cage? He needn't care, and he was making rather faster for the gate when a voice called out somewhere ahead. "Mr Fairman."
"Yes?"
"Leonard Fairman."
"Yes," Fairman yelled and put on speed until he saw the pay booth. The man in the misshapen hat was craning his top half over the counter and around the side of the booth at an angle that looked decidedly painful. "There you are," the man said. "Doctor's ready for you now."
Fairman could only assume the receptionist thought it was cheaper to phone the zoo than call him on his mobile. "Thank you," he said as the man's upper body shrank with a sinuous motion into the booth. "I'm afraid I didn't see very much."
"They're shy, some of them. You mightn't want to be seen in that kind of a shape." When Fairman frowned at this the man said "They're getting on or they're not well."
Fairman hadn't time to question this. He hurried past the dormant houses and let himself into the doctor's. When he thanked the receptionist for the call her expression didn't change, and he could have thought it was hiding bemusement if not convicting him of sarcasm, though he didn't see why it should do either. She bent her dwarfed head towards the intercom. "Doctor—"
"That's all right, Doris. Send in our visitor."
The moistness of the brass doorknob reminded Fairman of the atmosphere at the zoo. Beyond the door, chairs and a sketchy bed with a screen beside it faced a desk across a large white room. The man behind the desk rose from gazing at a computer monitor to extend a hand to Fairman. His bald head was rendered more egg-like by jowls, and his shoulders were so broad that Fairman had a grotesque sense that they'd slumped outwards. Presumably he'd acquired his tan abroad or in a studio. "Glad to meet you in the flesh, Leonard," he said. "What did you make of our zoo?"
His handshake was resolutely firm but clammier than Fairman cared for. "I couldn't see much," Fairman said and at once felt unreasonable; the doctor had nothing to do with the menagerie, after all. "Don't tell me," he said, "there's so much more to see."
The doctor raised his almost hairless brows, and his heavy eyelids crept back from his pale protruding eyes. "So much more than sea."
"I know that's how it's meant to go."
"We'll let it lie for now." Dr Stoddart wrinkled his wide nose, an action that twitched his thick lips. "What would you like me to prescribe?"
No doubt this was a sort of joke. "Just the books," Fairman said. "They're why I'm here."
"Nobody's forgetting that, Leonard. You don't know how much you're appreciated."
Embarrassment made Fairman change the subject. "Can you tell me anything about them?"
"They've been waiting for someone just like you."
Fairman had meant where the books had come from, but it needn't matter. "May I take possession, then?"
"All yours," the doctor said, reaching for the left-hand drawer. The desk quivered as the drawer emerged with a prolonged cavernous creak, and he lifted out a book that was the twin of the one Fairman had. The black cover was embossed with the image of a hand contorted in an occult gesture, the second and fourth fingers curving inwards while the others arched bonelessly backwards and the thumb jutted up from the palm. Fairman opened the book to find it was the first volume, On Conjuration. "The tongues of men reduce the world to words..." He shut the book before he could be tempted to linger over reading and looked up at the doctor, who was resting his hand on the open drawer. "Forgive my haste," Fairman said, "but may I trouble you for the others?"
The doctor shut the drawer and gave him an oddly distant look. "That's my contribution, Leonard."
Fairman tried not to feel let down; he had two considerable rarities for the archive, after all. "You mean there are just the two volumes."
"Just that one. That's all I ever had."
Fairman didn't bother to clear up the misunderstanding. He held the book in both hands as he rose to his feet. "Was it in your family?"
As
"Yes?"
"Leonard Fairman."
"Yes," Fairman yelled and put on speed until he saw the pay booth. The man in the misshapen hat was craning his top half over the counter and around the side of the booth at an angle that looked decidedly painful. "There you are," the man said. "Doctor's ready for you now."
Fairman could only assume the receptionist thought it was cheaper to phone the zoo than call him on his mobile. "Thank you," he said as the man's upper body shrank with a sinuous motion into the booth. "I'm afraid I didn't see very much."
"They're shy, some of them. You mightn't want to be seen in that kind of a shape." When Fairman frowned at this the man said "They're getting on or they're not well."
Fairman hadn't time to question this. He hurried past the dormant houses and let himself into the doctor's. When he thanked the receptionist for the call her expression didn't change, and he could have thought it was hiding bemusement if not convicting him of sarcasm, though he didn't see why it should do either. She bent her dwarfed head towards the intercom. "Doctor—"
"That's all right, Doris. Send in our visitor."
The moistness of the brass doorknob reminded Fairman of the atmosphere at the zoo. Beyond the door, chairs and a sketchy bed with a screen beside it faced a desk across a large white room. The man behind the desk rose from gazing at a computer monitor to extend a hand to Fairman. His bald head was rendered more egg-like by jowls, and his shoulders were so broad that Fairman had a grotesque sense that they'd slumped outwards. Presumably he'd acquired his tan abroad or in a studio. "Glad to meet you in the flesh, Leonard," he said. "What did you make of our zoo?"
His handshake was resolutely firm but clammier than Fairman cared for. "I couldn't see much," Fairman said and at once felt unreasonable; the doctor had nothing to do with the menagerie, after all. "Don't tell me," he said, "there's so much more to see."
The doctor raised his almost hairless brows, and his heavy eyelids crept back from his pale protruding eyes. "So much more than sea."
"I know that's how it's meant to go."
"We'll let it lie for now." Dr Stoddart wrinkled his wide nose, an action that twitched his thick lips. "What would you like me to prescribe?"
No doubt this was a sort of joke. "Just the books," Fairman said. "They're why I'm here."
"Nobody's forgetting that, Leonard. You don't know how much you're appreciated."
Embarrassment made Fairman change the subject. "Can you tell me anything about them?"
"They've been waiting for someone just like you."
Fairman had meant where the books had come from, but it needn't matter. "May I take possession, then?"
"All yours," the doctor said, reaching for the left-hand drawer. The desk quivered as the drawer emerged with a prolonged cavernous creak, and he lifted out a book that was the twin of the one Fairman had. The black cover was embossed with the image of a hand contorted in an occult gesture, the second and fourth fingers curving inwards while the others arched bonelessly backwards and the thumb jutted up from the palm. Fairman opened the book to find it was the first volume, On Conjuration. "The tongues of men reduce the world to words..." He shut the book before he could be tempted to linger over reading and looked up at the doctor, who was resting his hand on the open drawer. "Forgive my haste," Fairman said, "but may I trouble you for the others?"
The doctor shut the drawer and gave him an oddly distant look. "That's my contribution, Leonard."
Fairman tried not to feel let down; he had two considerable rarities for the archive, after all. "You mean there are just the two volumes."
"Just that one. That's all I ever had."
Fairman didn't bother to clear up the misunderstanding. He held the book in both hands as he rose to his feet. "Was it in your family?"
As
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