Page 87 of The Lost Future of Pepperharrow

So Kuroda had cancelled the afternoon’s appointments.

Tanaka had set up little fans and chalk packets in the ceilings all through Yoruji. They feathered down a soft snow of chalk, outlining any ghosts and falling in a strange, soft blanket on the nightingale floors. It held the marks of everyone’s bootprints beautifully. Someone gave Kuroda a cotton mask on the way inside.

Like Tanaka had said, the ghosts were everywhere. In every corridor, at every corner, by every pool and balcony, they overlaid each other in silent crowds. The same people appeared again and again, Suzuki and Mrs Pepperharrow, Mori; Kuroda even saw a glimpse of himself, walking the other way. Every single one was a perfect recording of a lost instant months ago, years ago, all overwritten across each other. The more recent ones, or what he thought must be the most recent judging from the way people’s haircuts and clothes changed, were the clearest. That made sense. New recordings over the top of old ones.

Kuroda’s stomach clenched. He walked carefully through the chalk, through two of the little gardens, and to the old smoking room. The smoking room Mori had locked up, ever since the Countess had died. It was still locked. He kicked the door in. Tanaka followed. Silently, he threw a new packet of chalk into the air.

The Countess was there. Running, like she was chasing him down the halls of the years.

Kuroda slammed the door shut. ‘He knew,’ he said softly. ‘He fucking knew, Tanaka, he kept that room locked so nothing else could overlay it.’

Tanaka put one hand on his arm, very carefully. ‘All respect, sir, but that isn’t our biggest worry now.’

‘What?’

‘The most recent thing that happened in the dining room,’ Tanaka said softly. ‘It’s there. Clear as the morning.’

‘But muddled up with everything else that ever happened in that dining room, surely?’ Kuroda said, sharper than he’d meant. A foul tattoo needle of panic was starting to prick at his lungs.

It was ridiculous, how easy it had been to convince himself that he had outgrown fear. Of course he hadn’t. He had just grown so big that there wasn’t much in the world to fear anymore, but here was one of those things. He felt as though Mori had dumped him back in time to that first shameful morning he’d gone into battle in the Navy, white and sweating and absolutely certain he was going to be blown to pieces. That terrible fear, the one he’d convinced himself was childishness, was just as vivid now as it had been then.

Tanaka was shaking his head. ‘It’s blasted everything else. It’s like – it was so violent or so important it formed much clearer—’

Kuroda pushed past him and strode back to the dining room. The chalk dusted down, and showed everything that had happened to Mori. Kuroda had ordered it, but seeing it gave him a nasty twist. Tanaka was right. Those ghosts were clear, and the ones they overlaid had faded to a sort of white noise crackle in the background.

‘What the hell has he done to this place?’ Kuroda said at last. ‘How did he do this? How did he make it record everything like this? Nowhere else is like this, not even in Aokigahara.’

Tanaka was nodding a little. ‘I don’t know. But the thing is, I don’t think he did it on purpose. It records him even when you wouldn’t want to be recorded.’ He paused. ‘Come and look at this. It’s – peculiar.’

‘Tanaka, I don’t know how much more peculiar I can look at today.’

‘Please,’ Tanaka said, unexpectedly humble.

Kuroda set his teeth. He had thought the most difficult, nervy part would be taking Mori, but he was wrong. He felt like a spring deep in his gut was winding tighter, and tighter. He kept expecting something to explode in his face. He hadn’t slept for days. It was the owls – the bloody owls were there always. They sat on all the window sills, tearing into little mice or squirrels, watching him, as if they expected something interesting.

Tanaka led the way through the labyrinthine corridors, among the crowds of ghosts, to a room that looked out over the hot pools. There, right in the doorway, were another pair of ghosts, and again, they had impressed themselves more strongly somehow than anything else. One was Mori, and the other was his musician. They were just talking, kneeling close together.

‘I really don’t need to see him have sex,’ Kuroda snapped.

‘No,’ Tanaka said. ‘He doesn’t. Watch.’

Kuroda could already see what Mori was saying. You learned to lipread quite quickly on the deck of a ship.

—boring. I just want someone to invent…

They argued back and forth a bit, something about microscopes, and twice Steepleton glanced around as if he could feel someone looking, but that was just Yoruji, or Kuroda thought so, until he saw him say,

Is someone watching?

And then Mori looked right at them. It was unmistakeable.

‘Does he know we’re watching?’ Kuroda said slowly. ‘Can he see us?’

‘I can’t tell,’ Tanaka said, very quiet. ‘They reckon future ghosts are possible, though, don’t they, up on the mountain?’

Kuroda nodded.

‘We could be making ghosts in the past now. The electricity’s cranked up pretty high, and this place … seems to be a hell of a lot better than anywhere else at taking an imprint.’