Chapter 11: Chapter 11
14th October
Valentina was asleep, hugging Nathan's pillow. It was already noon, but Vivene had not woken up since she went to bed around midnight. Brannon bent over her with some anxiety, peering into her face. He suspected that yesterday's miracle was not as easy for her as she said, and put his hand on her forehead. It was cool.
"What's happened?" Valentina asked sleepily.
"Are you okay? How do you feel?"
"Quite well," his wife muttered. "But I'll probably get some more sleep…"
"Of course. We won't bother you."
Vivene sighed gratefully. The commissar stroked her light golden hair and, on reflection, covered her with his frock coat. Valentina slept, clinging to Nathan all night, and her braid unraveled, wrapping both of them in a soft warm blanket. Now the hair covered Valentina to her feet and went down to the floor. Nathan picked up the silky strands and laid them on the bed.
He put on his frock coat, straightened his tie, and quietly closed the door behind him. The hound was waiting for him in the corridor. He looked inquiringly at the door and waved his tail.
"It's okay," Brannon said. "She a little tired and sleeping off."
The hound nodded and trotted towards the stairs. The Cardinal was due to arrive by noon, and the Commissar went down the hall to meet him while Longsdale showed Miss Oettinger the evidence he had collected, and Jen investigated the crack.
His Eminence arrived exactly at noon. He looked perfectly healthy, but very tired and even lost weight. Brannon shook his hand and said quietly:
"I'm sorry. Excuse me. We didn't have time before…"
"Nothing. We can at least bury the dead in a Christian way."
"How many?"
"Forty-eight survived," Savarelli replied. Nathan glanced at the rower and was relieved to recognize Brother Luca. The young inquisitor gave him a deep bow and looked questioningly at the cardinal. He nodded.
"Signor," Brother Luca said, "shall we find the one who killed them all?"
"We'll find him," Brennon said. "And we will make him pay."
The inquisitor silently gripped the oar.
"Come on in. The consultants will probably finish soon and go up to the office."
"I brought you documents that we managed to collect, but did not look through," the cardinal showed Brennon a hefty folder. "Here are all the records from the last fifty years about the boys handed over to the Dominicans. Are you saying more consultants have arrived?"
"Arrived. One," the commissar coughed in embarrassment. "Now I will introduce you."
When they reached the office, Miss Oettinger, her puma, and Longsdale were already there. They rose to meet the cardinal, and he stared incredulously at the consultant, and then, in some amazement, turned his eyes to her puma.
"Miss Regina Oettinger," the Commissar said, "is from Dorngern. We worked together on the Roismann case. Cardinal Savarelli, head of the local inquisition."
His Eminence coughed, puffed, turned a little purple and held out his hand to the lady. Regina shook it and said with a smile:
"Don't worry, I'm az effective az my colleag."
"I don't doubt it for a second," the cardinal said diplomatically, looked sideways at the puma again and clarified in a whisper: "Is it really tame?"
The big cat, curled up in a ball by the fireplace, raised her head, gave His Eminence a contemptuous look, and snorted. The hound patted Cardinal's knee with his tail encouragingly and lay down next to the puma. The Commissar invited everyone to the table in front of the mirror, which had already begun to glow.
A second later, Angel Redfern appeared in it. Margaret stood beside him, leaning slightly against the back of his chair; Nathan noticed with concern that she was pale and also looked tired, even shadows appeared under her eyes.
"Good morning," the Commissar said. "Your Eminence, let me introduce you to Mister Angel Redfern, the creator of all potions, amulets, weapons and other supplies for the consultants. His assistant," This was not easy for Nathan," is Miss Sheridan."
Longsdale and Regina Oettinger almost jumped up and stared at the pyromaniac like children at St. Nicholas with a sack of Christmas presents. But Redfern did not deign to look at them, but looked at the cardinal, and for the first time in his life Brennon saw the sympathy on the face of the pyromaniac. The pyromaniac quietly asked:
"How many have you lost?"
"One third," Savarelli replied. Angel lowered his head and Margaret put her hand on his shoulder.
"Have you seen this before?" The cardinal asked abruptly, and the pyromaniac nodded silently. "Where?!"
"Before the opening the crack," Redfern muttered. "Then we managed to kill all... infected. We didn't have vivene to save us."
Savarelli swallowed. Nathan did not blame him: the appearance of Vivene in the radiance of the grace-filled power would have pretty shocked even a down-and-out atheist. Last night, the cardinal clung to the Commissar like a tick, and Brennon with great difficulty fended off persistent questions about the angel in glory and other theological nonsense. He did not even suspect that Savarelli believed in all this at all. On the other hand, Nathan did not really imagine how to explain to a minister of the church that he and his inquisitors owe their salvation to an almost pagan goddess.
"We need to know how it happened," Longsdale said softly. "Tell us what happened after we left."
Savarelli dropped his hands on the folder and clenched his fists. It was not easy for him to start, but no one rushed him.
"When you left," the cardinal finally spoke up, "I ordered the interrogation of the fishermen and their priest, and I myself took up the documents about the foster children. We have our own archive, and brother Hilario…" The cardinal's voice died down. The Commissar did not ask what had happened to the archivist. After a pause, His Eminence continued: "He found all the documents, and I began to look through them. Besides, I was getting ready to go to the Hounde and wanted to write several letters to other branches of the Inquisition. Fortunately, I didn't have time. Who knows, this infection would not have clung to paper..."
"It would have clung," Redfern said. "You were infected from the moment you approached the fish."
"Now I myself know, but then I did not understand anything when the inquisitors who were interrogating came up to me and said that all the fishermen and the padre suddenly felt ill. I myself went down to them, but at first glance it did not seem to me that something was wrong with them. They complained of weakness, chills and at the same time - fever, they were confused in words, two of them had already started delirium. Thank God," here the cardinal crossed himself, "we have our own doctor, brother Filippo, and we first called him. If we had sent for another doctor…" Savarelli shiered..
- When did you lock all the windows and doors and hang the ribbons? Longsdale asked.
"I immediately forbade all inquisitors to go out and let in those who came to us. Brother Filippo suspected poisoning with poisonous vapors from fish, we took the fishermen and the padre to our infirmary and left them in the care of the doctor. I returned to my office, but two or three hours later Brother Filippo came up to me and reported that they got worse - spots and buboes appeared on their bodies, and we..." the cardinal looked at his hands. He must have seen the same thing on them... later. Nathan's heart sank. He didn't know what he would do if he had to decide what to do in such a situation.
"Then I ordered to hang up the ribbons and lock all the entrances and exits. Brother Matteo and some of his colleagues who know some words..."
"Spells," Brennon explained to the pyromaniac. He just twitched an eyebrow.
"They decided to use them and some mixtures… potions," the cardinal surrendered. "We used spells and potions, but after half an hour, the brothers, who interrogated the fishermen, complained of malaise. And then Brother Filippo's assistants and himself. And then... then it became clear to me," he lowered his head and muttered: "If I knew - I would kill them all, out of mercy, because... they just rotted alive," he whispered and closed his eyes.
"You couldn't have known," Redfern said with unexpected gentleness. "Nobody can know this, except those," he hesitated; Margaret squeezed his shoulder, and he covered her hand with his, "except for those who have already seen it."
"It is goot that there are not many sush people yed," Miss Oettinger said, pouring a glass of wine and moving it to the cardinal.
"By four o'clock," Savarelli continued, "we realized that everyone was infected. And me too. There was a little panic, but I was able to calm them down. I thought we could find a cure. But then we still did not fully understand what the matter was, I even wanted to contact you, and then Brother Filippo's assistant came running to me. Fishermen and padre - something strange was happening to them."
The Commissar tensed. Yesterday he did not fully understand what was happening in the inquisitorial palazzo - it was only clear to him that the infection was much worse than it seemed at first glance. But how much worse is it?
"They were wandering," His Eminence said. "Decomposing on the go, they - the fishermen and their padre - wandered in circles around the chamber, and made this sound... as if the howl on one note, without interruption for inhalation and exhalation. Chunks of flesh just fell off them, but they moved while... while..."
He fell silent. Brannon sat, gripping the armrests of the chair. Lord, what kind of shit is this?!
"Until they spotted us," the cardinal managed. "And then they… began to connect. I have never seen... and I hope I will never see..." He grabbed the glass and drank in one gulp. The consultants and their familiars stared at him in silence. Nathan had never seen them so confused. They even became even paler than usual.
"They were merging," Redfern said suddenly. "Combined into one. Right?"
"God," Margaret breathed. The cardinal nodded.
"When it turned towards us, we... we could not... But then, when we run to the end of the corridor, I ordered to barricade the doors, hang on them all the amulets that we found, and... so we left it. It wandered there and tried to get out, but we did not let it pass... until the end."
"And then you realized..." Angel muttered.
"I couldn't tell them that this awaits us too," the cardinal said quietly. "But they figured it out for themselves. It was the worst hour for all of us."
Brannon averted his eyes. Yesterday he did not understand what the people should have experienced, watching how their comrades, one after another, not just die, but turn... into something. And knowing that this awaits everyone, they still managed...
"It took about twelve hours," Savarelli said. "The fishermen first touched the fish at about seven in the morning, and transformed at about seven in the evening. So we knew when our brothers who got infected first would be…" He clenched his fists; a minute later, having mastered himself, he continued: "We transferred them to their cells at nine o'clock in the evening and locked them up. Brother Filippo and his assistants descended on their own. We - we will bury them tonight. The last duty for them..." Savarelli fell silent and clutched the cross on his chest. He was pale yellow, as if he had seen the otherworldly filth take them away one by one again.
"Have you tried to contact us?" Longsdale asked; Nathan woke up from his question and suddenly saw that the hound and the puma were sitting next to the cardinal, not taking his eyes off him.
"At first I tried, but then all these events distracted me, and then I was just afraid that the infection would be transmitted to you even through the mirror. When you called me yourself, I didn't even want to answer, but then... hope dies last, right?"
"Forgive me," the consultant replied. "I really couldn't help you."
"By this time, my illness had already reached the stage of fever and festering buboes. But for some reason, it developed more slowly than the others, like those brothers who have been with me for a long time. We were just deciding what to do when there will no one left in the palazzo," the cardinal swallowed, "no one human."
"Is it still there?" suddenly asked Angel. The cardinal shuddered and tightened his grip on the cross, staring at him in disbelief. "I know that it exists."
"Yes," Savarelli replied. "This is one of our most valuable relics."
"Therefore, the plague acted weaker on you. However, even it could not fully protect you."
"What else is it?" Brannon asked. His Eminence removed a large gold cross from his neck, pressed several precious stones, and the cross opened. Inside was another, small and wooden.
"I thought it would help us cure the plague, but nothing worked."
"It worked," Redfern said. "You said yourself that you were more resistance. In addition, as I understood from your words, the brothers inquisitors remained sane for a very long time, unlike those victims that I saw myself."
"Where did you see them?"
"At the crackto the other side," Brannon said; now was not a very good moment to tell the cardinal that the pyromaniac is the only living witness of the appearance of the Rift on Liganta. "How are your brothers feeling now?"
"Physically, everyone is healthy," the cardinal shook his head, "but I will not condemn and detain those who leave today after the funeral service. But the rest are ready." The cardinal's dark eyes flashed fiercely. "I gave them my word that we will find this bastard, and I personally will burn him alive for the glory of God."
"Nice attitude," Redfern hissed. "And you, Commissar, what is your view on this problem? Still want to take the bastard to court?"
"No," the commissar said through set teeth, "the auto-da-fe will suit me. But we don't know yet where this carrion has settled."
"After what your wife arranged..."
The cardinal jerked so hard that the papers from the folder flew up around him like a rustling cloud. Apparently, this thought was given to him especially hard. Nathan didn't blame him. He himself tried not to think.
"Missis Brennon," he said dryly, "is tired after yesterday and is resting."
"I'm not surprised. She closed the crack, cleared the entire coast and rescued the survivors." Angel nodded at the cardinal. "Corpses also pose no threat. But I would recommend burning them and not burying them in a common cemetery. It's not very Christian, though."
"What kind of devilry was that?" Savarelli asked. "I've never seen this. That is, I saw ghouls, but this - how is this even possible?"
The consultants turned inquiring glances to the pyromaniac. He rubbed his forehead and muttered:
"I have a theory that victims on the verge of death turn into active carriers of the infection. But there is no experimental confirmation. Fortunately, I see such a plague for the second time in my life. Although I read that the savage tribes of Terra Nova have encountered this, but their priests somehow managed. It is clear from the records I found that they fought the carriers with fire."
The hound snapped his teeth, and the Commissar immediately thought of Jen.
"Yestarday I examinet the dome and the perimeter – they are intact, no leaks. But, I'm afrait, new cracks may self-originate nearpy due to the fact that efen under the dome the Rift is active."
"In your opinion, someone made the crack or did it appear on its own?"
Miss Oettinger shrugged.
"It's hart to understant. But if I wantet to shake the dome, I woult start with a crack."
"The search spell will finish work by evening," Margaret said; the cardinal stared at her like at the talking cat. "The trace is very weak, and there are quite a lot of residents in Farenza. However, I'm afraid that Valentina has scared the warlock so much that he will run away from the city and hide in some hole. Couldn't she have done it without such fireworks?"
Nathan gagged indignantly, and the cardinal instantly grasped at his most exciting question:
"Who is Signora Brannon? Why are you her husband?! How could a police Commissar marry..." His Eminence gasped and poked his finger at the ceiling, either pointing at Valentina, or hinting at higher powers.
"Send a request to Blackwhit if in doubt," Nathan sighed. "I am really a police Commissar, an ordinary person, and we got married in the Saint Thomas church."
"The creature that your wild ancestors worshipped as a goddess has just condescend to the Commissar," Redfern said serenely. "Although, of course, she is not a goddess..."
"And who is she?!" Savarelli was indignant. "I saw something yesterday that I almost decided that an angel had flown to us by the grace of God!"
"Where would you be with the grace of God only," Angel snorted. "Well at least you guessed to learn the spells and apply them to the case. And Commissar Brannon still doubts..."
"Now is not the time to discuss this again," Nathan cut him off.
"We found the documents about the pupils of the Dominicans," Savarelli collected papers from the floor and put them in a folder. "But did not have time to start checking."
"I'm afraid your people will have to work with this," Nathan shook his head. "If I had my policemen here, I would have helped you, but alas. We have a respite until the evening, when we finally get the result of the spell. We need to prepare for a visit to the warlock's lair. Even if Margaret is right, and it is already empty. I will continue to interview the neighbors and try to follow the path of Urquiola's kidnappers. In case the enchantment still doesn't work."
"I hope the warlock will really hide and at least in the next few days will not arrange another unpleasant surprise for us," Savarelli grumbled and stood up. "Have a good day, signors. It would be nice if it was really good."
The consultants followed the cardinal out to the door, but the pyromaniac was in no hurry to extinguish the mirror. Brannon looked at him questioningly. Angel opened a drawer and placed a small box in front of him. Margaret bit her lip.
"What is it?" The commissar asked in surprise.
"The last resort. If you fail and the warlock will open up the Rift."
"Can't the crack in the dome be, well... closed?"
"No. Just think how much has accumulated under it over the years. The slightest crack - and it will all burst out with such force that it sweeps away the dome, and the perimeter, and everything that is nearby."
Margaret sighed intermittently.
"As if your resort won't do the same."
"What is it?" Brannon squinted at the box. Seemingly nothing explosive.
"This is Gideon Hammer. One of the most powerful man-made spells."
"But what am I going to do with him? Stand on the shore and read it out loud with an expression?"
"No," Redfern replied dispassionately. "You won't be able to use it. If you'll understand that there is no other way out, you will give it to the consultants. They know what to do with it and how it works."
"And how? I mean, this Hammer will be able to push all evil spirits back into the hole, or what?"
"When the Hammer was used for the last time, in Fessandreya, from the largest city of the ancient world there was only a crater filled with dust," Angel stared at the numb commissar. "This is your last resort. When no one can be saved, or there is no one to save, you will hand him over to the consultants so that they destroy the city, the island and the Rift."
"Oh my God," Brannon breathed. "And you give it to me?!"
"To who else?"
"But do you at least understand what decision I will have to make?!"
"Yes," Redfern said heavily, "I understand."
Weekly Power Status
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-- Power
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