Free Rook & Tooth and Claw by Graham Masterton Page A

Huguenotsettlement in Carolina last year, but it’s only a reproduction. Authentic maps are so expensive, aren’t they? Ron said you have hundreds.”
    “Well, not quite hundreds. In fact, to tell you the truth—”
    “I’d love to see them,” she said, touching his arm. “Maybe I could come round sometime.”
    It was the touch that did it. “That would be great,” he said, thinking: of all the luck in the world, the most attractive woman in the whole school has just invited herself around to my apartment, and it’s all because of some stupid dumbass joke.
    “Maybe Saturday?” Susan urged him. “I could bring around some Chinese food.”
    “Saturday? Like, this coming Saturday? The day after tomorrow? I don’t know. I’ll have to check my diary. And you’ll have to remember that I keep all the really valuable maps in a safe-deposit box.”
    “Do you have anything extra-special?” she said, her eyes bright. “Go on, give me a for-instance.”
    “I don’t know. There are just so many.”
    “Tell me just one.”
    “Well…” he said. “I have a chart of Martin Frobisher’s voyage to Greenland in 1577, when he was trying to find a way through to China.” Thinking: thank God I know some history.
    “Oh, I
have
to see that,” said Susan. “That must have cost you a fortune.”
    “Yes, well. It’s pretty rare. There are only three copies in existence, and one of those is supposed to be a fake. Trouble is, nobody can decide which one.” You’re getting in deep here, Jim. Don’t say any more.
    He stopped outside Susan’s neat white house on Almato Avenue and helped her to carry her books to the door. Thesprinklers had just finished and the concrete path was still wet. “Time for a drink?” she asked him.
    “No … I’m sorry. I promised Mr and Mrs Clay I’d be there by four.”
    “All right, then,” she smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    With that, she kissed him on the cheek. He stood staring at her as if he had forgotten his lines. This wasn’t a play, and he wasn’t an actor, but he simply didn’t know what to say next.
    “Tomorrow, then?” Susan prompted him.
    “Oh, sure, tomorrow.” He turned off-balance and brushed against a wet bush. “That’ll save me taking a shower.” Brushing the droplets off his shirt and pants, he walked back to his car. Before he climbed in, he raised his arm in a goodbye wave and Susan waved back. He felt extraordinary. It was just as if his lungs couldn’t remember how to breathe. He hadn’t felt this way for such a long time that he had to pull down the sun-visor and stare at himself in the vanity-mirror to make sure that it was really him.
    He looked back toward Susan’s house but she had gone inside now and closed the door. “Maps,” he said. “Where do I get some goddamned maps?”
    Inside Mr and Mrs Clay’s second-storey apartment the drapes were half-drawn and Grant and Elisabeth Clay were sitting in the shadows. Jim was let in by a solemn nine-year-old girl with cornrows and white satin ribbons and a very white dress. There were other relatives in the kitchen, drinking coffee and talking in low, respectful voices. A large photograph of Elvin hung above the couch, draped in a black cloth. Beside it hung a crucifix and a 3-D picture of The Last Supper.
    Jim went over and gave Mrs Clay a long, sorrowful hug.He felt her tears through the shoulder of his shirt. Then he turned to Mr Clay and held his hand in both of his.
    “We’re going to miss Elvin so much,” he said. “All of his classmates send you their love; and they all want you to know that they’re thinking of you.”
    “You found him, didn’t you?” said Grant. He was a short, stocky man with wire-grey hair. He was wearing a formal white shirt and a black bowtie. He spoke well, and he carried himself with supreme dignity. He could have been mistaken for a judge.
    “Yes, I found him,” said Jim.
    “He was alive, wasn’t he? That’s what the police lieutenant told