Part 10 (2/2)
”Now that's a very limited edition,” said the Cardinal, leaning in close to peer over my shoulder. ”Belonged to Giles de Rais, the old monster himself, before he met the Maid of Orleans. There are only seventeen copies of that particular edition, in the goat's skin.”
”Why seventeen?” said Bettie. ”Bit of an arbitrary number, isn't it?”
”I said that,” said the Cardinal. ”When I inquired further, I was told that seventeen is the most you can get out of one goat's skin. Makes you wonder whether the last copy had a big floppy ear hanging off the back cover...And I hate to think what they used for the spine. Ah, Mr. Taylor, I see you've discovered my dice. I'm rather proud of those. The very dice the Roman soldiers used as they gambled for the Christ's clothes, while he was still on the cross.”
”Do they have any...special properties?” I said, moving in close for a better look. They seemed very ordinary, two small wooden cubes, with any colour and all the dots worn away long ago.
”No,” said the Cardinal. ”They're just dice. Their value, which is incredible, lies in their history.”
”And what's this?” said Bettie, wrinkling her nose as she studied a single, small, very old and apparently very ordinary fish, enclosed in a clear Lucite block.
”Ah, that,” said the Cardinal. ”The only surviving example of the fish used to feed the five thousand...You wouldn't believe how much money, political positions, and even s.e.xual favours I've been offered, by certain extreme epicures, just for a taste...The philistines.”
”What brought you here, to the Nightside, Cardinal?” said Bettie, doing her best to sound pleasant and casual and not at all like a reporter. The Cardinal wasn't fooled, but he smiled indulgently, and she hurried on. ”And why collect only Christian artifacts? Are you still a believer, even after everything the Church has done to you?”
”Of course,” said the Cardinal. ”The Catholic Church is not unlike the Mafia, in some ways-once in, never out. And as for the Nightside-why this is h.e.l.l, nor am I out of it. Ah, the old jokes are still the best. I d.a.m.ned myself to this appalling haven for the morally intransigent through the sin of greed, of acquisition. I was tempted, and I fell. Sometimes it feels like I'm still falling...but I have my collection to comfort me.” He drained the last of his martini, smacked his lips, put the gla.s.s down carefully next to a miniature golden calf, and looked at me steadily. ”Why are you here, Mr. Taylor? What do you want with me? You must know I can't trust you. Not after you worked for the Vatican, finding the Unholy Grail for them.”
”I worked for a particular individual,” I said carefully. ”Not the Vatican, as such.”
”You really did find it, didn't you?” said the Cardinal, looking at me almost wistfully. I could all but sense his collector's fingers twitching. ”The Sombre Cup...What was it like?”
”There aren't the words,” I said. ”But don't bother trying to track it down. It's been...defused. It's only a cup now.”
”It's still history,” said the Cardinal.
Bettie stooped suddenly, to pick up an open paperback from a chair. ”The Da Vinci Code? Are you actually reading this, Cardinal?”
”Oh, yes...I love a good laugh.”
”Put it down, Bettie,” I said. ”It'll probably turn out to be some exotic misprinting, and he'll charge us for getting fingerprints all over it. Cardinal, we're here about the Afterlife Recording. I take it you have heard of Pen Donavon's DVD?”
”Of course. But...I have decided I'm not interested in pursuing it. I don't want it. Because I know myself. I know it wouldn't be enough for me simply to possess the DVD. I'd have to watch it...And I don't think I'm ready to see what's on it.”
”You think it might test your faith?” I said.
”Perhaps...”
”Aren't you curious?” said Bettie.
”Of course...But it's one thing to believe, another to know. I do try to hope for the best, but when the Holy Father himself has told you to your face that you're d.a.m.ned for all time, just for being what G.o.d made you...Hope is all I have left. It's not much of a subst.i.tute for faith, but even cold comfort is better than none.”
”I believe G.o.d has more mercy than that,” I said. ”I don't think G.o.d sweats the small stuff.”
”Yes, well,” said the Cardinal dryly, ”you'd have to believe that, wouldn't you?”
”If you learn anything, let me know,” I said. ”As long as the Afterlife Recording is out there, loose in the wind, more people will be trying to get their hands on it, for all the wrong reasons. There's even a chance the Removal Man is interested in it.”
All the colour dropped out of the Cardinal's face, his brittle amiability replaced by stark terror. ”He can't come here! He can't! Have you seen him? You could have led him here! To me! No, no, no...You have to leave. Right now. I can't take the risk!”
And he pushed both Bettie and me towards the door. He wasn't big enough to budge either of us if we didn't want to be budged, but I didn't see any point in making a scene. He didn't know anything useful. So I let him shove and propel us back to the door and push us through it. Once we were back on the street, the door slammed shut behind us, and a whole series of locks and bolts snapped into place. It seemed the Cardinal believed in traditional ways of protecting himself, too. I adjusted my trench coat. It had been a long time since I'd been given the b.u.m's rush. And then from behind the door came a scream, loud and piercing, a harsh shrill sound full of abject terror. I beat on the door, and yelled into the intercom, but the scream went on and on and on, long after human lungs should have been unable to sustain it. The pain and horror in the sound was almost unbearable. And then it stopped, abruptly, and that was worse.
The locks and the bolts slowly opened, one at a time, and the door swung inwards. I made Bettie stand behind me and pushed the door all the way open. Beyond it, I could see the huge display room. No sign of anyone, anywhere. No sound at all. I moved slowly, and very cautiously forward, refusing to allow Bettie to hurry me. There was no sign of the Cardinal anywhere. And every single piece of his collection was gone, too. Nothing left but empty shelves, stretching away.
”The Removal Man,” I said. My voice echoed on the quiet, saying the name over and over again.
”Did we lead him here, do you think?” said Bettie, her voice hushed. The echo turned her words into disturbing whispers.
”No,” I said. ”I'd have known if anyone was following us. I'm sure I'd have known.”
”Even the Removal Man? Even him?”
”Especially him,” I said.
SEVEN.
The Good, the Bad, and the UnG.o.dly
”So,” said Bettie Divine, sitting perched on one of the empty wooden shelves with her long legs dangling, ”what do we do now? I mean, the Removal Man has just removed our last real lead. Though I have to say...I never thought I'd get this close to him. The Removal Man is a real urban legend. Even more than you, darling. We're talking about someone who actually does move in mysterious ways! Maybe I should forget this story and concentrate on him. If I could bring in an exclusive interview with the Removal Man...”
”You mean you're giving up on me?” I said, more amused than anything.
Bettie shrugged easily. She was now wearing a pale blue cat-suit, with a long silver zip running from collar to crotch. Her hair was bobbed, and her horns peeped out from under a smart peaked cap. ”Well, I am half demon, darling; you have to expect the odd moment of heartlessness.”
”If you stick with me, at least there's a reasonable chance you'll survive to file your story,” I said.
”Who'd want to hurt a poor sweet defenceless little girlie like me?” said Bettie, pouting provocatively. ”And besides, we half demons are notoriously hard to kill. That's why the Editor paired me up with you for this story. Which, you have to admit, does seem to have petered out rather. I mean to say, if the Collector doesn't have the Afterlife Recording, and the Cardinal doesn't have it, who does that leave?”
”There are others,” I said. ”Strange Harald, the junkman. Flotsam Inc.; their motto: We buy and sell anything that isn't actually nailed down and guarded by h.e.l.l-hounds. And there's always Bishop Beastly...But admittedly they're all fairly minor players. Far too small to think they could handle a prize like the Afterlife Recording. They'd have sold it on immediately; and I would have heard. You know, it's always possible Pen Donavon could have realised how much trouble he'd let himself in for and destroyed the DVD.”
”He'd better not have!” said Bettie, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng dangerously. ”The paper owns that DVD, no matter what's on it.”
I looked at her thoughtfully. ”If it is real...are you curious to see what's on it?”
”Of course,” she said immediately. ”I want to know. I always want to know.”
”So you'll stick with me? Until we find it?”
”Of course, darling! Forget about the Removal Man. It was just an impulse. No; we're on the trail of something that could shake the whole Nightside if it is real. And you know what that means? I could end up covering a real story at last! Do you know how long I've dreamed about covering a real story, about something that actually matters? We can't let this end here! You're the private eye, you're the legendary John Taylor; do something!”
”I'm open to suggestions,” I said.
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