The Last Witness Read Online Free Page A

that precise moment, and I remember thinking, I wish I could do that trick where I went into her mind and pulled the memory out, it’d be really useful right now if I could do that. And suddenly I found I could.
    False modesty aside, it was a tour de force. Six men and five women, one after the other, in a matter of seconds. I’ve done bigger jobs since, but that’s with the benefit of considerable experience. For what was only my second go at it, I did remarkably well. Incentive helps, of course. It wasn’t the neatest work I ever did, I had to hurt them quite a lot—like I cared—the pain kept them off balance and sort of woozy, which helped considerably. When I’d finished, we were left with this tableau; a kid standing on a cart under the apple tree, with six men and five women crowded round. No rope, I’d chucked that into the nettles. How we all got there, a total mystery to everybody except me.
    I cleared my throat. I think my voice must’ve been a bit high and croaky, but I did my best. “Well, thanks for that,” I remember saying. “I’d better be getting along.”
    One of the grandsons helped me down off the cart. He had a sort of dazed look. I took a long stride, and felt the dewy wet grass under my feet. “I almost forgot,” I said. “The boots.”
    The old man looked at me. “What?”
    “The boots,” I repeated. “Really kind of you.” He was still holding them in his hand; evidence, I guess. I reached out, took them, and pulled them on. Lousy fit, but what can you do? “Thanks again,” I said, and walked quickly away. You learn not to look back. It takes some doing, but it’s worth the effort.
    * * *
    I’m not the sort of man that people tend to remember. Just look at me and you’ll agree. I’m about five seven, thickset, small nose, small ears, low forehead, leg-of-pork forearms, the typical farm boy up from the country. I slip out of people’s minds as easily as a wriggling fish. People hardly notice me, in the street, in a crowded room. Most of the time, I might as well not be there.
    Remember what I told you about why I don’t like doing priests? For three days afterwards, I wandered around feeling useless and stupid, like having a headache but without the pain. I knew there was something on my mind, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I filled the time in with chores. I bought a new (to me) pair of boots. I fixed the leak in the roof—at that time I was living in the roofspace above a grain store; one wall had cracked and was bulging out in a disturbing fashion, so it was empty until the owners raised the money to repair it; the rats had the ground floor, I had the penthouse. I mended both my shirts where they’d started to fray. Stuff like that.
    And then, on my way to the market early, to see if I could buy some windfall apples cheap, I met a man I knew slightly. I pretended I hadn’t seen him. He called out my name. I stopped.
    “Long time no see,” he said.
    “I’ve been busy,” I told him.
    He nodded. “Working?”
    “Yes.”
    “Splendid. Get paid?”
    “Yes.”
    “In funds, then.”
    I sighed a little sigh. “Yes.”
    “Destiny,” he said, and grinned. “Back of the Sincerity & Trust, one hour after sunset. Be there.”
    I walked away without saying a word.
    * * *
    I sometimes wonder if I’m like that hero in the old legends whose strength was as the strength of ten, but only as long as the sun was in the sky. In my case, strength of will. All that day, while the Invincible Sun rode the heavens, blessing us poor mortals with the sacrament of His light, I was utterly determined. I wasn’t going. No force on Earth would get me within a mile of the Sincerity until noon tomorrow. Throughout the morning I felt the power within me grow; at midday, I was solid as a rock. I stayed that way till halfway through the afternoon, and as the shadows began to lengthen I kept checking up on myself, to see if my strength of purpose was going to hold out—and it did,