He looked up from the drawings.
He saw her on the bed, thinking he’d never before seen someone sleep so deeply, so soundly. Even Monsieur Booty, curled up next to her, would stretch and open an eye now and then. But the angel didn’t move, she didn’t stir.
‘Because that’s how angels sleep, Rochat. Yes, I’m very sure that’s how angels sleep.’
Earlier in the night between nine and ten o’clock bells, Rochat had been drawing in his
piratz
book because he imagined he could include the angel in the story. He imagined the angel was captured by Screechy the Evil Wizard and that Screechy took her to his ice castle in the land of Saskatoon and she was under his sleeping spell. And the silly pirates flew over the Boiling Seas of Doom on the back of Pompidou the Giant Caterpillar, holding on to their paper hats and waving their wood swords, to capture her back. And they wanted the future-teller diamond back, too. ‘Give her back,’ yelled the pirates. ‘She’s our angel! And the future-teller diamond, too!’ And Screechy stuck his head out from the tower and yelled, ‘No, you can never have her, she’s mine now, so ha, ha on you! And let me tell you something else, you dumb pirates, I’m looking at the future-teller right now, and let me tell you, your future doesn’t look so good, so there!’ And so the pirates decided to come up with a cunning plan to rescue the angel. But Rochat hadn’t been able to think of a plan of any sort. That’s when he decided he’d draw the angel as she slept instead.
The small window above the table was open slightly. Rochat heard three double-tinks drift up from the tinny bells of the Hôtel de Ville. Monsieur Booty heard them too, he opened his eyes and took a long stretch. Rochat put a finger to his lips.
‘Shhh. Don’t disturb her. She’s very tired and needs to sleep.’
The beast jumped from the bed to the floor and hopped up to the table for a look at the drawings.
‘What do you think, you miserable beast?’
Mew
.
‘Me, too.’
The beast stepped over Rochat’s arms, on to his lap and curled into a ball.
‘Well now, I was beginning to think you didn’t like me any more.’
He scratched the beast behind the ears, the beast purred.
‘I know, it’s nice to have her visiting, but I’m very sure she’ll be leaving soon. She wants to be here for
la grande sonnerie
times on Saturday, then she’ll go home. That’s what she said.’
Monsieur Booty looked up with half-open eyes.
Mew
.
‘Because that’s what angels do, you dumb beast, they come and they go. They’re only made of light, after all.’
The timbers creaked and groaned and Marie rang for midnight. But even with the great bell’s longest and loudest shout of the night, the angel didn’t stir. Rochat set Monsieur Booty on the table with the sketchbook.
‘I’m sorry, your royal fatness, but I have to go to work. And when I come back I’ll make tea for me and a bowl of milk for you.’
Mew
.
‘
Pas de panique
, I’ll warm it up for you.’
Rochat put on his overcoat and hat. He picked up the lantern and went quietly out of the door. He shuffled around the tower, calling the midnight hour. When he finished, he hooked the lantern to the railings and climbed through the timbers. He gave Marie a soft tap on the edge of her skirt.
‘All is well, madame. No something evil returning to Lausanne tonight. I’m going to switch off the lights on the esplanade now, so don’t be frightened. What?’
Rochat pressed his ear to the bronze, listening to her deepest tones.
‘Why would you ask such a silly thing? Rochat will always be with you, Marie. Have a nice snooze.’
He unlocked the winch shed and pulled the steel handle with the big hand-written sign ‘LIGHTS OFF!’ and an arrow pointing to it. The floodlamps on the esplanade switched off and the belfry fell into darkness. He locked the shed and checked on the snowman. Looking a little crusty at the edges but still standing. Rochat retied the scarf around its neck.
‘I’m very sorry about your hat, Monsieur Neige, but the angel’s using it. You can have it back after she goes home.’
He jumped on to the south balcony and shuffled towards the loge.
A tiny flame sparked on the esplanade.
Rochat’s eyes followed a thin trail of smoke into the dark of the chestnut trees. A lone streetlamp at the top of Escaliers du marché cast a long shadow from under the chestnut trees and out over the cobblestones. Rochat hid behind a stone pillar. He didn’t breathe, he didn’t look down. He heard footsteps on the esplanade and a voice climbing the stones of the tower to find him.
‘I can see the lantern on the railings, so I know you can hear me. I know she’s up there. Her name’s Katherine Taylor. She lives on Rue Caroline.’
Rochat didn’t move.
The voice from the esplanade climbed the tower walls again.
‘My name’s Harper, I’m her friend.’
Rochat leaned from behind the pillar and saw someone in the shadows, puffing on a cigarette.
‘Her friend?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Are you lost too?’
‘I don’t think so. This is Lausanne Cathedral, isn’t it? Look, why not come down and talk before we wake up the skeletons.’
Rochat shuffled to Marie, tapped her three quick times.
‘Marie, there’s someone by the fountain and he knows the angel’s here and he says he’s her friend and he knows about the bones in the crypt too. What do I do?’
He pressed his ear to her skirt and listened.
‘
Oui, merci
.’
He shuffled to the railings, held his lantern into the night.
‘How do I know you’re not one of the bad shadows playing a mean trick to hurt her?’
It was quiet for a long time before the voice climbed the tower again.
‘No, mate, I’m not a bad shadow. I’m her friend. That makes me one of the good guys, doesn’t it?’
twenty-seven
Harper waited by the fountain and watched the lantern move along the railings of the belfry and disappear in the southwest turret. The archers’ windows cut in the tower walls dilated with light as the lantern circled down. Long minutes later he heard the rattle of keys from behind a skinny red door, half hidden behind a ton of collapsed scaffolding and mountains of shovelled-aside snow. The door scraped open and a small form wrapped in a long black overcoat and black floppy hat emerged, the lantern in his hand swinging low near a crooked foot. The closer the lantern came, the more Harper recognized the foot.
‘I’ve seen you before. You were feeding popcorn to the ducks at Port d’Ouchy, Sunday last.’
‘And you were going to Évian on the ferry. I told you it was through the trees and past the weather-teller. You said I had feathers in my hair.’
‘I’m afraid you did.’
Rochat raised his lantern close to Harper’s face, close enough to see the lines at the corners of his eyes.
‘You’re a detectiveman, aren’t you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I saw you on Pont Bessières. I imagined you were a detectiveman trying to solve a mysterious mystery in Lausanne. But you were looking the wrong way.’
Harper could tell the lad was dead serious.
‘Which way should I have been looking?’
‘The other way, monsieur.’
‘The other way. I’ll keep that in mind. Listen, that lantern of yours is rather bright. Would you mind?’
Rochat lowered the lantern.
‘
Pardonnez-moi, monsieur
.’
‘Miss Taylor, is she all right?’
‘They cut her face with a knife but it isn’t deep. I cleaned it with medicine and made bandages for her but she puts the bandages on herself. She’s very tired.’
‘Did she tell you what happened?’
‘She didn’t have to tell me, I can see her flat from the belfry. I saw two men come into her flat, they came from the bad shadows. She was on her cellphone and they cut her. She shot one of the men and then ran away but she didn’t kill him. I saw it through binoculars.’
Harper glanced towards Rue Caroline.
‘Her flat’s the other side of Pont Bessières, more than a kilometre away.’
‘They’re very good binoculars, monsieur, they’re Zeiss. Swiss farmers use them to watch cows in the mountains.’
Harper stared at Rochat, gave himself a moment to sort out the lad’s story.
Men from bad shadows. Had to mean coming out of the dark hall into Miss Taylor’s sitting room. On her mobile. Fits with the message left on Madame Badeaux’s answering machine. Shot one but didn’t kill him. Explains the spent taser gun on the floor. The lad may have a vivid imagination but he made sense in his own peculiar way, Harper thought.
‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t ask your name.’
‘Marc Rochat.’
‘My name’s Harper, Jay Harper.’
‘
Enchanté, monsieur
.’
Harper held his fingers in the cold water running from the iron spout of the fountain.
‘Can I drink from this?’
‘You can drink from all the fountains in Lausanne, that’s why they’re here. But on December twentyones they turn them off till spring.’
‘Twenty … ones, right.’
Harper leaned down to the water, he drank deeply. He straightened up.
‘Not bad, actually. How did she get into the cathedral?’
‘I saw her run away from those men and she came over Pont Bessières. She was in a bathrobe and naked underneath and she had no shoes on her feet and she was scared and screaming. She tried to stop a car but it didn’t see her and she fell by Café de l’Évêché and she got up and started to run up the hill. I came down from the belfry and pulled her into the cathedral before the bad shadows could find her. She was cold and I took her up the tower to the loge because it’s warm and there’s a bed where she can hide till she can find a way home.’
‘Did she say anything else about the men?’
Rochat thought about it. He saw himself in the doorway of the loge and the angel saying she had to tell him something that she didn’t want to tell him.
‘Those men said they’d find her wherever she went and they’d kill anyone who helped her.’
‘She said those words?’
‘She said those words.’
Harper took a long drink from the fountain to think it through. The killers either knew she was in the cathedral or they didn’t. If they didn’t, they’d find her soon enough. Oddly enough it would be better if they did know. Meant they didn’t want to kill her, not yet. Begged an even bigger question: why the hell not? And the lad, what about him? The killers would slaughter him in a flash, he didn’t have a chance. Christ, Harper thought, whatever the hell the game was in this bloody town it had just snared another victim. An innocent lad who could barely stand up straight. Harper wiped his mouth and looked at Rochat, trying not to betray his thoughts.
‘Are you really her friend, monsieur?’
‘Yes, I’m her friend.’
‘Are you here to help her find a way home?’
Harper drew on his smoke.
‘Sure, that’s what friends are for, isn’t it?’
‘If you’re a friend, do you need to hide in the cathedral too?’
‘No … no, I’ve got my own hiding place, but thanks for the offer. Listen, I’ll come back tomorrow, maybe together we’ll figure out a way to get her home. Is there a telephone up there?’
‘It’s very old and it’s hard to use sometimes.’
‘Good, don’t use it, don’t let her use it. If it rings, don’t answer it.’
‘She doesn’t want to talk to anyone and she’s afraid of the police.’
‘I don’t blame her. Can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys in this place without a programme.’ Harper pulled the gold cigarette case from his mackintosh. ‘Do me a favour, give this to her. She’ll know it’s from me.’
Rochat held his lantern over it, the clear stone in the lid sparkled.
‘Is it a future-teller diamond, monsieur?’
‘A what?’
‘A future-teller. I’ve never seen a real one, I only imagined it in a story.’
‘I’m afraid it’s only a cigarette case.’
‘Oh.’
Harper watched the way the lad stared at the thing, wondering if he was disappointed.
‘Too bad, I suppose we could use one just now, eh?’
‘
Oui
. Could you bring some food when you come back? She eats a lot.’
‘Sure.’
‘
Merci
. It’s almost time to call the hour.’ Rochat turned to leave and kept turning in a slow circle till he was facing Harper again. ‘Those men from the bad shadows crushed her wings and she can’t fly any more, monsieur. That’s why she’s lost.’
Harper watched Rochat shuffle away and back through the skinny red door and up the tower. He stepped back into the shadows of the chestnut trees and watched lantern light through the archers’ windows winding up the tower. The whole cathedral looking like the last outpost. Nice but dim lad with a lantern all there was at the gate.
‘God save us every one.’
GONG! GONG! GONG! GONG
!
The sound roared through the loge and squeezed the air from her lungs.
‘Jesus, no!’
She sat up, gasping for breath. She saw the crooked little guy in the long black coat standing at the open door of the loge. Burning lantern in one hand, fat grey cat in the other.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I was having a nightmare.’
‘A bad-shadows kind of nightmare?’
‘Yeah, the bad-shadows kind. Those fucking bastards knew I was in the tower, they were coming for me.’
Rochat shuffled into the loge, set the lantern on the table, filled a glass from one of the water jugs.
‘In school, they always gave me a drink of water when I had bad-shadows kind of nightmares. Then I’d feel better.’
Katherine took the glass.
‘Thanks. Where were you?’
‘In the nave.’ He picked up a piece of paper from the table and held it out to her. ‘I made a note in case you woke up and were scared to be alone.’
She focused her eyes: ‘in nav and be bcak soone’.
Above the words was a drawing of a man in an overcoat, holding a lantern and winding his way down the tower steps, fat grey cat at his heels.
‘What a nice picture.’
‘You can keep it.’