The Way to Babylon (Different Kingdoms) Read Free Page A

broken, Hugh relaxed visibly. He glanced about and then sneaked one of his foul-smelling cigarettes from his pocket and lit it with relish.
    ‘Drugs. I know. I spoke to your doctor. You must be high as a kite, the amount they’re pumping into you...’ He trailed off, and contemplated his glowing cigarette. ‘I’m sorry, Mike. Sorry for you—for her. For the whole bastard thing. But what do you say that hasn’t been said already? You know how I felt about her, Mike. I adored her. She was a bewitching woman. Such a waste.’
    Riven nodded again. Grief is not only embarrassing. It is banal. It is wholesale.
    ‘I know,’ he said savagely, the words slipping in his clumsy mouth. He sounded as though his batteries were running down. ‘Forget it, Hugh.’ Leave it.
    His editor pointed, smoke dribbling from his fingers. ‘Good job you’re left-handed.’
    Riven frowned. What? Then realised. My one good limb. My writing hand. Now there’s irony.
    ‘I’m not writing. I won’t for a long time—a long time, Hugh.’
    The square-set man nodded, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t expect otherwise, to be honest. You’ll need time. It would be obscene of me to start spouting about deadlines and advances...’ But he looked as though he would have liked to, just the same. ‘You’re making progress, that’s the important thing. Last week you couldn’t even speak. The doctors think you’ll make a complete recovery... We won’t hurry you.’
    You’re damn right.
    ‘There is one thing, though, Mike: the third book. Everyone is clamouring for it—the last of the trilogy. We have fans writing to us about it.’
    Riven chuckled, startling himself. Fans! I have fans. Jesus Christ!
    Hugh smiled in response. ‘I know. Sales have almost doubled since the accident. Human nature is a weird and unpleasant thing at times. A real-life tragedy, and suddenly everyone wants to read the fiction. I’ve never been able to explain that sort of thing.’
    Riven’s laughter curdled in his throat until he felt like spitting.
    ‘Maybe I should write it into the next book,’ he snarled. His eyes glittered.
    A rock face on Skye, and he sitting on a ledge and the rope gone slack, swaying. He could still hear the scream.
    Why did it seem so terrible that she had screamed his name?
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Hugh said again, shifting on his chair. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ll go. You can do without this. Give me a ring when you’ve... sorted yourself out a little.’ He stood up and seemed about to offer his hand again, but thought better of it. ‘I’ll go,’ he repeated. ‘Hang in there, Mike.’ Then he turned and left. Riven toyed with the control knob of his chair.
    Why are these such fearsome things? Sit in one for a while, and you’re a metal centaur and people’s eyes shrink away. Dan Dare, eat your heart out. Here comes Michael Riven in his fantastical rocket sled.
    He directed the chair over to the window and gazed out. Autumn. Autumn on Skye. The bracken will be turning brown.
    You might get the first snow on the Cuillin hills. Mind you, November can be quite mild up there...
    ‘Your visitor doesn’t look too chuffed with life,’ said Doody cheerfully. He pushed in a laundry trolley and rolled it to a halt beside Riven’s chair.
    ‘Red tape,’ said Riven absently. ‘There’s a lot of it about.’
    ‘I’d have thought you were well clear of that now, sir. Being in hospital does have its advantages.’
    Aye. It does. ‘What’s the date, Dood?’
    ‘Twelfth of November. Bloody hell, these sheets are a mess. It’s Mr bloody Simpson being careless again. You’d think a merchant banker could control his bum. He’s in, but the light’s not on, if you get my drift.’
    I’ve been here four months. Christ.
    ‘Doody, how many visitors have I had since I came in?’
    Doody stopped to consider. ‘Oh, loads. At least, they’ve been here loads of times. Not that you’ve ever seen any. They only got to see you when you were