Harper leaned against the cold stone wall, watching and listening to the woman with the lad in her arms. Rocking him, comforting him with a tearful voice.
‘It’s all right, Marc. I’m here, you’re safe now.’
… you’re safe now, safe now, safe now …
The echoes finding Harper in the shadows. He saw a burning lantern on a cardboard box spreading a cloud of soft light through the darkness. Saw a cot next to the cardboard box, wool blankets and his beat-up mackintosh in a heap. A small framed photograph, a box of unlit candles next to the lantern. Down on the flagstones, a bowl of reddish water, shreds of bloodstained cloth, bandages and scissors. He looked up and saw a mass of darkened stained glass slowly taking the form of Christ on the cross.
‘
Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani
.’
‘What? What are you saying?’
Harper looked at Katherine and Rochat.
‘Where the hell am I?’
… where am i, where am i, where am i …
‘In the cathedral, monsieur. On the tribune behind the organ.’
‘The cathedral. How did I get here?’
‘I found you on the esplanade next to the fountain. I thought you were dead but they only hurt you.’
‘You helped me?’
Katherine said:
‘Yeah, Marc found you and Marc carried you up the tower and took care of you. You’d be fucking dead if it wasn’t for him, you fucking bastard.’
Harper felt the back of his head at the base of the neck. Felt as if someone drove a nail into his skull. He looked down at his chest and saw he was wearing a loose dark blue jumper. He pulled at the collar, saw neat bandages across his chest, felt the pull of stitching strips underneath.
‘You did all this, mate? You fixed me up?’
‘
Oui
.’
‘Thanks.’
‘
Volontiers, monsieur
.’
Harper took a slow breath as a wave of pain shot through him, dragging images through his brain. Syringes of dead black potion, killing knives, jagged-edge saws, slaughter. The still-blinking eyes. Two souls lost for ever. He held his stomach, buckled over.
‘Oh, bloody hell.’
… bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell …
‘Does it still hurt, monsieur?’
Harper looked up, saw it again. The delicate light flashing and fading deep within Rochat’s eyes.
‘Yes, it still hurts. Do you know the time?’
‘The bells rang four times and you woke up.’
‘Four?’
Katherine wiped tears from her face.
‘Yeah, Harper, four o’clock. Time for you to tell us what the hell’s going on.’
Harper shrugged.
‘It’s impossible.’
‘What’s impossible?’
‘Our kind … it was forbidden.’
… forbidden, forbidden, forbidden …
‘What’s forbidden?’
‘The lad’s a half-breed.’
‘He’s crippled, you fucking idiot, and you almost strangled him to death.’
Harper rubbed the back of his neck again. His mind scrambling back. Pumped full of dead black potion. Enough to crush your eternal being and flip you into one of them. Then you’re dumped at the cathedral to kill the half-breed hiding in the tower. Almost did, but something brought you back, boyo … something …
‘The lad’s eyes.’
‘What about them?’
‘There’s no black in his eyes.’
‘No, his eyes are green, like yours.’
‘Like mine?’
Harper looked at Rochat.
The light in his eyes growing even brighter. A light unseen by men, a light seen only by …
no bloody way
… Harper’s mind scrambled back further, to the cop in the cashmere coat. Retinal luminance recognition should return in a day or two, Mr Harper.
‘Holy Christ.’
He looked again at the photograph on the cardboard box. Saw a handsome man, a man who taught his son to draw living things, a man with blue eyes and black hair, standing with his arm around a beautiful young woman, a woman with the brightest green eyes.
‘“Blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright?”’
… so bright, so bright, so bright …
Katherine waited for the sound of his voice to fade.
‘Tell me they drugged you, Harper, because you’re babbling like a lunatic. What’re you talking about, what can’t be?’
‘All of it.’
Harper rose from the cot and hobbled over the flagstones. He picked up the lantern from the floor and moved towards them. Katherine pulled Rochat close to her.
‘Stay away from us, Harper, stay the fuck away.’
‘I’m not going to hurt him, Miss Taylor.’ He looked at Rochat. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, mate.’
‘I know, monsieur.’
Harper lowered to one knee.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘
Oui, monsieur
.’
‘The photograph next to the cot, that’s your mother?’
‘With Papa on the Plains of Abraham.’
‘That’s in Quebec City, isn’t it?’
‘
Oui
, it’s on the same line as Lausanne.’
Harper had to think for a second.
‘You mean the forty-sixth latitude of the planet, yeah?’
‘
Oui
, that’s how I came to Lausanne.’
‘Right. Your mother, she’s beautiful.’
‘
Merci
.’
‘You look like her, in the eyes.’
‘Maman said I have Papa’s face and her eyes.’
‘Do you remember your mother?’
‘I see her in beforetimes.’
‘Beforetimes, right.’
‘Do you know about beforetimes, monsieur?’
‘Yes, I know about beforetimes. When you go there and you see your mother, what do you see in her eyes?’
Rochat fell very still, not breathing, almost sinking. Katherine stroked his mop of black hair.
‘What is it, honey, what do you see?’
‘Maman told me it was a secret.’
‘You can tell me, honey.’
Rochat looked up at her.
‘I see a pretty light.’
… a pretty light … pretty light … pretty light …
The words echoing against the ceiling of curving stones.
Harper spoke softly, not wanting to chase the sound away.
‘When do you see the light in her eyes?’
‘In the days before Maman says goodbye and goes away. She says she wants to give it to me so the angel will know who I am.’
‘An angel. Did she tell you which angel?’
‘The one who would come to the cathedral.’
Harper lowered his head in a long and perfect silence, till an unbelieving whisper crossed his lips.
‘What the bloody hell have we done?’
Katherine waited a moment.
‘Harper? What’s going on? What’s wrong with Marc? What did they do to him?’
‘Nothing’s wrong, Miss Taylor, he’s fine.’ Harper looked at Rochat. ‘Aren’t you, mate?’
‘I’m very tired, monsieur.’
‘Me too. Look, when I woke up, when I tried to hurt you, that wasn’t me.’
‘I know, monsieur. Maman told me the bad shadows make people hurt each other. Did the bad shadows make you want to hurt me?’
‘Yes, they gave me a drug that made me want to kill. But it’s over now.’
Harper hobbled to the cot, sat down.
‘Monsieur?’
… monsieur … monsieur … monsieur …
‘Yes?’
‘Did I only imagine you on Escaliers du marché?’
‘No, you saw me. I couldn’t talk to you just then. But that’s not going to happen any more.’
‘
D’accord
. Will you stay in the cathedral now and help the angel find her way home?’
‘Yes, mate, I’ll stay.’
‘
Merci
.’
Katherine kissed Rochat’s forehead.
‘Shhhh, Marc. Enough, go to sleep.’
‘I heard the timbers.’
‘What, honey?’
‘I heard the timbers.’
Five deep bells rolled through the belly of the nave. Rochat closed his eyes and fell asleep in Katherine’s arms. The bells swelled and faded away.
‘Hush now. Marie just rang to tell you everything’s OK.’
… everything’s OK, everything’s OK …
Katherine heard the cot creak. She saw Harper getting slowly to his feet. He picked up the wool blankets and hobbled towards her. She tried to swallow Rochat in her arms.
‘I swear to God, you ever hurt him again and I’ll kill you.’
‘I believe you would, Miss Taylor. And I wouldn’t blame you.’
He bent down, laid the blankets over them. He grimaced in pain as he straightened up and hobbled back to the cot. He looked at Katherine, as if seeing her for the first time.
‘What are you looking at?’
‘Your hair.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s black.’
‘I dyed it.’
He looked down, saw a pair of second-hand trainers on his feet. He picked at the ragged jumper.
‘And all these clothes?’
‘Your shirt was in shreds, covered in blood. You were in your bare feet. Marc got the sweater and shoes from the lost-and-found box.’
Harper shook his disbelieving head.
‘Lost-and-found box, perfect.’
He fell quiet. She listened to him breathe. Ragged and in pain.
‘Harper, what happened?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Tonight, what happened?’
He took a slow breath.
‘I was ordered to abandon the both of you in the cathedral.’
‘Abandon us? Why?’
‘Still a bit of a blur. I’m guessing I was in the way.’
‘Of what?’
‘I wish I knew.’
Katherine watched him hold his sides.
‘Someone died tonight, someone was killed, that’s what happened, isn’t it?’
Harper looked at her.
‘Two people. A man and a woman.’
‘Who were they?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Harper, tell me. Did I know …’
‘Stephan. You knew Stephan. The woman, you didn’t know her. Her name was Lucy Clarke.’
‘Who is she?’
‘She was from East London, she worked in a casino.’
‘Did you kill them?’
‘What?’
‘You said the killers gave you a drug that made you want to kill. Did you kill them?’
‘No. It was Komarovsky and his goons.’
Katherine shuddered. ‘They were murdered because of me?’
‘No, Miss Taylor, because of me.’
‘You?’
‘They saw me talking to Stephan at LP’s. They saw me talking to Miss Clarke.’
Katherine felt a flash of fear.
‘The killers are coming here, aren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we call someone for help? Swiss cops maybe?’
‘It was a bloody Swiss copper who ordered me to abandon you.’
‘What?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Jesus, what kind of detectiveman are you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘That’s what Marc calls you, the detectiveman.’
‘Right, I remember. He said it the first night I met him on the esplanade.’
‘So just what kind of detectiveman are you, Harper?’
‘What do you think I am, Miss Taylor?’
‘I don’t give a flying fuck, I just want to know which side you’re on. Good guys or the bad guys?’
Harper rubbed the back of his neck, felt the swelling where the half-breed goons rammed the needle.
‘When it all started, they told me I was one of the good guys. Turns out I was only following orders.’
‘So you’re some kind of soldier or a spy?’
‘Something like that.’
Katherine softly combed strands of black hair from Rochat’s brow.
‘Those names you said, Azazel and the other one …’
‘Samyaza.’
‘Yeah, him. Who are they?’
‘Fallen angels from the Book of Enoch.’
‘The book of what?’
‘Look, Miss Taylor, it’d take an eternity to explain and you still wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Try me.’
Harper looked up at the dark stained glass holding the crucified Christ. Seeing long traces of rain running like shadows down the glass.
‘Everything out there, all of it, this isn’t the way it was supposed to be.’
‘OK, that makes sense, not.’
Harper smiled.
‘No, I’m sure it doesn’t.’
Katherine sat quietly, watching Harper sit just as quiet.
‘You know, you look like me the night I got here.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Like something Marc’s cat dragged in.’
‘The lad’s got a cat?’
‘Up in the belfry, and it talks.’
‘The cat talks.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I didn’t notice.’
‘That it talks?’
‘That the lad’s got a cat in the belfry.’
‘He was probably hiding behind the radio when you were there. You can be a scary piece of work, Harper. But you know that, don’t you?’
Harper scooped a handful of unlit candles from the box, grabbed one more. He opened the door of the lantern and touched the wick to the flame. He rose slowly from the cot, the burning candle in his hand. He dropped the spares in his pockets. Katherine pulled Rochat closer to her body.
‘Are you leaving us?’
‘Leaving?’
‘Your orders, to abandon us in the cathedral.’
Harper patted the pockets of his trousers, nothing but unlit candles.
‘You don’t happen to have a fag, do you?’
‘Smoked them all waiting for you to come back.’
‘Right. In that case let’s just say I’m through with following orders.’
‘Then where are you going?’
‘Down to the nave, check the perimeter.’ He turned one way, then the other. ‘Do … do you know which way’s down to the nave?’
Katherine nodded to the wood door at the end of the balcony.
‘Over there, Sherlock, to the unfinished tower. Another door opens to stairs that wind down to the main floor.’
‘Unfinished tower, stairs winding down, got it.’
She watched him walk away. She called after him.
‘You don’t think we’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting out of here alive, do you?’
Harper stopped, looked back at her.
‘Actually, there’s got to be more than one miracle left in this lump of a cathedral.’
‘Gee, I must’ve missed the first miracle in all the excitement, especially the part where you tried to kill Marc.’
Harper looked at the lad sleeping in her arms.
Transit umbra, lux permanet
… shadow passes, light remains.
‘That’s just it, Miss Taylor, I didn’t.’
thirty-seven