"But, Judge," Fielding said, as if to keep Enderly from speaking before he did. "We don't presume to bargain from strength we don't have. We know this, however. You want Mr. Dubenshire very badly. You have an excellent first course in us, but we aren't, after all, the entree. Do you have anyone at your disposal who can do for you what we can? If we hang, who will serve up Dubenshire?"
"We have someone."
Fielding was clearly surprised by Tandy's reply. "Who?"
"You know I won't tell you that."
"Tess?" Fielding barked out a laugh. "She doesn't know a thing, Judge."
"She was about to become a murder victim. She knows enough. As do I." The judge's eyes narrowed. "Your sisters, man! Have you no conscience at all?"
Fielding stiffened, and when he replied his voice was not so smooth. "Why do you think I'm talking to you?"
"It's your skin you're interested in saving, not your soul."
Greta nodded and said to Aaron. "True enough. I can feel that in him. But there is something deeper. I can't quite get to it."
"Yes," Aaron replied, "I sense it, too."
"She knows nothing about Dubenshire," Fielding said, ignoring the judge's comment. "She can tuck Carroll and I away, but so can the mayor. You're talking about someone else." The judge made no reply, but neither did he leave. Fielding smiled suddenly. "He couldn't bear up, could he? The old fool." He looked at Enderly. "I told you having him watched wouldn't be enough. He was weak as it was, he's utterly collapsed now."
"You have a topsy-turvy sense of strength and weakness," Tandy said.
"Shane's hardly enough to implicate Dubenshire in this. Don't you think I know that?" But Fielding's smugness trembled at the corners fo his mouth. "Listen to me, Tandy. You're right. I want to save my skin. But I've got others reason for taking you to Dubenshire."
"What might those be?"
"Mine. They are my reasons. What difference would it make to you? I can give you Dubenshire. Do you want him?"
Tandy made a show of thinking this over, but Aaron and Greta could see it in his eyes: he was certain Fielding was ready to expose his superior. The lawman that had been eavesdropping studied the notes he had been writing as he walked out of the room. Tandy looked at Crider and an understanding passed between them.
"I promise you that you won't hang if you deliver Dubenshire," the judge said.
Enderly made no secret of his relief. Fielding sighed, but managed to maintain some dignity.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Coming Forward
When Knowledge began, the exact moment, Greta couldn't say. But when she became conscious of it was while Marshall and Enderly led the odd contingent up the steps of St. Anthony Episcopal. She was conscious of Knowledge, because she had realized she wasn't the least surprised to discover where they were headed. Indeed, the revelation about Dubenshire was the last time she experienced surprise.
Knowledge was nudging at the back of her memory, like a dim dream, as if to say, "You knew this already. You knew this all along."
But unlike a dimming dream, Knowledge was growing. It was pulsing like a slow heartbeat, or the steady pangs of birthing. She looked at Aaron, who looked back at her and smiled warmly. It was growing in him, too.
She felt a profound pity for the mortals in her midst. They had the seeds of Knowledge firmly imbedded, but not one of them--not even Walter Tandy--was awakened to it. It was difficult to think back, even days ago, and realize she was in the very same mix as they. Was it possible for mortals to sense Knowledge? Yes. Of course it was. Her mind was briefly flooded with faces and names, biblical and otherwise, all familiar in spite of the fact she had never heard of most of them in her lifetime.
The man behind the desk, however, was not in that roll call. Knowledge was dormant in him, as frozen as wheat grains in a glacier. He was calm, his manner measured. He was much too calm, in fact, for someone who was entertaining such a peculiar retinue of guests. There he sat in the rector's office at this late hour, as if working on some project. Greta was aware, as she knew Aaron was, that this man had been expecting the visit. The Reverend Mister Elliot Alcott.
Alcott nodded to the attendant who escorted the contingent to him, and the fellow left. Greta felt the spark. She knew the attendant's dismissal was significant. And she knew that the wheel that had been set in motion by that nod could not be stopped by her. She wondered mildly, 'Why doesn't this upset me? Why am I not frantic?'
Alcott lay the fountain pen down, folded his hands, and looked upon his visitors as if confounded by their presence. He focused particularly on Enderly, who could not hold his gaze for long, then on Marshall, and his brow creased more heavily. Was his puzzlement authentic? Was he astonished to see such betrayal in his minions? He turned his attention to Tandy and the police chief, his brow still creased.
"I suppose one of you will explain what's happening and why you're here?"
Tandy's surprise at having been led here was muted. His shock had abated long ago. Greta remembered the elder Shane's words during the past looking: I can tell you immense things about Dubenshire. She could see the judge's thoughts mixing and comparing even as he studied Alcott. But Police Chief Crider's expression had been one of utter confusion since they arrived. Even so, there was authority in Crider's voice as he turned to Marshall and Enderly before addressing Alcott.
"This had better not be a sick joke."
Marshall replied to the chief, though his eyes were fixed on Alcott, "Our lives are in the balance. Why would we bring you here if Mr. Dubenshire was not sitting before us?"
Alcott's eyes narrowed slightly, his head cocked. "Who?"
Crider addressed him. "Father, the men before you accuse you of plotting the murder of the Honorable Mayor Cyrus Walbridge."
"And plotting the murder of my sister," Greta added calmly. She and Aaron walked up to the front and stood to one side of Alcott to better listen.
Alcott appeared to be amused by Crider's remark. "If the hour were not so late, Chief Crider, and you weren't accompanied by armed lawmen--and so distinguished a judge--I'd think you were at an elaborate prank. I do, of course, know these gentlemen. Mr. Fielding," he went on, his tone tinged with distaste, "I would be less than honest if I were to say it surprises me to see you in such a bizarre situation. I've watched you follow the footsteps of your late father and saw you plunge yourself into the same avarice as he. But there always seemed to be a place in your soul that might allow salvation." Alcott sighed, incredulity so well affected how could any mortal doubt it? "But, Carroll, my friend. What are you doing here? How did Mr. Fielding corrupt you? You would accuse me of something so outrageous? I simply...I just don't understand any of this."
"Oh, do stop all this ridiculous posturing," Marshall began.
"Sir!" Alcott said, as offended as any innocent man. "I'll hear from Carroll..."
Marshall sneered. "Carroll is in no condition to say anything, the goddamned coward."
"You watch such language."
"Stop it, Alcott. It's over. I won't hang for you." Marshall looked at Tandy. "This man is no enemy of my father, he's a student. And he's more than surpassed the teacher. He weaseled into my father's life during his twilight years, followed him around like a goddamned puppy. Everything about Alcott is contrived, including his precious priesthood. He convinced Father to pay for his seminary. Don't you understand? He manipulated my father into grooming him for his double life, had the old man treating him like a son." Marshall glared at Alcott. "He had a son."
"This is ludicrous," Alcott exclaimed, rising.
Tandy stayed him with a raised hand. "I assure you, I want to hear what you have to say, sir. But not right now."
Marshall continued. "He took everything from me. Crawled underneath Father's skin, cheated me of my inheritance, my birthright, took it all except that mausoleum of a house. And the only reason he didn't talk Father out of that, too, was so he could own me like he owns the entire underseam of the city. It's taken him years,
but he's woven it into an elaborate fabric. And only a handful of people have ever known who he is, only a handful know the real name behind the aliases: Jimson, Landers, Dubenshire. That one was his maternal grandmother's maiden name."
"That's not telling us what we need to know," the police chief said, impatiently. "Even if Father Alcott is Mr. Dubenshire, why would he plot to kill the mayor?"
Enderly came to life. "Why do princes murder kings, you idiot? God, how long to we have to stand here blathering? He wants the city. He's got his man ready for the mayoralty. Elias Page is in his back pocket."
Elias. Greta raised her brows and nodded. Of course. The room fell silent and Tandy stepped back as if pushed. Elias Page, preparing to leave the bench and challenge the mayor in the upcoming election. Yes, it was falling into place. Enderly kept talking.
"Not much chance of the Republicans holding on in the wake of a scandal like child lovers and suicide, is there? The Roscoe woman was the easy pick, Fielding had no trouble reeling her in..."
"I didn't know," Marshall retorted. "I swear to God I didn't know until it was too late. I thought Alcott just needed her as an incentive in his businesses. I didn't have a choice, he owned me."
Enderly's laugh was bitter and hard. "'Didn't have a choice, didn't have a choice'," he mimicked. "Fielding's Lament. When'd you first start singing that one? When you forced that brew down old, sick Burgess' gullet? Nobody had their hand on your neck, did they? Greta was your recommendation. Her name was out of your mouth as quickly as Alcott told us to find a good harlot." Enderly turned to Tandy. "He botched all that up, but the younger Roscoe girl would've made the better scandal anyway. With Alcott's influences, Page would've acquired the Democratic nomination, taken the mayoralty, and Alcott would pull his strings."
"The age of the 'Five' compressed into 'One'," Tandy said, with understanding.
Marshall snorted and the judge looked at Alcott with renewed disgust. Then he addressed Marshall and Enderly. "You need more than your words to prove all this."
"We have more than words," Marshall said. "Carroll's always been Alcott's darling. He even has personal gifts, right down to a lovely pocket watch, don't you, Carroll? Big rewards for being second man, and a meticulous records' keeper. One can't run a secret empire without proper ledgering. We can take you to it."
Tandy nodded at Crider. "All right. Father Alcott, you'll join us."
Alcott was looking properly outraged and anxious as he stood. "I dare say."
He walked to the coat rack and gathered his jacket, turned, and looked past the contingent as they prepared to leave. He nodded. It was as subtle as the shadow that moved, swift and silent, just beyond the open door of Alcott's offices. It was doubtful anyone could have noticed even if they had been looking for it. But Greta and Aaron didn't need to see it to know it.
The air outside the church was as crisp and chill as the sound of the assassin's gun, twice, very accurate. Marshall and Enderly could not have been better targets walking as they were a pace before the rest. For the second time that night pandemonium spread across the scene like hoarfrost. Crider was shouting orders, two policemen were running in the direction of the shots, but the assassin had been swift. Alcott stood away from the panic, his hands folded, a calm quite unlike the pitying calm of Greta as she knelt beside her brother. Marshall lay sprawled like something discarded, blood spreading over his chest. His eyes stared vacantly at Greta.
"Ah, Marshall," she whispered, and felt Aaron kneel beside her.
She wanted to say more, some regret over her brother's wasted tortured life, but the words caught in her throat. She peered at his face. Something was happening. A gelatinous membrane, rather like afterbirth, was pushing through the pores of his skin, growing out of his head into a thick globule. It was hardly a pretty sight. But it was a miraculous one, and Greta moved away, her eyes transfixed as she found Aaron's hand.
"Greta," Aaron said, his tone hushed, "do you realize what's happening?"
Greta nodded as the globule grew six feet long, acquired a fleshy look, and took on shape. It even formed a replica of the clothing on Marshall's corpse. By the time it had reached its proper dimensions Marshall's spirit lay in perfect reproduction of its lifeless shell, less the damage done by the assassin's bullet.
"That was absolutely gruesome," Greta said. "Did we look like that coming out?" Marshall blinked, propped himself on one elbow, then looked around in confusion. Greta took a few tentative steps toward him. "Marshall?"
He struggled to look up, and at first he didn't know her. Finally, recognition flashed across his face. Then horror. He cried out, skittering backward as he managed to gain his feet. Greta quickly walked toward him, but he shrieked all the more, recoiling from her.
"No. Stay away."
"Marshall," she said, as if calming a child. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. No one can hurt you."
"No." Aaron walked around Marshall and put his hands on his shoulders. It was a tender gesture, but Marshall shrieked, tumbling away from Aaron and falling against Greta. Again he screamed and pushed away, falling to the ground. "No. No!"
"Please," Greta tried again, but she could see something in his eyes: a violent, terror-filled flash. She felt panic for his sake, and knelt beside him. "Don't do this to yourself."
"Get away. Get away." He rolled from her, fighting the lethargy, and began to whimper, staring at Greta, his eyes round and grotesque.
"Don't, Marshall. You'll be all right if you accept your death..."
"Don't come near me. Don't say that." He looked like a rabid animal, baring his teeth. "Don't come near me. I'll kill you."
They stayed where they were as Marshall struggled to his feet, raking his fingers through his hair, looking this way and that as if hoping for escape. It was then he laid eyes on his corpse. A guttural, vibrating moan roiled out of his throat as he backed away from his body, his eyes yellow with insanity. Marshall stumbled off into the night, raking his hands incessantly through his hair.
"Oh, dear Lord. Marshall."
Greta would have gone after him had Aaron not gently stayed her. Aridite's "tsk-tsk" came from behind. They both turned. There was another being with him, glowing as brilliantly as he; a woman, and her glow seemed to merge with his. She had the features of a person of color, but unlike Aridite she was lithe, dressed in prim, high-necked lace, her hair set in a loose bun. Like Aridite she was watching Marshall stagger away.
"My, my. No surprises here," she said. "This one's going to take a long while."
She regarded Greta and Aaron pleasantly. Then she smiled at Aridite and touched his shoulder in salutation before walking after Marshall. The angels' hazy glows pulled from each other like warm taffy.
"Where have you been?" Greta asked.
"Not far," Aridite replied.
"You told me you'd be with Greta if she needed you," Aaron groused.
Aridite smiled. "That's right."
"But you weren't with her."
"Aaron, she didn't need me. She needed you."
Greta's thoughts turned to Marshall again. "Will he be all right?"
"He hasn't begun well, has he?" the angel replied. "Who's to say? He's not alone, though."
"But is Tess? Alone? And how will she live without the money? Oh, Aridite, all this time we thought Marshall had the money. Instead old Burgess trapped him like he trapped us."
"Judge and Mrs. Tandy very much want her to become their ward," the angel replied. "And Marshall did, after all, have the house. That'll bring her quite a tidy sum."
"I can hardly believe it," Aaron said. He looked to Aridite and couldn't resist one last snipe. "So, we've discovered our murderer, but I'm betting our goal was never that at all."
"Of course not. This is the Afterlife, not a Sherlock Holmes novel."
"You said that was our goal. We were in the flat, and you said precisely that just before you left us in hopes we would sleep."
"You hadn't let me finish. I was saying you needed
to find out who did it, as a vehicle to your goal. Your mind was such a tumult, though, I didn't see much point in persisting. You'd find your way sooner or later, find your flowering souls among the thickets, if I may wax poetic. That was your goal. But you know that now."
As if provoked by Aridite's words, Greta felt Knowledge surge again and she gasped at its force. She leaned against Aaron, his hand slipped over hers. She raised her face to him and she would have kissed Aaron had he not abruptly twisted from her.
"What about Enderly?" he asked. "What about Alcott?"
Her attention turned with Aaron's to the circle of police hovering over Enderly. He wasn't dead. But he was in a violent struggle against death, his lungs sucking at every breath. Crider had his hands mashed against Enderly's left side, doing his best to staunch the flow of blood. In the distance the bells of the ambulance wagon were clanging frantically.
"Will he live?" Aaron asked.
"Carroll Enderly is no longer our concern," Aridite replied.
Once, Greta would have flared with indignation to hear such words. Everything hung on Enderly's survival. Without him, Alcott would continue. But the angel was right. For the time being Enderly's fate belonged with the living. The angel nodded toward the bustle. Tandy was standing very close to Alcott, watching him as if trying to decipher the ersatz minister's somber gaze.
"Wish them luck, Greta. Aaron, it's time to leave."
Greta looked at Aaron's shining eyes. He turned to Aridite, and said rather puckishly, "I don't suppose you mean we're going back to the flat."
The angel smiled. "No."
Knowledge surged more strongly, growing with greater leaps, and again she gasped. She stared at Aaron, then at Aridite. "It's time?" she whispered, though she knew already.
Oh, Tess. Good-bye, my darling. And Father. Good-bye. Knowledge was coming at a dizzying rate, as though a floodgate had been thrown open. She thought she might grow weak from the barrage, but that thought was a leftover. Knowledge was pure vitality, pure strength. It was impossible to be weakened by it. She found herself struggling with another leftover, for she wanted so badly to name Knowledge, to squeeze it into words somehow. But she mustn't. To name it only masked it.
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