace is cold and the frame is bare.

“I want to hear that furnace again,” he says. “I want to see Nora come in and know it’s truly my Nora. If you’re willing, yes.”

I’m glad he said yes. I’m ashamed of how glad. I would have asked him to say it if he hadn’t.

I have been holding his hand all this time. I turn round on the floor and look up at my husband.

“Is there another price? Something I can give instead?”

“No.”

I make myself keep looking at him. “I’m frightened. I’m saying it out loud so you know. I’m frightened and I’m not going to ask you not to.”