The Steady Running of the Hour: A Novel Read Online Free

see why I insisted you come to London straightaway. I grant you, it seems foul luck to have learnt of this letter only now, but imagine if we’d found it two months from now. It’s a question of perspective. A pessimist would say you’ve seven weeks to find what could not be found for eighty years—
    Prichard leans forward. A wry smile crosses his lips.
    —Mr. Campbell, let me ask you something. You’re not a pessimist, are you?
    I hesitate. —I’m not sure.
    —Spoken like a true Englishman. For my part, I’m confident you can achieve much by October. I don’t say you’ll find the proof, because we can’t be certain it survives. But you ought to be able to trace that which is traceable.
    Prichard pushes a button on his telephone. He asks for Khan to be sent back in.
    —As ever, Geoffrey shall bring you up to speed on particulars. He’s your man for the details. Good luck.
    Prichard stands and I spring up awkwardly, following him to the door. He shakes my hand again.
    —If I can help, he says, don’t hesitate to call.

11 April 1914
    Gorphwysfa Hotel
    Snowdonia, Northwest Wales
    It is four o’clock and everyone but Price is asleep. He had gone to bed right after his bath, leaving the curtain open to look up from his pillow every few hours and watch the progress of the waxing moon over the hillside. The Chamonix guides never used clocks for early starts. Neither would he.
    The piano downstairs went on well past midnight and even when it ceased he still could hear the voices. He knew who was talking and could half-follow the conversation, occasionally broken by thumps and bursts of laughter, until finally it softened to whispers and Price fell asleep. His dream started almost at once. He walked into his father’s house in Cheshire, but he had his climbing boots on and the hobnails scratched against the floorboards. In the dining room he found the whole family at the table, his parents and brother and even his sister Beryl who had been gone these six years. His mother was in a gown and his father in white tie, but Price was wearing his heaviest alpine clothes, his jacket and felt hat dusted with snow. They told him to sit for dinner, but Price looked at Beryl and she opened her mouth to speak. Then he woke.
    Price dresses without lighting the lamp, winding puttees over hiscalves in the dark. He wants to keep his pupils wide for the ridge. He feels the rope strung up between the posts at the foot of the bed. The flax is still damp. Price coils it and throws it over his shoulder, stepping quietly down the hallway in stockinged feet into the bedroom next door.
    Ashley is asleep on his side. His mouth is open and a shock of hair hangs down his forehead. Price shakes him gently by the shoulder, but Ashley only turns his head on the pillow. Price pulls back the blanket. Ashley curls up toward the wall, fully dressed in plus fours and a thick Shetland.
    —Kitted before bed?
    Ashley grabs the blanket, his eyes still closed.
    —You always come too bloody early.
    —So does the sun.
    Price fetches his rucksack and the two men meet in the foyer downstairs. The checkered floor is littered with boots and Ashley picks them up one by one, holding the leather soles before his eyes. Save for the nailing pattern they all look the same.
    —Damnation. Two left boots. Don’t even know which is mine—
    —Probably neither.
    Price lights a candle and they grope among the shadows until they find the right boots. Ashley pulls on his Norfolk jacket and Price dons a misshapen hat. They open the front door, a gust of frigid air surging in.
    —Coldest part of the night, Price remarks.
    He starts up the path at his usual clip, the white stone of the miners’ track bending and rising among brown and green hills. Ashley follows a few paces behind, wrapping his muffler around his neck. They walk along the shore of a narrow lake, the water glowing silver beneath a murky sky. Price glances back at Ashley.
    —Who was the last to