Pathspace: The Space of Paths (33 page)

“
Yes, Holiness, but do you
see the danger of that? If the Church confiscates swizzles because
they might be used as weapons, then it soon finds itself sitting on
a weapons cache. How long do you suppose it might be before the
temptation's greater than some of your flock can withstand?
Hoarding such temptations places your own leadership into a
situation of temptation.”

“
Perhaps,” said the
pontiff, “But at least they are controlled by people experienced in
resisting temptation. Can you say the same for your
army?”

“
I'm not proposing to arm
my soldiers with swizzles,” the Honcho said. “As you yourself said,
there are only so many of them, and we can't make more. We are
left, however, with the disturbing image of secret TCC operatives
skulking about with them. I would wager you have removed the
privacy screens from your audience chambers.”

“
Yes,” said Enrique. “And
We are sure that we shall apprehend anyone who misuses Church
property. But we are focusing too much on swizzles. You need both
swizzles and everflames to distill your fuel, as we
recall.”

“
True,” said Peter. “But
until we have the oil out of the ground we don't need
everflames.”

“
But you will, Peter” said
Enrique, rising to leave. “I hope you'll keep what I said earlier
in mind.”

“
Oh I assure you, I will,
Ricky.”

Everyone was surprised when the priest stood
up except Xander. From the reactions of the crowd, it was atypical
behavior.

“
Early bedtime, Father?”
The bartender summarized the surprise in the room.

The priest was shaking his head as he pulled
on his coat. “Not for me, but early departure all the same, Fred.
Duty calls.”

He pushed open the front door and began
walking up the street. He did not notice the men in uniform until
they blocked his path. He gazed curiously at the red-and-blue
uniforms that had suddenly become such an impassible obstacle.
Their appearance seemed incomprehensible to him, which was probably
why he showed no fear. “Is there something I can do for you
gentlemen?”

Their leader grinned at him. “I believe you
can, Father Andrews. Is it true, as I'm told, that you are the
caretaker at St. Farker's?”

Andrews raised his eyebrows at this.
“Indeed, such is the case. Why do you ask?”

“
I have heard,” said the
officer, “that he died a cruel and unusual death.”

“
It is generally conceded
to be in the very nature of Saints that they tend to die cruel
deaths,” said Father Andrews.

“
Forgive me, Father, but I
am not Church-going man. Could you refresh my memory as to the
manner of his unfortunate demise?”

“
I'm surprised you don't
ask, instead, why he was canonized at all. It was quite a
controversy, at the time.”

“
Long before my time,” the
officer said. “So I know little of it save the rumors which have
reached my ears. Why was it a controversy?”

“
Sometimes,” said Andrews,
the death of a Saint is a clear-cut thing. For example, if someone
is killed for defying the enemies of the Church, and thus dies for
Christ, they are an obvious candidate for sainthood. Likewise, if
they are known for having done many good works during their life,
such as ministering to lepers or feeding the poor.”

The officer leaned against a lamp pole.
Clearly this was not going to be a brief disquisition.

“
Farker did not fall into
such a neat category,” said Father Andrews. “He was murdered, and
of course had been known to have done good works, of
course.”

“
So why was it such a
problem to admit him to the Saint club?”

“
The reason he was
killed,” said Andrews, “was because he had a collection of
artifacts deemed sinful by the Church. Word got out to the public
about it, and a mob closed in on his chapel and killed him with his
own horde.”

“
So it's true he was
sucked and roasted?”

“
Yes. Farker was
exsanguinated with a swizzle and his corpse then burned with the
fire from an everflame.” Andrews grimaced. “We can only pray he did
not suffer long.”

Something changed in the officer's
expression. In a second it had switched from solicitous to a more
businesslike mode. “So tell me, Father, what happened to the means
of his execution? Since all you have of poor Farker himself is a
piled of ashes and a few bits of bone, have you kept the swizzle
and everflame among the relics, to display to visitors of St.
Farker's?”

Andrews got a guarded look
then. “Yes,” he admitted. “but they are kept locked in glass cases
to avoid tempting the weak. Although the Church deplores his murder
and wishes to revere the memory of the good things he did,
the
artifacts
are also part of his
memory, to remind the faithful how dangerous these alien toys
are...and to warn them not to collect them as he did.”

“
Quite right, Father. But
are you sure it's safe to leave them in a shrine? Despite the Papal
ban, there are people who value such items. They could be stolen by
men desperate for money.”

“
They are secured behind
many locks,” said the priest. “And the inner part of the shrine was
once a bank vault. Without the combination, or safe-cracking tools
of the Ancients, such as powerful explosives and power drills, it
would be difficult for anyone to get in there before their attempt
was noticed.”

The officer let go of the lamp pole and
straightened. The street lamp's, fuel repository had been recently
refilled. In the dark of the evening, its light shone upon his
confident expression as he regarded the priest. “How many people
know the combination, father? Only one would risk loosing it to
accidental death. But to have too many clergy know it would be a
risk of a different kind.”

“
There are always three of
us,” said Andrews. “We act as guardians in rotation.”

“
Is that why you left the
bar early tonight, Father? Is it your turn to stand
watch?”

Andrews lowered his eyebrows in puzzlement.
“Yes. But why do you care? I've been tending St. Farker's for
thirty years, and no non-pilgrim has ever bothered to ask me these
things before.”

The officer glanced at his men. “These are
dangerous times, Father. Perhaps we should escort you to your
vigil, to make sure no one waylays you.”

“
I hardly think that's
necessary,” said Andrews.

“
Oh, I think it is,” said
the officer. “In fact, maybe you ought to let us in when we get
there, to make sure nothing's missing.”

Wrapped in shadow, Xander
heard all of this in silence. It sounded like the Honcho had heard
of these 'relics' and if so his interest in them was
predictable.
To remove all the blood from a man and to
burn up his body, the relics must be in good condition,
he thought. Can't do that with a weak swizzle or
a feeble everflame.

“
I presume that's an
official request,” said the priest. “Are you aware that in the old
days you would have required a search warrant from a judge to
intrude upon private property?”

“
Sounds like lawless times
to me,” said the officer. “How could they possibly solve crimes if
they had to ask permission to look at evidence?”

“
It had something to do
with unreasonable search and seizure,” said Andrews. “Haven't you
ever heard of the Constitution?”

The officer smiled and shook his head.
“Haven't you heard of recent events? Say, the last two hundred
years? This ain't the United States, Father. The Lone Star Empire
believes in rights, too – up to a point. And that point happens to
be where the rights of the individual conflict with the needs of
Government.”

“
That was the whole point
of search warrants,” the priest told him. “A judge had to be
convinced that the needs of law enforcement overrode personal
privacy.”

There were men behind him as well as in
front of him now. The group began to walk, escorting him to St.
Farker's. “Rest assured, Father, this is one of those situations.
Right now, Texas needs your relics more than you do. Your pilgrims
will have to make do with the candles and paintings and whatnot for
the immediate future.”

Xander waited until the sound of their
footsteps grew faint before unweaving the pathspace and peeking out
of the doorway he had been skulking in. Would the priest let them
in without a fight? He did not look to be much of a fighter, and
there were five of them.

At length they stood before the First
National shrine of Saint Farker. “Gentlemen,” said Andrews, “let me
make myself clear. Since, as you point out, we are no longer in the
United States, I conceded that you have the authority to enter this
building whether I wish it or not.” He produced a key ring from a
pocket and began to unlock the front door. “Furthermore, if
fugitives from justice were hiding inside, I could not object to
your breaking the door down, if for some reason I did not have the
requisite keys.” He proceeded to the second lock, selecting another
key from the ring, letting the first dangle back with the rest.

“
And we appreciate your
good citizenship,” the officer said with a straight
face.

Andrews unlocked the third lock and swing
the door open. “Since this is a shrine and not a temple, there is
not even the traditional right of sanctuary I could offer to any
fugitive inside. However, “ he continued, “since you can see for
yourselves that there is no one here...”

The officer looked around and focused on the
vault door at the back. “There could be someone hiding in the vault
itself,” he pointed out.

“
Hardly. It's airtight and
small. Were someone to lock himself in there overnight to elude the
law, he would be risking suffocation.”

“
What's the
combination?”

Andrew just looked at him. “The relics
inside that vault,” he said, “are not mine to give away. They
belong to the Church...and so does the combination.”

The officer glanced at one of his men, who
lifted a loaded crossbow. “I really must require you to open the
vault, Father.”

“
If you shoot me, how are
you going to get it open?”

“
Let me put it this way,”
said the officer. “For you to open it, you will need the use of at
least
one
eye and
one
hand. The rest of you is surplus to requirements.
How much would you like to lose before you cooperate?”

Andrews closed his eyes,
then opened them. “We're in the shrine of a Saint. What makes you
think I'll cooperate at
all?
”

The officer sighed. “I don't want to hurt
you, Father, but I have my orders. If for any reason you're
stubborn enough to become a martyr, we'll just wait for the others
who know the combination to show up. If your own life doesn't mean
much to you, are you willing to sacrifice theirs too?”

Andrews drew himself up and faced the man.
“Everyone has to make their own choices,” he said.

The officer shook his head. He turned to his
men. “Start with a leg,” he said.

Two of them seized the priest and shoved him
down on a chair. Another stepped forward with a length of pipe in
one hand and lifted it.

Andrews closed his eyes.

There was an ugly sound of a hard object
striking a body, but no pain. Surprised, the priest's eyes snapped
open in time to see the man in front of him drop the pipe and keel
over. Something whipped around in the corner of his eye. The man
with the crossbow tried to aim it at a gray-clad stranger with a
staff, but the staff was already in motion. Thwack!

The two holding him let go abruptly and
surged forward. The next few seconds were full of complicated
movement, at the end of which the only men standing in the room
were the stranger with the staff and the officer. He looked at the
crossbow on the floor.

“
I wouldn't, if I were
you,” said Xander.

The officer thought better of it and backed
up to the door. “This isn't over,” he said.

“
I know,” said Xander.
“Give my regards to Brutus.”

The officer dashed out for reinforcements.
Xander watched him go to make sure he did, then turned back to the
priest. “If you really want to protect those relics,” he said,
“you'd better get them out of the vault and come with me.”

“
How do I know you're not
after them yourself?” Andrews asked him.

The wizard thought about it. “You're right,”
he said. “There's a better way.” He strode up to the vault door and
closed his eyes.

The dial on the door began to move. After
several moments it reversed direction. After it did this several
times, Xander pulled the door open.

The priest's eyes were wide. “How did you do
that?”

Instead of answering, Xander stepped into
the vault and after a few seconds, emerged carrying a short length
of pipe and a metal disk. There was dried blood on both ends of the
pipe and a hissing came from it.

He regarded the objects and set them on a
table. He stroked the edge of the disk, and a dazzling blue-white
dot appeared above it. The air above it rippled, and some loose
scraps of paper on the table blew toward it and were sucked up into
the brightness to vanish as puffs of flame.