At last the stairs ended. Most of the wall had fallen away, leaving a jagged gap through which I saw the miserable cluster of bodies I’d glimpsed from below. They were all children except for two: a girl unknown to me, tall and angular, with long straight blond hair and wearing a short blue tunic, like a Curator’s gown but of different cut. The other was a young Paphian woman captured a few days earlier near the Rocreek. A Persian malefeant with eyelashes dyed carnelian and poppies tattooed upon her cheeks, she had been trysting with a Naturalist. Now the Naturalist sprawled outside the Cathedral, where he had tripped over one of the deadly parasitic trees. His face was still twisted into an expression of dazed alarm, his eyes staring at the blackened earth. I had seen him there, and stepped carefully around him. The dull buzzing that emanated from his body revealed that his corpse had been completely invaded by the animalcules.
His luckless consort stared wild-eyed over the void, clutching the shoulder of the louse-ridden child at her side. I thought with mean satisfaction how a week earlier she would have fled shrieking from that poor boy. Now he afforded her the last shred of human comfort she would know. I tugged the hood of my woolen cloak about my head, pulling it to shadow my face.
Above us soared the broken cusp of the Gloria Tower. The roofstones had long since fallen away, leaving it open to rain and snow and viral strike. Clouds raced across a pewter sky, so close it seemed the edges of the tower might snag them. The wind howled, tearing at my cloak and the children’s rags. One or two of the lazars glanced at me as I slipped between them, then returned their attention to the two children who still hung from the bell ropes. I saw Tast’annin and his lackeys at the front of the small crowd, Oleander a few steps from the aardmen and eyeing them with distaste.
The Aviator had grown silent. He stared at the bells, the broken boards leading to the skeletal remains of the tower floor. Without warning he turned, cast his glance upon the children huddled behind him, and pointed at the Paphian woman. She shrieked and grabbed another child at her side, as though she would put him between herself and the Aviator. A few steps away the blond girl watched with amusement, her hands twitching at the hem of her tunic. Tast’annin nodded, continuing to regard the malefeant with an almost gentle expression as he leaned forward to stroke Anku’s back.
“Gelasia Persia,” he murmured at last. “See, I remembered your name! Gelasia, come here please.” He gave Anku’s fur a last fond tug and extended his hand to her.
Gelasia Persia shook her head. Her hair—still neatly braided—whipped the air like the Aviator’s quirt. She shoved one of the children forward. The boy gave a small squeak, scrabbling at the empty air; then tumbled from the edge of the platform. The Consolation of the Dead watched, perhaps with slight disappointment. Beside him the aardmen growled and Anku whined. The blond girl covered her mouth, snickering. The children murmured and rustled and whispered, and a few of. them peered down after the unfortunate boy.
Gelasia Persia stared stupidly at the nave floor far below. Then she turned and pushed her way through the crowd of children.
Her eyes lit upon me in my gray Curator’s cape. “Help me, sieur!” she cried, grabbing my arm. “My lover was Friedrich Durrell, a Naturalist, please help me—”
The Aviator drawled a command to Blanche and Trey. The lazars pressed close together as the aardmen loped across the rickety flooring. The malefeant stared back at them, her fingernails digging through my worn cloak.
An arm’s length from us the aardmen stopped. They raised themselves upon their hind legs. One stroked his jaw, puzzled, while the other looked at me with dispassionate golden eyes.
“Girl, master,” he snarled, indicating Gelasia Persia with a flick of his head. I shrugged and tried to push her away. Staring terrified at the aardmen she clung to me, panting. My hood dropped. The aardmen crouched and warily approached us. Gelasia turned to me with wide mad eyes, her gaze settling upon the sagittal dull-gray about my wrist.
“Miramar,” she gasped. She snatched her hands back. “Dear Mother, it’s true—”
I pulled the hood around my face. The aardmen grabbed Gelasia Persia and began to drag her to the edge of the platform. The lazars scrambled away. Some gazed at me with sudden recognition; one boy crossed his hands before his breast. But the blond girl beside him looked at me boldly, then to my amazement burst out laughing. Before I could get a closer look at her she turned and, glancing back to make sure the Aviator did not notice, disappeared down the spiral stairs.
Gelasia Persia only stared with utter loathing, mouth working silently, too overcome with hatred even to curse me.
At the edge of the scaffolding the aardmen halted. The children clinging to the ropes dangled exhausted, hundreds of feet above the floor of the nave. The boy’s head was hidden by the bell’s mouth. The girl had slipped so far that only a few measures of rope remained for her to grasp. She clung with eyes tightly shut, her bleeding hands sliding bit by bit down the hempen cord.
With pursed lips Tast’annin surveyed the bells, pale eyes darting from one to another. Finally he pointed at one, an immense black shape with glints of gold showing through its patina of smoke and filth. It hung at least ten lengths above the maze of rope and board, and a good twenty from where the aardmen held their prisoner.
“That one,” he said.
Gelasia Persia stared in disbelief. “I can’t reach that!” she cried. The tattooed poppies burned against her white skin.
The Aviator shook his head and repeated, “That one.” He leaned forward on the litter, his scarred mouth more hideous now as he smiled at her.
I looked down to see that lazars had already dragged off the other child’s body. A small group remained standing, staring up expectantly at the bells.
Gelasia Persia shook her head. “I will die.”
“You have nothing to fear from death, dearest child,” said the Aviator. “Such a beautiful girl, the Gaping One will be glad of such an offering.” His smile twisted into a horrible rictus, his eye bulging as though he enjoyed a lewd joke at her expense. He pointed at me. “See: there is his envoy, the one who has been consecrated to Baal- Phegor the Lord of Dogs.”
“He is no lord!” spat Gelasia Persia. “I know Raphael Miramar—he is a traitor, a monster and murderer!” Her eyes flashed beneath their scarlet lashes. “He murdered his Patron and another Naturalist and my bedcousin Whitlock High Brazil, may our Mother’s hands embrace him—”
The Aviator stared at her, still smiling. “But if your Mother will embrace you what have you to fear, beloved cousin?”
“Please—I don’t want to die,” she pleaded. “I am of the House Persia, I could serve you well—”
The Aviator shook his head. “But haven’t you seen all my servants?” He spread his hands, indicating the restless lazars, Anku watchful at his feet, the aardmen Blanche and Trey and last of all myself standing aloof. “No, Gelasia: you go to serve a mightier Lord. I am but His servant; you may be His handmaiden.”
A shriek pierced the air. I turned to see the little girl slide from the bell rope, her face crimson with weeping. Several of the lazars cried out. Then the other boy yelled, let go of his rope and plunged after her.
Gelasia Persia screamed and looked away, tried to bury her face in her shoulder. The Aviator grew stern. His voice rang out as he pointed to the ropes strung from the edge of the scaffolding.
“Ring the changes, Gelasia. I will console you in your need.”
The aardmen pushed her shrieking toward the platform’s edge. I turned away; but then heard the Consolation of the Dead command, “Watch her, young Lord Baal. Tell her she has nothing to fear. Tell her she goes to meet the Gaping One.”
As I lifted my head she flailed and kicked desperately at her captors. The aardmen drew back, snarling. Blanche let go of her arm. Before Gelasia could grab one of the ropes she tripped, and screaming, plunged over the edge. I had a glimpse of her face, eyes livid and mouth contorted as she scrabbled helplessly for the ropes. As she fell her voice wailed above the wind: