Korrogly said to Mirielle, ‘Well?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I believe it was he. I’d forgotten.’
‘Of course,’ said Korrogly. ‘Your flawed memory again.’ He engaged the jury’s eyes and smiled. ‘According to legend, just as Griaule lies dormant, so that same fate struck the wizard who stilled him . . . have you ever heard that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Had Mardo?’
‘I believe so.’
‘So then Mardo believed that this powerful wizard was yet alive? Moribund, but alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s talk about the work for a moment. Not the great work, just the ordinary run-of-the-mill work. Is it true that you took part in sexual rituals with Zemaille in that same room where he died?’
The vein in her temple pulsed.
‘Yes.’
‘And these rituals involved intercourse with Zemaille?’
‘Yes!’
‘And others?’
Mervale stood at the prosecution table. ‘Your Honor, I see no point in this line.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Wymer.
‘But there is a point,’ said Korrogly, ‘one I will shortly make plain.’
‘Very well,’ said Wymer impatiently. ‘But be succinct. The witness will answer.’
‘What was the question?’ Mirielle asked.
‘Did you participate in sex with others aside from Zemaille for ritual purposes?’ said Korrogly.
‘Yes.’
‘Why? What use did this wantonness serve?’
‘Objection.’
‘I’ll rephrase.’ Korrogly leaned against the defense table. ‘Did sex have a specific function in these rituals?’
‘I suppose . . . yes.’
‘And what was it?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Korrogly opened his briefcase, using the lid to hide the diary inside it from Mirielle’s eyes; he opened the little book. ‘Was it to prepare the flesh?’
Mirielle stiffened.
‘Shall I repeat the question?’
‘No, I . . .’
‘What does that mean, Miss Lemos . . . “to prepare the flesh”?’
She shook her head. ‘Mardo knew . . . I was never clear on it.’
‘Did you practice any sort of birth control prior to these rituals? Did you for instance drink some infusion of roots and herbs, or in other way attempt to prevent yourself from becoming pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yet on the night Zemaille died, you used no birth control.’
Mirielle came to her feet. ‘How do you . . .’ She bit her lip and sat back down.
‘I believe that night was considered by Zemaille to be the anniversary of the battle between Griaule and Archiochus, was it not?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I will introduce evidence,’ said Korrogly addressing the bench, ‘to show that this was indeed Zemaille’s opinion.’ He turned again to Mirielle. ‘Was it your intent on that night to become pregnant?’
She sat mute.
‘Answer the question, Miss Lemos,’ said Judge Wymer.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Why of all the nights did you hope to become pregnant on that one? Was it because you were hoping for a specific sort of child?’
She stared hatefully at him.
Korrogly let the lid of the briefcase fall, let her see the diary. ‘The name of the child whom you were to bear, was it to be Archiochus?’
Her jaw dropped, her eyes were fixed on the leather book.
‘Was it not Zemaille’s intent, the long focus of his great work, to achieve by some foul magic the liberation and repair of Archiochus’ soul? And for that purpose did he not need flesh that was so soiled and degraded, it would offer a natural habitat for the black mind of that evil and moribund man? Your soiled flesh, Miss Lemos. Was it not your function to provide the vile womb that would allow the soul of this loathsome wizard to be reborn in innocent flesh? And would he not, once he had come to manhood and regained his full powers, with Zemaille’s aid, seek once again to destroy the dragon Griaule?’
Instead of answering, Mirielle let out a scream of such pure agony and despair that the courtroom was thrown into a stunned silence. She lowered her head, resting it on the rail of the witness box; at last she sat up straight, her face transformed into a mask of hatred.
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Yes! And if hadn’t been for him’ – she flung out a hand, pointing to Lemos – ‘we would have killed the damned lizard! You would have thanked us . . . all of you! You would have praised Mardo as a liberator! You would have built statues, memorials. You . . .’
Judge Wymer cautioned her to silence, but she continued to rant; every muscle in her face was leaping, her eyes were distended, her hands gripping the rail.
‘Mardo!’ she cried, turning her face to the ceiling as if seeing through it into the kingdom of the dead. ‘Mardo, hear me!’
At length, unable to silence her, Wymer had her taken in restraints to an interrogation room, returned Lemos to his cell, and ordered a recess. After the courtroom had been cleared, Korrogly sat at the defense table, fingering the diary, staring gloomily into the middle distance; his thoughts seemed to arc out and upward like flares, bright for a moment, but then falling into darkness.
‘Well,’ said Mervale, coming to sit on the edge of the table, ‘I suppose I should offer my congratulations.’
‘It’s not over yet.’
‘Oh, yes it is! They’ll never convict now, and you know it.’
Korrogly nodded.
‘You don’t seem very happy about it.’
‘I’m just tired.’
‘It’ll sink in soon,’ Mervale said. ‘This is a tremendous victory for you. You’ve made your fortune.’
‘Hmm.’
Mervale got to his feet and extended a hand. ‘No hard feelings,’ he said. ‘I realize you were overwrought the other night. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if you are.’
Korrogly took his hand and was surprised to see actual respect in Mervale’s face – his surprise stemmed from the fact that he felt no respect for himself; he could not stop thinking of Mirielle, wanting her, even though he realized that everything between them had been a sham. And, too, he was dissatisfied. The case struck him as a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces fit neatly together, but whose picture made no sense.
‘Want a drink?’ Mervale asked.
‘No,’ said Korrogly.
‘Come on, man. Maybe there was some truth in what you said the other night, but I’m won over. You won’t find me patronizing you anymore. Let me buy you a drink.’
‘No,’ said Korrogly; then he looked up at Mervale with a grin. ‘You can buy me several.’
Six
Korrogly’s dissatisfaction did not wane with time; he remained uncertain of Lemos’ innocence, and everything that happened as a result of the gemcutter’s acquittal caused his dissatisfaction to grow more extreme.
Mirielle was declared incompetent, and the temple and its grounds were ceded to Lemos, who promptly sold them for an enormous sum; the buildings were razed and a hotel was planned for the site. Lemos also sold The Father of Stones at a large profit back to Henry Sichi, for it was now considered a relic of Griaule and thus of inestimable worth, and Sichi wanted it for an exhibit in the museum he had built to house such items. Lemos had invested the majority of his new wealth in indigo mills and silver mines, and had purchased a mansion out on Ayler Point; there, with the court’s permission, he and a staff of nurses took charge of nursing Mirielle back to health. They were rarely seen in public, but word had it that she was doing splendidly, and that father and daughter had reconciled.
Whenever he had a spare hour, his practice having grown large and profitable following the trial, Korrogly would use the time to do the pretrial work that he neglected and continued to investigate all the circumstances surrounding Zemaille’s death. In this he made no headway until almost a year and a half later,
when he interviewed an ex-member of the dragon cult on the beach below the bluff where the temple had once stood. The man, a slight balding fellow whose innocuous appearance belied his dissolute past, was nervous, and Korrogly had been forced to pay him well in order to elicit his candor. He was of little help for the most part, and it was only toward the end of the interview that he provided information that substantiated Korrogly’s doubts.
‘We all thought it strange that Mirielle took up with Mardo,’ he said, ‘considering what happened to her mother.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Korrogly asked.
‘Her mother,’ said the man. ‘Patricia. She came to the temple one night, the night she died as a matter of fact.’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No, I’ve heard nothing about it.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose it’s public knowledge. She only came the once, and that same night she drowned.’
‘What happened?’
‘Who can say? Word was that Mardo had her into his bed. Probably drugged her. Maybe she fought him. Mardo wouldn’t have liked that.’
‘Are you saying he killed her?’
‘Somebody did.’
‘Why didn’t any of you come forward with this?’
‘We were afraid.’
‘Of what?’
‘Griaule.’
‘That’s ludicrous.’
‘Is it, now? You’re the man who got Lemos off, you must understand what Griaule’s capable of.’
‘But what you’re saying, it throws a different light on things. Perhaps Lemos and Mirielle plotted this whole affair to get revenge, perhaps . . .’
‘Even if they did,’ said the man, ‘it was still Griaule’s idea.’
Following this interview, Korrogly checked the tides on the night of Patricia Lemos’ death and discovered that they had been sweeping out from the temple bluff toward Ayler Point, that had her body entered the water in the early morning, she might well – as had been the case – have washed ashore on Ayler Point. That, however, was the extent of his enlightenment. Despite exploring every avenue, he could come up with no evidence to implicate Lemos or his daughter in a plot against Zemaille. The matter continued to prey on him, to cause him bad dreams and sleepless nights; having been used, he had an overwhelming compulsion to understand the nature of that usage, to put into perspective all that happened, so that he could know the character of his fate. He did not know whether he wanted more to believe that he had been manipulated by Griaule or by Lemos and his daughter. Some nights he thought he would prefer to cling to the notion of free will, to think that he had been the victim of human wiles, not those of some creature as inexplicable as God; other nights he hoped that he had won the case fairly and freed an innocent man. The only thing he was certain of was that he wanted clarity.
Finally, having no other course of action open, he went to the source, to Lemos’ mansion on Ayler Point, and asked to see the gemcutter. A maid advised him that the master was not in, but that if he would wait, she would find out if the mistress was at home. After a brief absence she returned and ushered him onto a sunny verandah that overlooked the sea and provided a breathtaking view of the Almintra quarter. The strong sunlight applied a crust of diamantine glitter to the surface of the water, spreading it wider whenever the wind riffled the tops of the wavelets, and the gabled houses on the shore looked charming, quaint, their squalor hidden by distance. Mirielle, clad in a beige silk robe, was reclining on a lounge; on a small table close to her hand lay a long pipe and a number of dark pellets that Korrogly suspected to be opium. There was a clouded look to her eyes, and though she was still lovely, the marks of dissipation had eroded the fine edge of her good looks; a black curl was plastered to her sweaty cheek, and there was an unhealthy shine to her skin.
‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ she said lazily, indicating that he should take a chair beside her.
‘Is it?’ he said, feeling the rise of old longings, old bitternesses. God, he thought, I still love her, despite everything; she could commit any excess, any vileness, and I would love her.
‘Of course.’ She let out a fey laugh. ‘I doubt you’ll believe me, but I was quite fond of you.’
‘Fond!’ He made the word into an epithet.
‘I told you I couldn’t love you.’
‘You told me you’d try.’
She shrugged; her hand twitched toward the pipe. ‘Things didn’t work out.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ He gestured at the luxurious surround. ‘Things have worked out quite well for you.’
‘And for you,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard you’ve become a great success. All the ladies want you for their . . .’ A giggle. ‘Their solicitor.’
A large wave broke on the shore beneath the verandah, spreading a lace of foam halfway up the beach; the sound appeared to make Mirielle sleepy; her lids fluttered down, and she gave a long sigh that caused her robe to slip partway off one pale, poppling breast.
‘I tried to be honest with you,’ she said. ‘And I was. As honest as I knew how to be.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell me about your mother and Zemaille?’
Her eyes blinked open. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’ She sat up, pulling her robe closed, and regarded him with a mixture of confusion and displeasure.
‘Why have you come here?’
‘For answers. I need answers.’
‘Answers!’ She laughed again. ‘You’re more a fool than I thought.’
Stung by that, he said, ‘Maybe I’m a fool, but I’m no whore.’
‘A lawyer who thinks he’s not a whore! Will wonders never cease!’
‘Tell me,’ he demanded. ‘Nothing can happen to you now, your father can’t be tried again. It was you, wasn’t it? This was all a scheme, a plot to kill Zemaille and avenge your mother. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but . . .’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Mirielle,’ he said. ‘I need to know. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I could never hurt you. It almost killed me to have to do what I did to you in court.’
She met his eyes for a long moment. ‘It was easy,’ she said at last. ‘You were easy. That’s why we picked you . . . because you were so lonely, so naive. We just kept you spinning. With love, with fear, with misdirection. And finally with drugs. Before I – or rather Janice – took you to the temple, I slipped a drug into your drink. It made you highly suggestible.’
‘That’s what made me hallucinate?’
She looked perplexed.
‘The hidey hole behind the bed. The snakes, the . . .’
‘No, that was Mardo’s illusion. It was real enough. The drug only made you believe what I wanted you to – that we were in danger, being pursued. All that.’
‘What about the scale?’
‘The scale?’
‘Yes, the image of the dead wizard in the scale above Zemaille’s bed. Archiochus, I guess it was.’
Her brow wrinkled. ‘You were so frightened, you must have been seeing things.’
She got to her feet, swayed, righted herself by catching hold of the verandah railing. He thought he saw a softening in her face, the trace of a longing equal to his own, and he also thought he saw her madness, her instability. She would have had to be insane to do what she had, to be in love and not in love at the same time, to inhabit those roles fully, to lie and deceive with such compulsive thoroughness.
‘If we’d presented our evidence in a straightforward way,’ she said, ‘Daddy still might have been convicted. We needed to orchestrate the trial, to manipulate the jury. So we chose you to be the conductor. And you were wonderful! You believed everything we handed you.’ She turned, let her robe drop to expose her perfect back and said in a northern accent, ‘I’ve no great love for dragons.’
It was Janice’s voice.
He gazed at her, uncomprehending. ‘But she fell,’ he said. ‘I saw it.’
>
‘A net,’ she said. ‘Rigged just below the bluff.’ This she said in a fluting voice, the voice of the old woman, Kirin.
‘My God!’ he said.
‘A little make-up can do miracles,’ she said. ‘And I’ve always been good at doing voices. We planned for years and years.’
‘I still don’t understand. There were so many variables. How could you control them all? The nine witnesses, for example. How could you know they would run?’
She gave him a pitying look.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Right. There were no witnesses, were there?’
‘Only Mardo and I. And of course Daddy didn’t throw the stone. We couldn’t take a chance on him missing. We overpowered Mardo, and then he smashed in his skull with it. Then I took drugs to make it look as if I’d been laid out on the altar. The cult had already disbanded, you see. They were all afraid of the great work. It was already in process of breaking up when I joined. That was the heart of the plan. Isolating Mardo. I spent hours encouraging him in the great work; I knew the others would abandon him if they thought he actually might complete it. They were more afraid of Griaule than of him.’
‘Then that part of it was the truth?’
She nodded. ‘Mardo was obsessed with killing Griaule. He was mad!’
‘What about the knife, the hooded figure?’
She bowed. ‘I didn’t intend to injure your hand, merely to frighten you. I was so worried because I’d hurt you. I had to run around to the rear of the shop and climb the back stairs in order to make you think I’d been in the apartment, and I almost decided to forget about the plan, just to run to you and take care of you. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry! God!’
‘You haven’t got anything to complain about! Your life’s better than it’s ever been. And like you said, Mardo’s death was no great loss to anyone. He was evil.’
‘I don’t even know what that word means anymore.’
Looking back, he could see now the clues he should have seen long before, the similarities in nervous gesture between her and Kirin, her overwrought reaction when he had tried to talk about her mother, all the little inconsistencies, the too-pat connections. What an idiot he had been!
The Dragon Griaule Page 21
