Gene Wolfe - The Land Across

I said, “Okay, let’s say that he was in prison from the time you were arrested until last week. What then? Take it from there.”

“He would want to get outdoors, that’s all. He liked to get out. He hardly ever stayed in the office all day, unless the weather was just awful. The weather’s been nice lately.”

“You’re holding something back,” I told her. “What is it?”

“I—” She started to cry, so I put my arms around her. I figured that if Naala and I were going to do good cop/bad cop, I was going to be the good cop. So there was no harm in trying to calm her down.

Naala said, “We will take her. Then you will have more time. That will help, I think.”

“Take her now?”

Naala shook her head. “No. We must speak with the archbishop. We leave her here and come back when we are finish. You may tell her this. She will fear we do not come and that will be good for her.”

So we gave Rosalee Naala’s handkerchief, which was a good big one, and when she had stopped crying I told her, “I’m going to get you out, I promise. Like we talked about, okay?”

She nodded.

“Only not right now. I can’t. Soon. Are you going to cooperate when I do?”

She was not up to talking yet, but she nodded hard.

“That’s good, because you’re going to have to. If you don’t, you’ll go back here—or maybe to someplace worse. If you do, I may be able to get you back to America.”

She just stared.

“You could go back home. Are your folks still alive?”

That got another nod.

“You could see them. Home cooking and hugs from your mother. All that stuff. I want you to keep it in mind.”

We took her back to the sewing barn, checked in at the warden’s office to tell her we were going, and left. I had an idea that the archbishop’s palace was going to be a long way from the women’s prison. I was dead right about that, but it turned out to work in my favor. It was so far that we went to a police station instead and got a car. I was happy enough to—well, you know.

It was a quiet ride. I knew it was too soon for me to start talking up Rosalee to Naala, and Naala did not want to say much of anything that would be overheard by the cop driving. So we kept pretty quiet. I looked at the city, mostly, trying to make mental notes about buildings that might make good landmarks.

One of those was the cathedral, which looked like it was about five hundred years old and had not been kept up too well for the past couple of centuries. Another, not quite so good, was the bishop’s palace, a big stone house that had been the work of at least three architects. I thought the rococo part was definitely overdone, and I suspected that if the stones were to get sandblasted it would be even worse.

Naala looked at her watch. “Four forty it is. That is perfect.”

I got out, went around to the other side, and held the door for her. The cop gave a little snort at that, which was as close to talking as he ever came.

A priest, young, thin, and hollow chested, opened the door for us. “We must see His Excellency at once,” Naala snapped. “Show us in.”

“I’ll have to speak to His Excellency.” The priest looked apologetic.

“We, too,” Naala told him. We were right at his heels, and when we got to what turned out to be the archbishop’s study we pushed past.

He stood up, smiling, as if our busting in on him was just what he had been expecting, which it probably was. “Welcome!” Old as he was, he still had one of those golden voices that are exactly right for public speaking. “You will always be welcome here, my children.”

“Thank you,” Naala said, and sat down. I took my cue from her and sat, too.

“I trust you had a pleasant walk?” The archbishop sat quite a bit more slowly.

“We did not walk. A police car. We have been at the women’s prison, you see. Even with the car we are late, for which you must forgive us.”

“As I do, and gladly.” His smile had not lost a single kilowatt. I decided it would take a lot to ruffle him.

Naala turned to me. “What is the name of the priest from Puraustays?”

I told her Papa Zenon.

“He is here now in the capital. Summoned by you?”

The archbishop nodded.

“An important matter, since he has a parish there he must neglect while he is here.”

“His parish is in excellent condition,” the archbishop murmured, “and he leaves three assistants. I feel sure it will survive without its shepherd for a few weeks.”

“That long?”

“I hope not, but…” His shoulders rose a quarter inch, and subsided one at a time.

“The police there speak well of him.”

Well, well, well, I said to myself. Those phones on the light poles are pretty useful.

“I would expect them to.” The archbishop smiled again.

Naala said, “May I ask why you have brought him here?”

“You may, of course. The question, I fear, is whether you will credit my answer. Papa Zenon is an experienced exorcist.” He cleared his throat. “Every parish has an exorcist. I see you know it.”

“I do,” Naala told him.

“Most never perform an exorcism. Those who do…” The archbishop left it hanging.

I decided I had been quiet long enough, and asked, “Who’s possessed?”

“You will not believe me, young man, when I say we do not know. You do not, yet it is the truth.”

Naala leaned forward. “That someone is you know.”

“I do not know it. I feel it.” The archbishop picked a pen up from his desk, fiddled with it, and put it down again. “I may be mistaken, but I do not believe I am.”

“You have no evidence?”

“You wish me to take something from a drawer of my desk and show it to you.”

Naala said, “Which you cannot do. I understand.”

“There are rumors. There are reports I have received from good, reliable priests. The tower of my cathedral is very tall.”

Naala waited, and so did I.

“You will not credit that a man of my age climbs, every day, to the top of that tower.”

“It seems unlikely,” she said. “Do you?”

“I have climbed it every day for the past fifteen years, always early in the morning. Often before sunrise, in winter. There are three staircases. All are steep, and all are high. I pray as I climb, a prayer for every step, and a longer prayer at the landings. At the top, I stand among the bells and listen for the voice of God.”

“What has He told you?”

“Many things, though He is often silent. When I can no longer climb to the top of my tower, I will retire. He has told me to do this, and I will not disobey.”

“It may be that your successor will keep better to the point,” Naala said. “We search for one Russell Rathaus, an escaped prisoner. Your exorcist has involved himself in our investigation. Why is this?”

The archbishop chuckled, which surprised the hell out of me. “We must find out. It may be that Papa Zenon would say you have involved yourselves in his. As I listen for the voice of God, I look out over this city. In winter the sky is dark, but there are many lights. It is summer and we know God’s own clear sunlight, but the city is wrapped in darkness. I sense it and, almost, I see it.”

“There are always evil men,” Naala murmured.

The archbishop nodded. “Evil women as well. As for the rest, our entire race is corrupted by original sin. This is something more. This is Satanism, the worship of evil. I have learned that these Satanists call themselves the Unholy Way.”

When Naala did not speak, the archbishop looked at me. “I once encountered an old woman who had been visited by an angel. You will not believe it.”

“You’re right, Your Excellency. I don’t.”