After a day, a night and another day, he realized that he did not have sufficient time left to carry out further investigations, that he had been derelict in his duty to the court and to Lemos, and that – barring a miracle – his client was doomed. Oh, he could file an appeal. Then there would be time to investigate everything. But with precedent having been denied by a respected judge, he would have to present overwhelming proof of innocence in order to win an appeal, and given the nature of the case, such proof would likely not be forthcoming. Realizing this, he closed his notebooks, pushed aside his papers and sat brooding, gazing out the window of his study at Ayler Point and the twilit ocean. If he were to lean forward and crane his neck, he would be able to see the black pagoda roofs of the dragon cult standing up among palms and sea grape on the beach a few hundred yards beyond the point; but he had no desire to do so, to do anything that would remind him further of his failure. Lemos might well be guilty of the crime, but the fact remained that he had deserved a better defense than Korrogly had provided; even if he was a villain, he was not a great villain, certainly not as great a one as Mardo Zemaille had been.
It was a relatively clear night that fell over Port Chantay; the mists typical of the season failed to materialize, stars flickered between the pale masses of cloud that drove across the winded sky, and the lights of the houses picked out the toiling darkness along Ayler Point. White combers piled in toward the beach; then, as the tide receded, they were swept sideways to break on the end of the point. Korrogly watched them, feeling there was something instructive in the process, that he was learning something by watching; but if a lesson were being taught, he did not recognize it. He began to grow restless, and he thought with frustration and longing of Mirielle. At length he decided to go to The Blind Lady and have a drink . . . or maybe several drinks; but before he could set out for the tavern there came a knock at his door and a woman’s voice called to him. Thinking it was Mirielle, he hurried to the door and flung it open; but the woman who faced him was much older than the gemcutter’s daughter, her head cowled in a dark shawl, the lumpiness of her body evident beneath a loose jacket and skirt. He backed away a step, reminded by her shawl of the cowled figure who had attacked him.
‘I’ve something for you,’ the woman said in a voice with a thick northern accent; she held out an envelope. ‘From Kirin.’
He recognized her then for Kirin’s servant, the drab who had admitted him to the old woman’s house some weeks before. Heavy-breasted and thick-waisted, with features so stuporous that they looked masklike.
She pushed the envelope at him. ‘Kirin said I was to give this to you if anything happened to her.’
Korrogly opened the envelope; inside were two ornate keys and an unsigned note.
Mr Korrogly,
If you are reading this, you will know that I am dead. Perhaps you will not know by whose hand, though if you don’t, then you’re not the astute individual I reckon you to be.
The keys open the outer gate of the temple and the door to Mardo’s private apartment in the main building. If you wish to learn the nature of the great work, go with Janice to the temple as soon as you have received this. She will be helpful to you. You dare not wait longer, for it’s possible that others will know what I know. Do not involve the police; there are cult members among them. The cult has become afraid of the temple, afraid of what has happened there, and most of them have no wish to come near the place. However, the fanatics will be anxious to protect Mardo’s secrets.
Once in Mardo’s apartment, if you search carefully, I know you will find what you need to save your client.
Be thorough, but be swift.
Korrogly folded the note and looked at Janice, who, in turn, regarded him with bovine stolidity; he could not for the life of him think how she would be helpful.
‘Do you have a weapon?’ she asked.
Ruefully, he showed her his bandaged hand.
‘When we reach the temple,’ she said, ‘I’ll take the lead. But keep close behind me.’
He was about to ask how this would be an advantage, when she pulled a long knife from her jacket; the sight of it made him reconsider his options. This might be a trick, a trap set by the members of the cult.
‘Why are you helping me?’ he asked.
She looked perplexed. ‘Kirin asked it of me.’
‘You’d put yourself in danger simply because she asked?’
She continued staring at him for a long moment; at last she said, ‘I’ve no love for dragons.’ She tugged at her blouse, pulling the hem up from the waistband of her skirt, then turned away from him, exposing her naked back; the smooth pale skin below her shoulderblades had been branded by an iron in the shape of a coiled dragon; the flesh surrounding it was puckered and discolored.
‘Zemaille did this to you?’ asked Korrogly.
‘And more.’
Korrogly remained unconvinced; the more fanatical of the cult members might have adopted such mutilations as a fashion.
‘Are you coming?’ Janice asked, and when he hesitated, she said, ‘You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?’
‘I’m wary of you,’ he said.
‘I don’t care if you come or not, but make up your mind quickly. If we are to go the temple, we need to make use of the cover of darkness.’
She glanced about the room, then crossed to a table on which stood a decanter of brandy and glasses. She poured a glass and handed it to him.
‘Courage,’ she said.
Shamed by this, he drank the brandy down; he poured a second and sipped it, considering the situation. He questioned Janice concerning her mistress, and though her answers were circumspect, he derived from them the sense of an old brave woman who had done her best to thwart the evil ambitions of Zemaille. That, too, shamed him. What kind of lawyer was he, he thought, to refuse to risk himself for his client? Perhaps it was the effects of the brandy, perhaps a product of the self-loathing he felt concerning his failure to provide Lemos with an adequate defense, but for whatever reason he soon began to feel brave and resolute, to perceive that unless he did his utmost now in Lemos’ defense, he would never be able to practice his profession again.
‘All right,’ he said finally, taking his cloak from its peg. ‘I’m ready.’
He had expected Janice to be pleased, to approve of his decision, but she only grunted and said, ‘Let’s just hope you haven’t waited too long.’
The road that led to the temple was paved with enormous slabs of gray stone and continued along the coast for several miles, then turned inland toward the Carbonares Valley, where Griaule held sway; it was said that the location had been chosen because it stood in the dragon’s imaginary line of sight, so that his eye would be always fixed upon the cult. At the spot where the road passed the temple it widened considerably as if its builders had wanted to offer travelers the option of giving the place a wide berth. That option now greatly appealed to Korrogly. Standing before the gate, looking at the immense brass lock in the shape of a dragon, at the high black walls twined with vines that bore orchidaceous blooms the color of raw beef, the pagoda roofs that loomed like strange terraced mountains, he was inclined to discard any pretense he had of being a moral man and a committed officer of the court, and to hurry back to the security of his apartment. Not even the clarity of the night could diminish the temple’s forbidding aspect, and each concatenation of the surf, driven in onto the shore by a blustery wind, made him jump. If he had been alone, he would have had no compunction about fleeing. Only Janice’s dull regard, in which he saw a reflection of Lemos’ despondent stare, kept him there; he felt outfaced by her, and though he told himself that her courage was born of ignorance and thus not courage at all, he was unable to persuade himself that this was relevant to his own lack of fortitude.