He emerged onto a covered walkway surrounding a grassy courtyard overgrown with weeds. Vines sprawled across the pillars and choked the arcades, and moss erupted between flagstones caked in pigeon filth. A light rain drifted down from the sky, stringing watery jewels along the spokes of a large spiderweb. Zach had never seen this courtyard, and he knew with sinking certainty that it was enclosed by the cathedral walls.
But wait. . . . Zach closed his eyes, remembering the facade of the cathedral as best he could. It had been a long time since he’d been in this part of the city, even longer since he’d paid much attention to the abandoned relic in its midst. But he could swear he recalled a second, smaller door, just to the right of the main doors in the western facade. That would put it at the bottom of the walkway where he now stood. Taking a deep breath and praying as best he knew how, Zach ran to the far end.
Sure enough, the door was there, and his heart leapt. That is, until he saw the chains wrapped around an ancient, rusted lock and realized that the door might as well be made of solid stone.
A sob caught in Zach’s throat, and he sank to his knees. He sat there, slumped in defeat, until a last spasm of defiance sent him hurtling against the door with a scream, his fists pounding painfully against the cold, unyielding wood. He beat the door until the pain became unbearable; then, his rage unspent, he seized a handful of vines and yanked. The stubborn plant didn’t budge, just one more implacable surface in this prison of wood and stone.
Zach paused. He considered the vines more carefully. Snatching up two fistfuls, he hauled against it with all his weight. Some of the thinner stalks snapped, but the bulk of it stayed put. Zach stepped out into the rain and peered up at the covered walkway. It looked flat on top, and was only a few feet shorter than the outer wall. If he could get up there, he could easily get to the top of the wall. Eying the vines again, Zach repeated his experiment with a thick batch growing along one of the pillars supporting the roof of the arcade. As before, it stayed anchored to the stone in spite of Zach’s best efforts to tear it free. Untold years of growing wild against porous, decaying stone had left the roots strong. He tested it one last time, reaching as high as he could and letting himself dangle from the vine. Miraculously, it held.
Zach pulled off his boots, doing his best to avoid the stinging touch of the thistles crowding the edges of the walkway. He tied the laces together and stuffed his already-soaking socks inside. Then he flung his boots up onto the top of the walkway. Choosing the pillar with the thickest vine, he reached above his head and wound his fingers though the ropy plant. Cautiously, he cocked his left leg and grasped the vine with his toes. He pulled.
Roots snapped, and Zach’s foot slipped, but he didn’t fall. Choosing his next foothold more carefully, he found a thicker stalk to anchor his right foot to, and spread his toes wider to distribute his weight. He heaved himself up. Once again, the vine tore free, but not enough to let him fall. Slowly, his heart in his throat, Zach climbed. So long as he didn’t move too sharply, or panic if he slipped a little, the vine would hold.
It took a long time to reach the top of the pillar, and Zach’s arms ached so badly that he almost didn’t have the strength to pull himself over the top. But he did, and he was so overjoyed that he lay on his back and giggled, heedless of the cold rain until he was almost soaked through. He pulled on his boots and heaved himself to the top of the wall surrounding the cloister.
Now he was presented with a new problem. The street was far below, too far for him to jump. The vines didn’t reach the other side of the wall, and there were no footholds he could see. He couldn’t climb, and none of the nearby buildings were close enough to jump to. He needed help.
Zach crouched on the wall, scanning the street for signs of life. For a long time, he saw no one, which wasn’t surprising for this part of town, especially when the weather was foul. Eventually, though, a youth appeared at the far end of the road.
“Hey!” Zach called, his voice croaking from disuse. “Hey, you!”
The youth paused. “What?”
“I need a ladder!”
The youth gave him an incredulous look. “Does it look like I’ve got a ladder?” He walked away.
“Durian’s balls!” Zach swore. He’d started to shiver, and water streamed from his plastered hair. He waited. A long time passed before someone else came along. This time, it was a woman, and she had a pushcart. It was full of straw. Zach flicked his eyes skyward and said a prayer of thanks.
“Hey, miss!” The woman didn’t seem to hear him, so he tried again, waving his arms frantically over his head. “Miss!”
The woman looked his way. She stopped. “What’re you doing up there, stupid child? Break your neck, you will!”
Zach adopted his most pitiful voice. “I’m stuck! Please, miss, let me jump into that cart!”
“Not bloody likely. That’ll break your neck for sure! Besides, I’ve just been mucking stalls. It’s full of horse shit!”
“Please!” Zach’s voice cracked in desperation. “I’ll be fine, I swear! I need to get down right now!”
The woman hesitated, and for a moment Zach feared she would refuse. But then she shrugged and wheeled her load over to the wall, positioning it as close as she could. “You’re a stupid boy,” she called, “but be it on your head.”
Zach bit his lip. Now that he was looking straight down at it, the cart didn’t look like such a soft landing. A big pile of wet straw was certainly better than stone, but it was hardly goose down. It didn’t smell very nice either. But Zach had no choice. If he stayed where he was, his captors would find him and he would die for sure. Swallowing hard, his pulse hammering in his ears, Zach eased himself over the side of the wall and jumped.
He landed in a painful heap, momentarily too stunned to move. His right foot had missed the straw and struck the edge of the cart, and when he shifted, pain arced up his calf and into his thigh. It was probably broken. Still, it could have been worse. Zach sat up and rubbed his head, and was pleased to find himself otherwise intact.
He hopped off the cart, careful not to put weight on his bad foot. “Thanks,” he mumbled to the woman.
“How’d you get up there, anyway?” She squinted at him through dirt-fringed eyes.
“Long story.”
The woman grunted. “Well, you got what you deserved, I suppose, ’cause now you smell like horse shit.” So saying, she wheeled her cart away, leaving Zach standing in the rain.
He paused to orient himself before heading off in the direction of the police station. It would take him a while to get there, especially with his sore foot, but it seemed like the quickest way to find Lenoir. He hobbled down the street, tired and a little dizzy, but hopeful enough to keep his step lively and determined.
The streets were quiet, even several blocks away from the cathedral. The weather had driven everyone indoors. Zach saw no one until he rounded a corner and walked right into someone coming the opposite way. He hit the ground hard, crying out as his bad foot was wrenched beneath him. It was raining hard now, and water streamed into his eyes. He could only vaguely see the tall man who reached down to help him stand.
Zach was pulled to his feet, and found himself gazing up at a tall Adali man with hard eyes. He had never seen the man before, but Zach knew him all the same. A small, helpless sound escaped his throat, and he slumped as though someone had reached inside and pulled his skeleton right out of his skin.