Chapter 67
Enrique: “walking round in a ring”
He emerged from the coach and pulled on his white calve skin gloves. For a moment he dithered, seeing the ritual reversed. What is truth? Pilate asked, washing his hands. But this was a putting on, not a taking off. Did that make it any different? Like Pontius, he was trying to effect a separation from what was to come, a separation that he knew in his heart was a lie, a delusion not of grandeur, but of innocence. He knew the apprentice was not a demon. But the idea he stood for, that needed to be exorcised. We cannot advance as humans until we put aside the creations of non-humans.
The protesters had already covered the back entrance. The prison Alessandro Martinez had built here was not as large as he had expected.
It did not need to be, in an Empire where those who defied the established order were never forced to endure long imprisonments. Those detained here usually came out again, briefly. The gallows was just to the side of the front entrance.
He eyed the scaffold. By acting this way, even I could be said to be defying the established order. One of the faithful would have decried such sentiments. He could imagine their rebuttal: but Holiness, you are the established order! And in a sense, that was true. But the execution he planned was not sanctioned by secular authority. And in truth, this was not a thing that he wanted to secular authority to enact. There were no secular charges against the accused, this apprentice. The only reason he was here was because he had been with the wizard who had captured the Honcho's scouting party.
But if released, he might someday become a wizard himself.
“Holiness?”
With a start he realized he was woolgathering again. His driver and the leaders of the crowd were looking to him for permission to begin. He nodded, and they began pounding on the front door. “Bring out the sorcerer!” they cried.
Hoofbeats behind him made him turn. His Excellency, the Honcho, ruler of the Lone Star Empire was hurtling down the street, closely pursued by four guards and the Runt. They drew up on the edges of the crowd that surrounded the front of the prison.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing, Ricky?”
He smiled sadly, ignoring the profanity. “What you wouldn't, Excellency. Exorcising the demon you've kept alive and fed.”
Peter glared down at him from his horse, which whinnied at all the torches in front of it. “He's no demon and you know it. Just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. Call this off, now, before you make matters worse.”
“The man inside these walls,” said the Pontiff, raising his voice for the crowd, “is tainted with alien sorcery! He would spread it if allowed, bringing down the wrath of God that struck down the Ancients for their arrogance and impurity. If he truly wants to be like the Tourists, then he needs to go as they have gone.”
The Honcho lowered his voice. “You know I can't allow this. I can't let mob rule replace the rule of law. Stop this now. It can't end well.”
Enrique regarded him. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice calm and brimming with self-assurance. “Are you going to have your men shoot me? Shoot the Pope, in front of a hundred witnesses? They'd tear you to pieces.” He jerked his head toward the crowd. “Or will you have your men fire into the crowd?”
The Honcho's eyes narrowed. “The Army's on the way to surround this entire block,” he said. “If your people don't disperse quietly, they'll all be arrested.”
Yes, exactly, he thought. My people. Not yours. You are only the caretaker of their bodies, but I am God's chosen to defend their souls. “We both know you can't afford to turn the Church against you, Excellency.”
At this moment the guards inside the prison decided to open the front doors. They swung outwards, revealing men with loaded crossbows. The Honcho seized upon this pause to bellow a warning. “Who wants to die first? Everyone clear out now, by God, or – “
BOOM! An explosion like a burst of cannon fire surprised everyone.
Enrique opened his mouth to condemn using cannon on unarmed civilians, when a sudden roar of wind was sucked into the open door of the prison. It blew out dozens of the torches in the crowd as if they were mere candles on a birthday cake, and knocked the guards at the entrance backwards like pins scatted by a bowling ball.
Movement above the roof of the prison drew his eye, and those of others, upwards. A figure burst upwards, then curved towards the crowd like tossed confetti. In seconds it plummeted and crashed into a couple of the protesters.
After the moment of shocked silence which followed, the tangled figure groaned and extricated itself from the ones who had dropped their torches. His Holiness stepped forward into the crowd, which parted before the spectacle of his bone-white vestments as he advanced.
The human projectile looked up at him. He appeared to notice the significance of his whiteness. “Well, hello there,” the man said. “That didn't work out exactly as I'd planned. Am I late for my execution?”
His Holiness was not the only person pushing into the open space win the crowd. Two gray-haired men shoved their way in One of these was dressed in gray, and sported a matching beard and a staff. The other was smooth-shaved and looked like a threadbare priest, and was lugging two lengths of pipe with him.
“There you are,” said the bearded one. “Are you ready to leave, or would you rather stay here and chat with His Holiness?”
The escapee stared at the bearded one for a second or two and rubbed his eyes as if they were watering, or as if he thought he was seeing things. “If you're leaving, then I suppose I should tag along,” he said. “Is one of those for me?”
The one who looked like an old priest handed him one of the pipes. “Xander said you'd know what to do with this,” he remarked.
Enrique heard a hissing that grew into a deep-throated roaring or humming sound. Before his astonished gaze, the bearded one and the priest hugged their pipe and staff as if climbing poles, and rose into the air, scattering a cloud of dust below them from the street. The other followed them, clasping his pipe awkwardly, making even more noise as he ascended.
They were gone in a matter of seconds.
Enrique turned and saw Peter on his horse behind him. “Was that your prisoner, the apprentice we've been arguing about?”
Peter exhaled. “I'm afraid so. Looks like he's learned more than I thought, Holiness. Maybe I should have handed him over, after all.”
Enrique blinked. “It appears that the transaction we had discussed is not possible,” he said. “But in view of the circumstances,. I guess I'll have to give you what you need, anyway. And may God help us all.”
Pathspace Page 67
