Old Kingdom 4 - Across the Wall by Garth Nix

Author:Garth Nix [Nix, Garth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Supernatural, Young Adult, Fantasy & Magic, Necromancer
ISBN: 0060747137
Publisher: Eos
Published: 2005-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

The Hill

Rowan sniffed as the awful hospital smell met him at the front door of the Home. A mixture of antiseptic and illness, hope and despair, churned by air-conditioning that was always slightly too cool or slightly too hot.

He ignored the reception desk, which was easy, since no one was there, and went straight up the stairs, leaping two at a time, unconscious of the old eyes that watched him, remembering when steps were not beyond them.

His great-grandfather’s room was the first on the left after the nurses’ station, but no one was there. Rowan stuck his head around to make absolutely sure, then continued on to the television room at the end of the hall. He slowed as he approached, reluctant as ever to see the group of old people who suffered so much from Alzheimer’s or senile dementia that they couldn’t speak or move themselves, so they just sat watching the TV. Or at least had their faces pointed toward the set. Rowan wasn’t sure they saw anything.

They were there, but his great-grandfather wasn’t. Sister Amy was helping one of the old ladies sit back up. She saw Rowan and gave him a smile.

“Come to see your great-grandpop, then?” she asked. 141 across the wall

“He’s out in the garden.”

“Thanks,” said Rowan. “Is he . . . ?” “He’s having one of his good days,” said Amy. “Bright as a button, bless him. I only hope I do

as well at his age. If I even get that far, of course. Now, up we go, Mrs. Rossi!”

Mrs. Rossi dribbled all over Amy’s shoulder as she was lifted up. Rowan mumbled a good-bye and fled, wanting to get out into the fresh air as quickly as possible. He was glad Great-grandad was having a good day. It would make everything much easier. On his bad days, the old man wouldn’t talk, or possibly couldn’t talk—and he didn’t seem to hear anything either.

But as Amy said, he was still a wonder, even on his bad days. When he wanted to talk, he talked intelligently and clearly. When he wanted to walk, he walked, with the aid of two canes. But he was most remarkable for his age. Albert Salway was the oldest person in the Home, the oldest person in the city, the oldest in the state, maybe even the oldest in the country. He had been born in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and now he was only a day away from the beginning of the twenty-first. He was 108 years old and was actually Rowan’s great-great-grandfather. But he always said that was too many greats, and anyway, he preferred Rowan to call him Bert.

He was sitting on the bench next to the roses, watching them sway slightly in the breeze, petals ruffling. As always when he went outside, he was properly dressed in moleskin trousers, a flannel shirt, tweed coat, and hat. His two blackwood canes were propped up against the bench, their brass handles bright in the sun.

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