‘I don’t know what that word means.’
Harper laughed to himself, knowing the word ‘precious’ had slipped by his lips because he let himself choose to feel something, not even knowing what the hell it was. An emotion, maybe. Inspector Gobet was not going to be happy.
‘I guess it’s like the feeling you have for the bells in the belfry. And because you feel that way, they need to be protected.’
‘Because it’s our duty.’
‘That’s right, it’s our duty.’
Rochat shuffled to the slowly sinking column of things, reached carefully and removed the maquette of Lausanne Cathedral. He turned around.
‘And when you explain everything will I be able to stay in the cathedral with the bells?’
‘Sure.’
He shuffled to Harper and handed him the maquette.
‘I imagined where we can hide the fire. Do you want to see?’
Katherine felt Monsieur Booty’s cold nose in her face. She opened her eyes. In the loge, on the bed, candles burning about the place. The candle flame glowing soft as the last of the day’s light came through the open door. The maquette of Lausanne Cathedral sat on the table. She scratched the beast behind its ears.
Mew
.
‘Hello, fuzzface. Where is everyone?’
Steps came along the south balcony. She sat up and pulled Monsieur Booty close to her. Rochat appeared in the open doorway, his floppy black hat and long black overcoat still covered in dust.
‘You were dreaming in the nave, that’s all.’
‘What?’
‘You were dreaming in the nave and we carried you up here. That’s what happened.’
‘I didn’t wake up down there?’
‘
Non
.’
She ran her fingers through her hair.
‘What time is it?’
Just then the timbers shuddered and Marie-Madeleine shook the tower with five mighty gongs. The sound faded away.
‘Always nice to have your own personal alarm clock. Where’s Harper?’
‘On the roof of the belfry watching the sky around the cathedral because it looks wiggly and that means it’s over soon.’
‘What’s over soon?’
Rochat thought about it.
‘The way the sky looks.’
She watched Rochat rock back and forth on his heels. She laid Monsieur Booty on the bed.
‘Marc, is something wrong?’
Rochat stepped into the loge.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Yeah, what?’
‘Did your papa and maman tell you stories about shadows and visiting beforetimes and imagining things?’
She shrugged.
‘Dad’s idea of a bedtime story was the letters section of
Penthouse
. And Mom, dear old Mom, fed me on the usual stuff mothers feed their girls. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty.’
‘They’re like you.’
‘Like me?’
Rochat reached to his shelf of books and pulled one down. He held it out to her.
‘You can put this in your rucksack and take it with you.’
She looked at the cover.
Piratz
Une histoire drôle de Marc Rochat
pour Mademoiselle Katherine Taylor
‘A funny story by Marc Rochat. You finished it?’
‘The detectiveman helped me write the words on the cover because I’m not good with spelling. You can read it when you go home to your maman and papa.’
‘What?’
‘Where your home is.’
She looked through the open door. The deep blue sky turning to night, the lights of Évian glimmering and reflecting in the lake.
‘Yeah, but it’s sort of the last place on earth I’d ever think of going.’
‘Why not, it’s where your home is.’
‘That’s … that’s another story. Not a very nice one.’
She stared at him. Thinking he must have drifted off to another time zone. But she could feel his eyes focused on her in the here and now. She felt as if he was looking inside her, looking for something he couldn’t find any more.
‘Marc, did Harper tell you something? Something about me?’
‘He said you still needed me to help you find a way home.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what he said.’
He reached into his pocket and removed something. He shuffled three steps to the bed and held out his hand.
‘And you can take this for when you go home too.’
A well-dented five-franc coin fell into her palm. She stared at it.
‘What’s this for?’
‘For good luck.’
Rochat turned and shuffled outside, he stopped and looked back.
‘Be not afraid because Otto the Brave Knight is bringing the cavalry to save the cathedral and the bells and the fire and the … the you.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what the funny words mean that you said in your dream. I have to go do my duties now.’
He shuffled away and she sat listening to his steps along the balcony. She stared at the dented coin, she stared at the story book, not knowing what to do. She picked up Monsieur Booty from the bed and raised the beast to her face.
‘For God’s sake, tell me I didn’t break his heart.’
A shadow crossed the open door.
‘Alas, the heart you break is mine.’
Katherine froze, helpless for breath.
She raised her eyes to the tall elegant man in perfect black. Long silver hair pulled to the back of his head, dark round glasses over his eyes. Stepping through the doorway and moving slowly towards her.
forty
Harper shoved the lantern in the spire atop the belfry and kicked the door closed. That’s when he heard the scream. He ran to the northeast turret and down the corkscrew steps. He slammed into a shadow transmigrating into the form of a half-breed. Killing knife in his hand, dead black rushing through his eyes.
‘I bring you forever death.’
‘Of course you do.’
The half-breed came down with his knife. Harper dodged, kicked the back of the half-breed’s knees and knocked him down. He grabbed the half-breed’s head and smashed it against the stone steps. Blood splattered against the close-in walls. Harper ripped the killing knife from the half-breed’s hand. Another shadow appeared from above, took form and flew at Harper. Harper swung the killing knife, caught the half-breed’s throat. The thing squealed and fell to the steps. Harper rammed the knife deeper. The half-breed thrashed a few seconds, then stilled.
‘Die for ever, goons.’
He raised the head of the still-breathing half-breed under his knees and set the blade at the side of its neck. He slashed open its throat.
‘And give my regards to the big nowhere.’
He stood, pressed his back to the wall, moved quietly down the turret.
Komarovsky dragged Katherine on to the south balcony.
‘Let me go, bastard!’
‘A few nights ago you called me your forever and ever love.’
‘Funny what a girl will say when she’s drugged stupid.’
He kissed her as if he was drawing the life from her body. She pulled back and spat in his face. Komarovsky touched the wet and tasted it.
‘How bittersweet the wrath of the righteous whore. And may I say, I love what you have done with your hair. It goes so well with the pretty scar on your face.’
‘Where’s Marc, what have you done with him?’
‘Why, what any spurned lover does to the rival.’
Komarovsky dragged her through an archway and tossed her on to the east balcony. He stepped to the side, his sweeping hand like a magician revealing a turn.
‘Behold the crippled fool of Lausanne Cathedral.’
Rochat was on the balcony flagstones. The tall skinny one had his boot crushing down on Rochat’s chest. His face was bruised, his right eye nearly swollen closed.
‘Marc, Jesus, Marc.’
Rochat saw Katherine, he struggled under the tall one’s heel.
‘
Non
, don’t you hurt her. She needs to go home.’
‘Does she now? Then let’s send her airmail.’
‘I don’t know what that means.’
‘Then I’ll show you, fool.’
The tall one tore the floppy hat from Rochat’s head and tossed it from the belfry. Rochat reached for it.
‘My hat! That wasn’t very nice! You go away, you bad shadow, you don’t belong here.’
The tall one’s fist smashed down on Rochat’s face.
‘Where is the fire?’
‘We hid it, you big stupid, and you’ll never find it.’
The tall one pulled a killing knife from his belt and held it by the quillon, the tip of the blade dangling over Rochat’s chest.
‘Then I get to carve out your beating heart and crush it in my hands.’
Katherine jumped for the knife.
‘Leave him alone!’
Komarovsky caught her by the arm, snapped her back.
‘Your affection for the crippled fool is most amusing. Did you caress his misshapen body in your whoring arms? Did you let him touch your secret places with his dirty little hands?’
‘Fuck you. Marc’s right, you don’t belong here, you belong in hell.’
Komarovsky smiled from behind his dark glasses. She felt herself being lifted from the flagstones and drawn towards Komarovsky by unseen hands.
‘But have you not heard the poet’s truth, my dear? Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’
He passed his hand before her face, she stiffened like a pillar of salt. He turned her around, Katherine stared off the balconies in disbelief.
‘Jesus … what?’
All light disappearing as dark matter descended through an almost liquid sky. Enveloping the cathedral, separating it from Lausanne and the lake, the mountains and all the world beyond. Then shreds of black mist, tens of thousands, born from the dark matter, swirling around the belfry and growling with hunger.
‘What is this?’
‘The shadows of the devourers, my love. Remember how they suckled at your flesh and carried you like a goddess in breathless waves of pleasure. How you opened to them, loved them as you love yourself. How they prepared your body to receive our sacred seed.’
She looked at Komarovsky, saw her terrified reflection in his dark glasses.
‘This isn’t real, none of this is real.’
He touched her trembling lips.
‘Be still, my dearest, and feel shadows made flesh within your womb.’
Katherine turned towards Rochat.
‘Marc … am I imagining?’
Rochat squirmed under the tall one’s weight.
‘Stop it, she’s not like me. You’re hurting her.’
The tall one let the killing knife fall from his fingers, Rochat closed his eyes, heard Katherine cry, ‘No!’ He felt something prick his skin. He opened his eyes and saw the tip of the blade scratching his flesh. The tall one leaned close to Rochat and sneered:
‘Fooled the fool, don’t you know.’
A lone seraphic breath blew through the carpentry.
The tall one, sensing the presence of another, looked towards the northeast turret. He saw Harper standing in the archway, fresh blood dripping from the killing knife in his hand. The tall one turned his eyes to Komarovsky.
‘He’s here.’
Komarovsky held Katherine close to him.
‘Then our stage is set for the final act. Do join us, good and noble warrior.’
Harper stepped from the archway.
‘Sorry I’m late. Had to slaughter a few of your half-breed goons along the way.’
‘Not at all.’ Komarovsky nodded off the balcony to the dark swirling mass in the sky. ‘Plenty more where they came from.’
‘Good. Nothing like job security in today’s uncertain economy.’
Harper’s eyes shifted to Katherine. He saw the madness in her eyes, the kind that comes from seeing unknowable things.
‘Hello, Miss Taylor.’
‘How … how can this be happening?’
Harper focused the light in his eyes straight into hers.
‘You remember, Miss Taylor, all those things you’d never understand in a billion years.’
A fragile smile crossed her eyes.
‘Yeah, I remember.’
‘This is just one more.’
Harper looked at Rochat, the tall one’s blade still pressing at his heart.
‘Hello, mate. I see you met Dickface. Seen his pal anywhere, little squirt with a goatee?’
‘He came and murdered my snowman then this big dumb shadow threw away my hat and now he wants to cut out my heart.’
‘Well, they are the bad shadows, aren’t they?’
‘
Oui, monsieur
!’
Harper looked in the carpentry. Bits of crushed ice scattered on the wood floor under Marie-Madeleine, door to the shed open.
‘What were they doing in the timbers, besides killing your snowman?’
‘They broke into the shed and took some buckets and bottles of cleaning things. Then they sneaked to the upper bells.’
Harper looked up, saw black gel oozing through the wood planks high above. Dripping down the carpentry and seeping into the gnarls and cracks of the timbers. He stepped closer and touched the gel. He rolled it in his fingertips, smelled it.
‘What is it, monsieur?’
‘Fire potions mixed with solvents, bit of murdered snowman tossed in for laughs.’
‘Is it a bad thing, monsieur, because I imagined it’s a bad thing.’
‘Self-perpetuating potions with an ignition blast that’ll shatter windows in Geneva. Yeah, I’d say that’s a pretty bad thing.’
‘But you can stop it, can’t you, monsieur, because we’re the good guys and—’
The tall one slapped his hand over Rochat’s mouth, pressed the killing knife deeper.
‘Quiet, you blathering fool.’
‘Mmmmm! Mmmn!’
Katherine pulled at Komarovsky’s grip.
‘Jesus, Harper, don’t let them kill Marc!’
Komarovsky laughed.
‘Yes, let’s play another round of Who Dies First? Perhaps, this time, the warrior will not make such a mess of it.’
Harper stared into Komarovsky’s dark glasses.
‘I’m guessing you’re the one men call Azazel, but whoever the fuck you are, I want you to listen to me. You kill her, you kill the lad, you’ll have no one to hide behind. I’ll slaughter the lot of you in your forms before their bodies hit the ground.’
Komarovsky made a mocking nod of the head.
‘Such a heroic performance. But you only need look to the sky to know your performance is, shall we say, lacking.’
Harper’s eyes shot to the sky. He saw the shadows of the devourers beating against a liquid sky.
What the fuck is he up to?