No time, Sally said, and they were running again.
Leonard was barely able to note his surroundings — which consisted chiefly of crumbling two-story buildings, and assorted bundle-bearing women who observed his sleeping togs with shock and amusement — but he did, as they raced headlong down the road, notice, peeping out from an alleyway, a familiar face, belonging to a man with a beard, a hat, and a yellow circle on his cloak.
Running and stopping
They ran in a zigzag pattern, Leonard following Sally in and out of dark alleyways, turning right, past towers and perfumed churches, and left, past fluted columns embedded between thick brick arches, and right, past wells and gardens and little houses and fly-ridden butcher shops, then left, past more churches, and strange ruined buildings, tiny bread shops, and spice shops, and fabric shops, all closing now (with loud cries from their owners of last-minute bargains), dodging horse dung and cow patties and other excretions, bumping into urchins and bawdy girls and sending street cats screeching and flying.
They didn’t hear their pursuer’s heavy boots behind them, but still they ran.
Till Leonard could run no farther.
Enough! he gasped, and pointed at the portico of a church. Sally doubled back, and they climbed two stairs into the portico and rested their backs against a marble column. It was fully evening now, but still warm.
You need to get your clothes on, Sally said after Leonard had stopped panting.
Thank you, Leonard said.
No need to be sarcastic! Sally said.
I mean, thank you. You saved me! You could have left me behind but you didn’t.
And be stuck in this wretched place forever?
Leonard looked around. They were in the narrowest possible lane. Too narrow for a police caravan, or even for two to walk hand in hand. But there was something warm in the brick of the house across the lane, with its ancient well and garden visible in back, something lovely too about the fluted columns in front of this church — older than the church itself, he guessed. Something comforting about the dusky summer air and the sound, if one listened hard, of at least two babies crying.
It’s not so bad, he said.
You’re wrong, Sally said.
Leonard shrugged.
Did you see Zedekiah? He was outside the inn, watching.
You sure? Sally said. I don’t think so.
Leonard shrugged again, then told Sally to look away as he went behind a column to change into his pilgrim’s clothes. She sat down on a marble step, her toe tracing the cobblestones.
I dropped my inflatable pocket, Leonard said from behind the column.
Oh, great! Sally said. There goes our supply of grasshopper legs, and your change of clothes, and my string and hold-alls.
I didn’t mean to drop it, Leonard said.
But you did, Sally replied.
Yes, Leonard agreed, I did.
Now what’re we going to do?
Leonard didn’t know. The loss of Sally’s string didn’t seem a terrible thing — compared with flaying, say, or having one’s head clamped in a vise — but maybe that’s not what she meant. He joined her on the marble step.
What happened back there? he asked. At the inn? Why all the commotion?
Bobolo was charging coins to see the miracle of the navigator watch. Pilgrims were queuing down the road — you saw them, right? I guess someone decided it was dangerous.
Ah, Leonard said.
It was rapidly darkening, and quiet now, the street empty.
I let you down, Sally said.
What?
It was my idea to give Bobolo the navigator watch. I thought it was funny. I almost got us killed.
No way! It was a great idea!
Yeah? We’re missing half our stuff, we have no lucre, we’re in the middle of a city we don’t know, following a riddle we’re not sure we understand.
Leonard took her hand.
We’ll figure it out. We won’t let Felix down. We’ll find the river. We’ll find Felix.
And if we find a river? What then? Sally said to her leather slippers. How will that help us find Felix?
Leonard pondered that. Pythagoras had once addressed a river, which spoke back to him: Hail, Pythagoras! it said. But Leonard was no Pythagoras, nor would Hail, Leonard! help them much.
Isaac said to look for signs, he said. We’ll look for signs.
I’m not so good at that.
Sure you are! You understood that we were in danger, right?
Where are we going to sleep tonight, Leonard? This place gives me the creeps.
We’ll find something. Don’t worry. How about we eat something?
Sally rummaged in her clutchbag.
All we have is some bridies and a few ham stix, she said.
We’d better wait, then, Leonard said.
It’s almost night. Where are we supposed to go?
Leonard didn’t want to worry Sally, but in his view, a lack of food, coin, lodging, and friends was the least of their worries: there was also the man with the boots.
We need to be somewhere where we won’t be conspicuous, Leonard said. A crowded place, where we won’t be noticed.
Can you ask your friend Isaac for help?
He doesn’t come when I call, Leonard said. He likes to surprise me.
There must be something you can do!
Leonard thought about how Isaac had contacted him in the past: on the telephone, in a dream, prancing on Leonard’s wall or screen. He wouldn’t speak unless or until he was sure Leonard was paying attention. Then he berated him for not listening properly.
I have to listen, Leonard said. That’s what I have to do.
Signs and wonders
I’ll start by practicing echemythia, Leonard said, Pythagorean meditation. It won’t take but a minute, and he scooched up a step or two till he was sitting on the portico floor, his legs pretzeled, his eyes closed. He began by imagining he was wearing white in a White Room; he took a deep breath, then another. And ignored, or tried to ignore, the mosquito on his neck, then twisted his neck a bit, to get rid of the mosquito, then slapped it, then slipped into silence. Deep silence, Pythagorean silence, except for the sound of some Franks, a man and a woman, approaching along the cobblestoned road.
They were evil, the woman was saying.
I’m not sure that they were, the man said.
I tell you, they were evil. With their heresies and strange questions.
A problem with translation, I’m sure.
They were walking straight past Leonard and Sally but in the darkness did not see them.
Are we going the right way?
Absolutely, the man said.
That eel was not quite fresh, the Frankish woman said.
We can change hostelleries tomorrow, the man said.
It’s awfully quiet, dearest. They said St. Peter’s was busy and loud, with all the dirty pilgrims sleeping there.
It is but minutes away. Cross the bridge and left at the fortress. I am told we cannot miss it.
You have no idea where we are.
You can smell the censers from here, my love.
Their voices faded. Sally pinched Leonard’s thigh.
Did you hear that? she whispered.
I was trying not to, Leonard whispered back, opening his eyes and shifting out of his pretzel, to the great relief of his knees.
It was a sign! Sally said. Bridge, river, crowded place where pilgrims sleep: they told us where to go!
Excellent! Leonard said, though he wasn’t sure of that, he wasn’t sure at all.
The torches of a thousand pilgrims