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‘’S from the I Ching. Know what that is?’
‘Er – a book of divination, right?’
‘Mazu said it was an orac – whass the word?’
‘Oracle?’
‘Yeah. That. But I found out, after I left, she wasn’ usin’ it properly.’
Given that he wasn’t talking to Robin, who was familiar with his views on fortune telling, Strike decided not to debate whether it was possible to use an oracle properly.
‘What d’you mean by—?’
‘It’s s’posed to be, like, used by the person ’oo’s after – y’know – guidance, or wisdom, or shit. You count out yarrow stalks, then you look up the meaning of the ’exa-fing you’ve made, in the I Ching. Mazu likes anyfing Chinese. She pretends to be ’alf Chinese. My arse, she is. Anyway, she wouldn’ let anyone else touch the stalk fings. She gave readings, an’ she rigged it.’
‘How?’
‘She used it to decide punishments an’ stuff. She’d say she’d consult the I Ching to find out ’oo was tellin’ the truth. See, if you’re pure spirit, the divine vibration’ (Abigail’s voice was full of scorn) ‘works froo you, so if you do somefing like the I Ching – or cards, or crystals, or wha’ever – they’ll work, but not fr’anyone ’oo’s not as pure.’
‘And where do pigs come in?’
‘’Exa-fing – gram – twenny-nine,’ said Abigail. ‘The Abyss. It’s one o’ the worst ’exagrams to get. “Water is the image associated with the Abysmal; of the domestic animals, the pig is the one that lives in mud and water.” I still know it off by fuckin’ ’eart, I ’eard it so often. So if ’exagram twenny-nine came up – an’ it came up far more often than it should’ve done, because there are sixty-fuckin’-four diff’rent ’exagrams – you was a filfy liar: you was a pig. An’ Mazu made you crawl around on all fours, until she said it was time to get up again.’
‘This happened to you?’
‘Oh, yeah. Bleedin’ ’ands and knees. Crawlin’ through mud… on the night after Daiyu drowned,’ said Abigail, her eyes glassy, ‘Mazu made me, old Brian Kennett, Paul Draper, that Jordan guy an’ Cherie strip naked an’ crawl round the yard in fuckin’ pig masks, wiv everyone watching. For free days an’ free nights, we ’ad to stay naked and on all fours, an’ we ’ad to sleep in the pigsty wiv the real pigs.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Strike.
‘So now you fuckin’ know,’ said Abigail, who seemed half-furious, half-shaken, ‘an’ you can put it in a fuckin’ book an’ make a ton of money out of it.’
‘I’ve already told you,’ said Strike, ‘that isn’t going to happen.’
Abigail dashed angry tears out of her eyes. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes until, abruptly, Abigail threw back the last of her fourth glass of wine and said,
‘Come ou’side wiv me, I wanna fag.’
They left the pub together, Abigail’s gym bag and coat slung over her shoulder. It was cold outside, with a stiff breeze blowing. Abigail drew her coat more closely around herself, leaned up against the brick wall, lit a Marlboro Light, inhaled deeply, and blew the smoke up at the stars. She seemed to regain her composure as she smoked. When Strike said,
‘I had you figured as a keep-fit buff,’ she answered dreamily, eyes on the sky,
‘I am. When I’m workin’ ou’, I’m workin’ out. An’ when I’m partyin’, I’m partyin’ ’ard. An’ when I’m workin’, I’m fuckin’ good at it… There isn’ enough time in the world,’ she said, looking sideways at him, ‘to not be at Chapman Farm. Y’know what I mean?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike. ‘I think I do.’
She looked at him, a little blearily, and she was so tall they were almost eye to eye.
‘You’re kinda sexy.’
‘And you’re definitely drunk.’
She laughed and pushed herself off the wall.
‘Should’ve eaten after the gym… shoulda drunk some water. See ya, Crameron – Cormarion – wha’ever your fucking name is.’
And with a gesture of farewell, she walked away.
29
