by Gene Wolfe
So now I was up here, and there was nothing for me to do but wait. My broken watch had disappeared with my old clothes, but I figured it must be about four a.m. Or it could be five. I went to the front and stood there a while, looking out over the city. There were only two buildings taller than that tower in it, and you could see the roofs of all the rest. Later on, when the sky started to get light, you could see down a lot of the streets, too.
That was when I moved to the back to wait. At first I tried sitting on the flat coping back there, but it was too high for my feet to reach the walkway. So I just leaned against it and checked my gun, and put it back, and waited.
It seemed like a long time but it cannot have been, because the sun was not showing yet when I heard his feet on the steps down below. I knew that if he looked around, he would see me. That was when I looked around good myself and saw there was somebody else up there with me already. It was the third border guard, just standing in a corner. He did not say anything to me, and I did not say anything to him, either. The two of us just waited.
The first thing I saw was the archbishop’s little black cap and his white hair under it. He was facing away from me when he came up the steps so I could not see his face. He went to the front and leaned against the low wall with his arms stiff and his hands on the top, and he looked out at the city pretty much like I had. He was saying something, but I could not quite hear what it was. Just whispering to himself.
So I edged closer until I could see his profile, and then I knew I had been right. Maybe I should have cleared my throat or something to let him know I was there, but I did not. I knew what I was going to have to do, and I was not looking forward to it.
Finally he saw me and turned to look at me, and began to say something. Only he thought better of it and shut his mouth instead.
I said, “Good morning, Your Excellency. Do I have to show you my badge?”
He did not speak, so I pulled it out of my pocket and opened it for him to see, and stuck it back in. That was when I would have noticed the hand was in there, if it was. But I did not.
I said, “You know why I’m here. You knew it as soon as you saw me. I could see it in your eyes. We caught a bunch of your people last night at the undertaker’s. Did anybody tell you?”
He shook his head, moving it just a little.
“It was pretty late. Probably they didn’t want to wake you up. Three are dead, but we got ten alive.”
I waited, but he did not say a word.
“Here I could tell you they ratted you out. Maybe I ought to. The truth is I don’t know, but if they haven’t, they will. Ten of them? Most of them women? We’ll keep after them day and night until they pass out, and go after them again as soon as we can wake them up. One will talk. Probably they all will.”
He said something too soft for me to hear, and he kept on saying it, his lips moving and moving. Pretty soon I realized there was somebody else there besides the third border guard, the archbishop, and me. Just having it there made me angry and sad and terribly down, but I kept going.
“I said I could tell you they had, but I won’t. There have been too many lies in your life already, or at least that’s how I think it must have been. Shall I tell you how I knew?”
He said, “Please do, my son. I wish you would.”
“Two things. The first was the hand. You told Naala and me that the tattoos were curses. I got someone I trust to translate a couple of them, and they were prayers.”
He did not speak.
“I guess they looked like curses to you, so that was what you told us they were.”
The archbishop said, “What was the other?”
“It was something I picked up from a priest I know. I won’t tell you his name, but he had been in a hurry to talk to you.”
I paused for a few seconds before going on.
“He knew you climbed this tower every morning, so he got up early and waited for you to come down. He told me about it, and I could see something was bothering him quite a bit. He never said what it was, so it bothered me, too. The first thing I thought of was that he was worried about your health, afraid you had a bad heart or something.”
He said, “I do.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Only if this priest had been worried about a heart attack, he would have said so.”
“Papa Zenon.”
“Right. So what else could it have been? For a while I thought it was something you told him that he couldn’t tell other people. Then I thought about the tattoos that were really prayers, and it hit me. It was the way you had looked when you came down from—”
I stopped talking because he was not paying attention. He was staring at something beside me, so I shut up and looked, too. It was my gun on the coping, stood up straight and pointed right at him. The hand had it.
Maybe I should have grabbed it. I did not. I froze, and I saw him throw his leg over the coping, moving a lot faster than I would have thought a man his age could. The rest of him followed his leg. I tried to grab him. My fingers brushed his sleeve, and he was gone. People in movies scream all the way down. He did not make a sound until he hit.
He just fell. When I looked over, I saw him way down on the pavement below, a little splash of black and a tiny dot of red beside it.
When I had gone down the first three steps I turned around and looked back, thinking I ought to remember how it had been up there, and that I would probably never go there again. The third border guard was standing at the top of the steps like he had known I would do that. He touched his forehead as if he were saluting, and it looked to me like he was smiling under his mustache.
Then he was gone.
The bad feeling I had when I was up there came down the first twenty or thirty steps with me, then I tripped on something I could not see and almost fell. After that I started saying certain things under my breath. I am not going to tell you what they were because they probably would not work for you. A lot of it was from my mother, who passed away when I was six. I still remember her, though. How pretty she was and the songs she used to sing, and some of the stories she used to tell me.
I thought by the time I got down to the ground there would be a big crowd around the archbishop, but there was nobody. I guess it was too early. I did not want to look at him and just walked away.
By the time I got back to Naala’s apartment she was up and moving around. I could hear her in there, so I tapped on the door and she let me in. She was not dressed yet, but she was wearing an old robe. She looked at me for a minute and then she said, “This is most bad, I think.”
I shrugged and went over to the chair I usually sat in and sat down.
“You are going to tell me.”
“Not now,” I said. “Later. Only yes, I’ve got to. Maybe you won’t want to report it. Maybe you will. I don’t know.”
“I must dress.” She bustled away.
After a minute or two she called from the bedroom, “We go out and get something. My green dress or the black one? Which is it you think?”
I told her to please wear the green one.
“I agree. Green is better.”
We went out, and when we had gone past several cafés, one closed and two or three already open, she said, “We walk and walk until you are ready to stop, Grafton. You must tell me then.”
I saw a café on the other side of the street that had tables outside, and pointed. “There. All right?”
She said it was.
Once we had a table she glanced at the menu, we ordered, and I had a good look around. There was nobody close enough to overhear us if I kept my voice down, so I said, “The Undead Dragon? It was the archbishop, Naala. It really was, and he’s dead.”
She drummed her fingers on the table and looked away, and looked back. Then she looked away again. Finally she said, “Tell me.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” I said. Really there was a lot, but I had decided not to tell all that. “I figured it out last night, and this morning
…” I did not know how to say it. “He climbed the tower of the cathedral every morning. Remember how he told us that?”
She nodded.
“I decided to go up there and wait for him, and hit him with it when he came up. So I did. He came up, and after he had looked out at the city for a minute I came over and showed him my badge. He hadn’t seen me til then. I told him we’d picked up a bunch of prisoners last night, and they were talking.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Are they, Grafton?”
“Not as far as I know, but I said they were. Then I told him that if he came along quietly there’d be no rough stuff, but I wanted to pat him down first. When I reached out to take hold of him, he jumped.”
“From the top of the tower?”
“Right. That drop would kill anybody.”
She stared at me. I think she was seeing if I could look her in the eye. I could and did. Finally she said, “You shoot him and throw his body off the tower.”
I shook my head.
“I must see your gun. Take it out and give it to me.”
I said, “Sure,” and handed it over.
She sniffed the muzzle, then pulled the magazine out. You could see the cartridges through holes in the sides, and it was full. She put it in again and gave the gun back to me. “You throw him off the tower. That will be better for us. There will be no bullet—”
“The hell I did!” I made it as strong as I could. “I swear I never laid a finger on him. Not one single finger! There’s a stone railing up there and he went over it before I could grab him.”
She was quiet after that until our breakfasts came. Then she said, “Who sees you there?”
“Nobody.”
“You are sure of this?”
I said, “Yes. It was about five. Nobody saw me except him.”
“We do not speak. Not now and never it may be. I must find a telephone.”
“Who are you going to tell?”
She grinned. It had hit her hard, but she was over it. “Nobody. Did not I say this? We tell nobody, but when we have eaten I must find a telephone.”
So we did, walking quite a way before we found a police phone on a light pole. She opened it up, pushed buttons, and asked for the man I have been calling Baldy. There was a wait and some hassling back and forth. When she had him she said, “Grafton and I go out for breakfast this morning, sir, and in the café in which we eat there is a rumor concerning the archbishop. You have hear of this?”
…
“This rumor say he has taken his own life. Perhaps it is untrue, but I feel you should know of the rumor, sir.”
…
“That is most well, sir. Grafton and I will go if you wish it.”
…
“Yes, sir. We will continue, as you say.” She hung up, smiling.
I asked what Baldy had said.
“He say he will send operators to see if it is true. Should it be true, they will keep safe the records of the archdiocese. These must be secure. It is what I wish.”
“Will they have a look at them?”
“But of course! Here is a most wonderful chance for us to look at everything when there is no one to object. Tomorrow, I think, the oldest bishop comes. He will say this must stop. They will continue. He will complain to the Leader. The Leader will wait a day, two days, three it might be. Then he will order them to stop and they will stop. By this time we know much and perhaps we know everything.” Naala started walking. She always walked fast.
Almost trotting to keep up, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“You will see!” I got the mean grin. “You will not like, I think.”
I believe she started to tell me then, but maybe not. What is for sure is that I was not paying much attention. Up ahead I had seen somebody. He saw me, too, and when he saw me he ducked into the trees around a building full of shops he was passing.
He got out of sight fast, but not fast enough. I knew I had seen Kleon.
23
THE DEAD DRAGON
I should have guessed where we were going, but I did not. It was one hell of a long way, but we flagged down a black-and-silver and got a ride to a low gray building on the far side of the river in the oldest part of the city.
He had beaten us there and was already stretched out, face up on a slab. All the other dead people were face up, too, and I felt like I was back at the undertaker’s, only with bright lights and more bodies. I told Naala that in America we covered them up with sheets and put each of them in its own compartment on a metal slab with rollers. She said, “Here we do not,” and she was right. It was really cold in there, but not freezing.
The attendant, I do not know what you call those, was a big ugly guy about fifty who had not shaved that morning. He came over like he wanted to help, and after a minute or so he asked us, “They cannot be buried in holy ground, yes? What will they do?”
“He falls by accident,” Naala said. She was still looking at the archbishop. I think looking for bulletholes or stab wounds. Anything like that.
The big ugly guy was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “I will remember.”
After that we went to Papa Iason’s, which was maybe half a mile from there. He was still eating breakfast and invited us to sit down. We told him we had already eaten, but we got coffee anyway.
“For you we have good news,” Naala began, “also bad. Which is it you desire to hear first, Papa?”
“The bad, of course.”
“As you wish. His Excellency is climb the cathedral tower each morning for exercise. You know of this, I am sure.”
Papa Iason nodded.
“This morning he falls, Papa.” Naala’s tone made what she had not said pretty clear.
Papa Iason crossed himself, bowed his head, and began to pray. It was loud enough for me to catch a few words, but too fast for me to follow what he was saying. Naala and I sat and watched and sipped weak coffee. I wanted to whisper a little prayer for the archbishop, but I could not do it.
Finally Papa Iason looked up and said, “He will be remembered a long, long time.”
We nodded.
“I will dedicate my mass tomorrow to him. I have already said my mass for today, you understand.”
Naala said, “He was a man of many years. A man older than most men will ever be.”
Papa Iason sighed. “He should have had a rail on the steps. It could have been done easily, and many suggested it.”
Naala nodded.
I said, “He certainly should have!” I was remembering whatever it had been that had tripped me on those steps in the dark. I got scared every time I thought about it.
“There will be a mass in the cathedral with every priest in the country in attendance.” Papa Iason smiled. “We will fill all the seats and stand in the aisles. Every priest and every nun. Monks from the monasteries.”
He looked at me. “You come from the West and know nothing of this, I suppose, but our monasteries nearly failed when the communists were in charge. Things are better now, but it is a hard life. A most hard life. Few men will live as they do. I thought long about it, but in the end—well, you see what I chose.”
Naala said, “What of my good news, Papa? Would you not wish to hear also?”
Papa Iason smiled and ate a piece of bacon. “Yes, indeed! And I must eat, otherwise Mrs. Vagaros will think I am ill and make me soak my feet in the water that steams. What is your good news?”
“Your father is no longer a fugitive. He assists the JAKA against the Unholy Way.”
Papa Iason just stared at her. You do not see the color go out of somebody’s face very often, but I saw it then. Finally he said, “You know.”
“I am of the JAKA, Papa. I have not concealed this from you.”
Papa Iason nodded, really slowly. “Surely he was in great danger.”
I said, “He was. Maybe he still is. They took a shot at him last night.”
“God grant they missed.”
“Yeah. They did. He didn’t.”
Naala said, “Three he kill. Three of the evil one’s worshippers. It was brave work, but we prefer prisoners. We got ten. This, too, was the good work of your father. Of Grafton, also.”
I shook my head. “They just about had me.”
Naala said, “First you send the policeman to bring me. If you had not, we would have taken none. This I know.”
Papa Iason said, “Three he killed. It was my father who did this?”
I said, “Right. He had a shotgun.”
“I see.” Papa Iason looked troubled.
“He’s been staying with a friend in the city. Maybe we could take you to see him, if you want to go. It’s up to Naala.”
“I ask a favor instead. A great favor. You owe me no favors, I know. I ask it even so. Will you take me to the cathedral?”
So we did. There was no blood at all, just a clean spot on the pavement in front. I pointed it out to Naala after Papa Iason had gone inside. After that she wanted to see the steps to the top of the tower. I was afraid she was going to want to climb up, but she did not. We were leaving the tower when another JAKA operator ran up to us. It took me a minute to place her, but that was only because I am really pretty stupid. It was the gray-haired lady who had tried on so many hats. She told Naala, “I see a car through window. I think it may be you.” She was a little breathless.
“You have news?”
“Yes! Yes!” Then she wanted to know if I was me, so I got out my badge case and showed my badge and ID card.
“I am Omphala. You are to go to Central at once, both must go. First you find three people, then go. The man is Russell Rathaus. His wife, also, and the woman with her. You bring them all. At once go!”
I said, “Martya?”
“Yes, I think. She is with the man Rathaus? Her you must bring, too.”
When Naala and I were in the car on the way to pick up Russ, I asked her what was up.
