Chapters (206)
- Praise for Maplecroft
- Title page
- Copyright page
- Contents
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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- A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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- I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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- Nance O’Neil
- THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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- AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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- THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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- CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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- HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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- A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Nance O’Neil
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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- Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
- Emma L. Borden
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- Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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- DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
- Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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- Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Emma L. Borden
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- FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Inspector Simon Wolf
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So I did not bury it deep, and I did not hide it well. I only left it there for later, in case she should find some use for it—or have some interest on another day. I know where it is. I will retrieve it upon her request, should she make one.
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Sometimes she speaks to me so clearly. Sometimes her silence shames and worries me, though she tells me it should not. All I can offer her is my service, and my best execution of her will, as I understand it.
She says that we are right, and we are pleasing unto her. She says we are doing Her work, and that our journey will be completed soon enough.
I trust her, and I trust Her.
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(I have only recently come to understand that there is not one, but many. Likewise, there are many, and there is One. The many I have become, having taken her into myself—having been blessed with that task, a better vessel than a jar. And the One who waits for us, Physalia zollicoffris and Doctor Jackson alike, on the other side of this strip of dirt, where the ocean meets the rocks, and we will walk upon the sand. But briefly.)
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She tells me—not she who lives within me, but She who calls from without—She tells me that we are not alone together, the doctor and I. Through Her mind I sense another set of many, pinpoints of light that cluster together for warmth or comfort. I see them flickering as individuals, operating as one.
I know how this feels, but I do not know what this means . . . unless the doctor has become as I have become (this I have long suspected), and has taken on others with his form. Yet my gut suggests it isn’t quite so, that the small swarm of lights I feel at Fall River are too distinct to operate on one directive—but what do I know of the Mother’s wants? Perhaps the doctor has some greater favor in Her eyes, having found Physalia first, and shared her so kindly with me. It might be the proximity to the ocean. It might be anything.
It feels like a woman. Or if not a woman, than a womanlike thing—a creature or creatures who birth and bleed, and so it is fitting. So it is right, I have no doubt. I have only questions, and they are not important questions.
All will become clear in time. And not much time, at that. Only as much time as it takes me to make these last few miles into town, and inquire more precisely if I cannot follow the beacons She lays out before me, but I do not think it will come to that.