The Grotesques (34 page)

He picked up a coin and flipped it. It spun in the air before landing neatly in his palm. He closed his fingers over it. Soon, he would have little need of treasure beyond the pleasure of its beauty. He would simply take whatever caught his fancy. After today’s display, the townsfolk would rush to satisfy his every need. In time, he would even commandeer a castle. He would bed a different noblewoman every day, each ten times more stunning than the unrefined midwife’s granddaughter.

ELLA CLEANED THE
supermarket shelf of the wilting bunches of basil. For good measure, she went into the next aisle and added ten tubs of pesto to the shopping basket.

“Got enough there, dear? ’Coz the delivery truck’s due out back,” the checkout operator said.

“Really?” Ella was about to ask if she would check but the girl was eyeing her like she was out of her mind. “It’s a Halloween thing,” she said and hurried off.

Back at the car, she passed the bag to Doer.

“Has this herb got some addictive properties I don’t know about?” he asked, taking a deep sniff of the sweet aroma and eyeing the two full bags on the back seat.

“I’ll tell you on the way. Just don’t eat it all,” Ella said as he tore off a leaf and popped it in his mouth. “Do you think we have enough?”

“Now that depends on how many clients you got to supply.”

“Four.” She pulled out into the traffic. “Let me know if you see a supermarket.” A few bottles of the dried herb would not go astray.

“I think we’ve got enough. Start talking,” Doer said.

She chose her words.

“What are you not telling me?” he said.

“The crazy stuff that will get me certified.”

“Spill it. Nobody’s going to take my word you need to be in a loony bin and nothing you say is about to stop me going into that church.”

That she knew, which was why she had asked him along, because nothing on the planet, not even her growing feelings for Adam, was going to drag her back to the church alone. She gave him all the facts. No interpretation. Objective journalism at its best.

“It’s what you’re not saying,” he said.

“Well, if you want the version the
Informer
is likely to run with, Romain is a reincarnated saint from seventh century France who is turning people into grotesques, gargoyles in the vernacular, to save them from being sacrificed to a dragon. Pass me another piece of chocolate.”

Doer made a strangled sound. “It’s just as well you hate working at that rag.”

Ella remained silent as they drove past the church. Was her disdain that obvious? It was a wonder Phil put up with her. She sighed and noted the unmarked cars, all parked at strategic locations, all manned by two observers, and all Commodores. The deserted streets only made the police surveillance more noticeable. She guessed they had given up any pretence of being covert. Since she was about to break in, she parked well south of the church. The less warning the police had of their intentions, the more time they had to succeed.

The short jog to the sheoaks left her puffing. The area was not so intimidating in daylight. The pine smell was refreshing and the crunch of needles underfoot comforting in its familiarity. Too bad the church hid a sinister secret. Unsteady, she placed a hand on a rough trunk.

“Are you all right?” Doer asked.

“Genord tried to kill me.”

Doer took out a pistol and released the safety catch. Somehow it made her feel worse.

There was nothing to be gained by waiting. They strolled to the side of the church, sure the police were observing them, trying not to arouse their suspicions the way running would. The window was boarded but had not been fixed. Doer gave it a couple of kicks. That solved the problem of access.

The sound of hammering resounded from the workshop. Haphazard planks had been nailed across the holes. Despite Doer’s best efforts, the boards did not yield, nor did Romain cease his task. Doer pounded and kicked. It was only a matter of time before the police came looking.

“Let me try,” Ella said, placing a hand on Doer’s arm. “Romain?”

The hammering stopped. “Bats up,” came the annoyed reply.

“Romain, it’s Ella.”

A pause, then, “Go.”

“Romain, your grotesques are in danger.”

There was shuffling inside. The door creaked open. Romain, one eye quizzically closed, poked his head out. “Go. Danger. Go.”

Doer shoved the door wide open. A formless marble block occupied the floor, chisel marks apparent on its surface. Tools were scattered over the central table.

“I don’t know what twisted game you and Genord are playing but I want my son back. Now.”

Romain nudged around them and looked about the outer chamber. Doer sidled into the workroom and examined the stone. Agitated by his interest, Romain came back inside and pushed him from the block. Doer picked up a chisel.

“Where’s my son?” he asked, scraping the surface of the stone.

“No!” Ella said, flying at him. For all she knew it could be some hapless person waiting for Romain’s healing touch.

Doer threw the chisel to the back of the room. It thumped onto a leather jacket draped over a pair of boots. They both stared. Doer recovered more quickly, rounding on Romain and pushing him into the bench along the wall.

“Those are Brodie’s clothes. Where is he?”

Eyes wide, Ella looked at the stone carving. “Brodie?”

Romain pushed Doer off him and ambled to her. “Stone.”

Doer brought out his gun. Basil leaves spilled from the holster. Ella scooped them up as Doer pushed Romain toward the door.

“Let’s go, hunchback.”

“Bad man.”

“You got that right. Now move.”

“Up.”

“Down to the underwater passage.”

Being here was bad enough. Entering the crypt was unthinkable. Taking the steps to the nave two at a time, she said, “If Brodie’s alive, he’ll be on the roof.”

Doer shot her a distrustful look. “Okay,” he grudged.

They climbed the stairs at the back of the church. With Romain unable to hurry because of his awkward gait, their progress along the walkway seemed painfully slow. The sound of scuffles reached them from below. Terrific. The police were already entering the church. If they were using the window to get in, it could only mean the front door was barred. With any luck, given the events of the last couple of days, they would check the crypt first. At least she had provided them with the excuse they needed to search the church again. That had to benefit Brodie. She studied the fresco as Romain fumbled with a key.

“Where are you, Romain?” she asked when the mason had opened the door.

Romain shuffled to the left of the painting and pointed to two boys. “Romain. Genord.”

Ella peered at the figures. One boy, tall and blonde, bore a striking similarity to the caretaker. The other, while stocky and dark, looked healthy and in possession of his full mental faculties.

“La Gargouille?”

Her pronunciation was off but Romain pointed to the sky, where a serpentine dragon twisted, flame erupting from between dagger-like teeth. Ella shuddered and hoped it was not about to terrorise Adelaide.

“You first,” Doer directed when the door clicked open.

Romain started up, Doer behind him and Ella last. Her mouth had become dry, her hands clammy. She barely noticed the walk across the platform and down the stairs to the roof.

In daylight, the leonine grotesque was nothing more than a stone statue. She ran her hands over the head and behind the ears, just as she did with Tilly. The yearning in its eyes had to be proof a trapped soul inhabited the lifeless mineral.

“Who’s that supposed to be?” Doer asked from near the stairs.

“Come and see for yourself.”

Gun still at the ready, Doer approached. His jaw clicked as his eyes followed hers to the stone bracelet. She had to force herself to move to the newest statue. Adam’s expression was pure terror. She removed a handful of basil leaves from her bag and crushed them against his horned head. The stone remained hard. Frantic digging beneath the herb produced three tubs of pesto. She tore off the lids and smeared the dip along the arm. Nothing changed.

Romain bent to examine her work. He dipped a finger in the paste and put it in his mouth. Scratching his head, he turned a quizzical face to hers. “Why?”

“I want them to turn back.”

“Basil?”

“Cure for the gaze of a basilisk?”

He snorted. “Romain not basilisk.”

Ella went to run her hand through her hair, noticed the pesto and stopped.

“This is why we raided three supermarkets?” Doer said. “Some bullshit fairy tale about people turned to stone? I thought you were a credible reporter.”

“I tried to tell you.”

Waving the gun at Romain, Doer shook his head. “I came here for one reason. Where’s Brodie?”

“Romain no know Brodie.”

“Cecily,” Ella pleaded. “Adam. The police are getting ready to shoot the grotesques. The Chief Inspector is blaming them for the murders. If you understand, give me a sign.”

Romain hopped from foot to foot. “Safe. Safe.”

Unable to bear hearing that again, Ella buried her face in her hands. “They’re not safe. If the police don’t shoot them, the dragon will tear them to shreds.”

“Enough talk of dragons. Enough about people turned to stone,” Doer said, advancing on Romain. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Ella moved between Doer and the mason. “They’ve been hurt. I’ve seen them in your workshop. It’s only a matter of time before they get killed.”

Doer shoved her out of the way and curled a finger around the trigger. “I’m not going to ask you again. Where’s Brodie?”

Romain pointed toward the belfry. “Brodie there.” He lumbered away.

“Get back here, you coward.” Doer chased after Romain but the hunchback displayed surprising speed. He hobbled up the stairs, Doer on his tail. Abandoning the pesto, Ella jogged after them.

Inside the belfry, Doer had the gun pointed at Romain’s heart. He bullied Romain to the edge of the pit. Romain wobbled. Doer eased up. A gust clanged the door shut.

“I think he’s on our side,” Ella said. That gun was making her nervous. She edged between it and Romain. Doer stepped around her.

“One last time. Where’s my son?”

“Look.” Romain scampered to the door. Light spilled in as he cracked it open.

Doer’s breath became jagged. Fear rooted Ella to the spot. The reptilian and the beaked grotesques had moved from the ledge. The stone statues stood abreast of each other, both facing the door. Romain reached past her and closed the door. Ella stared at the wood. She had not been hallucinating after all. Grunting, the hunchback threw open the door again. Ella drew a shaky breath. The grotesque Cecily was at the base of the stairs. Adam had turned. He was a hunk of stone, nothing more, but his eyes looked directly into hers. Once again Romain closed the door.

“Turn them back,” Ella whispered, still unable to move.

Romain grunted again. Doer’s breathing was gradually getting louder.

“Please, Romain.”

A third time Romain opened the door. The lizard grotesque was crouched on the opposite side of the stairs to Cecily. The beaked grotesque was looking away from her, at Adam, who had bowed his head and was pointing a clawed finger to the ground.

“Go,” Romain said.

Where she found the will, Ella would never know. Doer swinging the gun toward the grotesques probably spurred her on. She tripped down the steps, weak at the knees and her heart pounding erratically. Adam’s expression had changed from disbelief to something akin concern.

“Adam.”

No response. She followed the line of his arm. A torn fragment of paper wobbled in the faint breeze. Ella bent to retrieve it. The sketch she had made of the bracelet was sliced sharply through. She turned it over, the sceptic in her insisting Adam must have dropped it there when he searched for his cousin. She swallowed. Slashed through a green, oily stain on the paper were the words
not yet
. Her hand trembled, blurring the writing.

“I’ll get you back,” she whispered, for a moment unable to move. “All of you. I promise.”

Still in the doorway, Doer looked like he might collapse of a heart attack. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Footsteps thumped up in the stairwell.

“Please tell me you believe me now.”

A police officer leapt onto the creaky platform. Ella stepped inside, and Romain closed the outer door. The beam of a torch shone at Romain, then Ella, and finally Doer. The cop’s gun was out of its holster in a second.

“Drop your weapon.”

“Not till I find out what’s going on.” Doer pointed his own gun right back.

A policewoman stepped up. The platform groaned under the additional weight. Her own pistol was out and pointed as soon as her back foot hit the platform.