by John Marco
‘Enjoying yourself, child?’ Herrith asked over the tumult.
Lorla nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Father. It’s wonderful!’
It was wonderful. For Herrith, it was the culmination of a dream. As God’s servant, he had never married or taken a woman since his vows. A family, and children like Lorla, had been long forbidden him. But now he had a sense of that normalcy he craved. He had God and a child to adore, and he was happy. Lorla had taken to him, more than he’d dared to hope. She didn’t just call him ‘Father’. Since coming to live in the cathedral, she had truly come to be a daughter. There was a blessed bond between them, and Herrith didn’t care who noticed it or snickered behind his back. There was always gossip, even among priests. Some were saying unwholesome things about him. But Herrith knew his heart was pure. When he looked at Lorla, he saw nothing but a life he wished was his, and all the potential of youth. God loved children. God bade humankind to love children. What he was doing, Herrith was sure, was according to Heaven’s law.
He took Lorla’s hand again, pointing out the different animals, and surprising her with his knowledge. He had been through countless festivals, and every year the Dorians came with their menageries. Herrith knew all their routines. But his familiarity with the animal tricks didn’t dampen his enthusiasm, and when the elephants stood on their hind legs and raised their trunks in a raucous trumpeting, Herrith laughed like the rest of them and covered his ears.
‘Ohhh!’ cried Lorla happily. ‘Loud!’
So loud she almost dropped her treat, but she was quick enough to rescue it before it tumbled onto her dress. Deciding her mouth was the safest place for it, she began to suck on the frozen sugar again, happily bobbing to the music. And as she ate, Herrith watched her peripherally, glad to be with her. In a few more days it would be her birthday. She would be nine years old, and he wanted to make it special. At that age, every year was a milestone for a child. Herrith wanted Lorla to have no doubts about his affection for her. It was why he had given her full run of the cathedral, why he allowed her to bother Darago periodically and marvel at his ceiling, even when he himself was kept from it. Lorla had already endured too much for so tender an age. The Black Renaissance had made her life a wasteland, stripping her of her parents and identity. But now she had a new life in the cathedral, and Herrith had one more little reason for crushing Biagio and his cancerous crusade.
‘Lorla, look there,’ said Herrith, directing her eyes toward a group of clowns across the avenue. There were three of them, up high on stilts, their faces smeared with white paint and malevolent, ruby smiles. Each wore a long, brightly colored gown, festooned with ribbons and broad, rainbow stripes, and their long wigs of green hair bounced around their shoulders.
Lorla frowned. ‘They’re scary,’ she decided quickly. ‘I don’t like them.’
‘Do you know what they are?’ he asked, sure that she didn’t. With their white faces and terrible smiles, they looked more like demons than clowns. ‘Those are the Clowns of Eestrii. They’re the symbols of sin. One is Pride, one is Lust, and the other is Hatred. Those are the things we’re supposed to guard against during Kren.’
Lorla pulled the ice treat from her mouth with a popping sound. ‘Clowns of Eestrii? I never heard of them. Why do they look so mean?’
‘To remind us that they’re always with us. Every year the Clowns of Eestrii walk among the crowd. They try to scare the children into remembering their faces. That’s how the children learn.’ Herrith chuckled. ‘Some of the adults, too.’
‘They’re ugly,’ said Lorla emphatically. ‘I don’t think they belong here.’
‘Oh, but they do,’ Herrith corrected. ‘They’re to remind us to beware them at all times, even at good times like this.’
‘Which is which?’
Herrith laughed. ‘I don’t know. Which do you think?’
‘What are their names again?’
‘Lust, Hatred and Pride,’ Herrith told her. ‘Nar’s three greatest vices. There, I think that one is Lust.’ He pointed at the smallest one of the bunch, whose stilts weren’t as tall as the rest. This clown had a particular leer in his eyes that reminded Herrith of something impure. ‘What do you think?’
Lorla lowered her voice. ‘That one’s Hatred,’ she said with certainty.
‘Really?’ Herrith looked at her, unnerved by her seriousness. ‘How can you tell?’
‘I’ve seen him before.’ The girl turned her eyes from the clowns, looking down at the sidewalk. ‘I recognize him.’
‘Where have you seen him before, Lorla?’ asked Herrith gently. He knew he was treading unstable ground, but couldn’t resist. Lorla was an inscrutable little girl, a great puzzle with many mysteries in her head – mysteries Herrith was determined to unlock. ‘You can tell me,’ he cajoled. ‘I won’t tell anyone else. Promise.’
Lorla considered his offer with care. Finally she looked up, saying, ‘That’s the face Duke Enli makes, when he thinks of his brother. That’s what he looks like now.’
The frightening revelation made Herrith slip his hand from Lorla’s. She was cold suddenly, frozen in some other place. Her remarkable eyes, not so unlike his own, blazed with secret fury. Herrith at once regretted his question. Whatever she had seen, whatever had gone on in Dragon’s Beak, had changed her. She wasn’t just a little girl anymore.
‘Duke Enli is going to be all right, Lorla,’ he assured her. ‘All of Dragon’s Beak will be safe once General Vorto wins the day. And he will win, I promise you.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Have no doubt, little one. Vorto has taken all the troops he needs to win Dragon’s Beak back for God. Duke Enli will be fine. Soon he’ll rule all of Dragon’s Beak. And maybe you’ll see him again someday, when Dragon’s Beak is safe. I can arrange that, if you like. Not yet, of course. But someday.’
‘I don’t want to go back to Dragon’s Beak,’ said Lorla. ‘Not ever. That’s not my home anymore . . . Father.’
Herrith smiled. ‘Then you will live here forever, in the cathedral, just like Elioes.’
The mention of the orphan girl brightened Lorla’s troubled face. ‘Tell me more about her. One more story.’
‘Lorla . . .’
‘One more,’ she implored. ‘Any story.’
Herrith’s mind was blank. He had already told Lorla all he knew about the orphan. And Lorla had devoured his tales rapaciously. She had found a patron saint in the crippled child, and she wasn’t satisfied with Darago’s painting. She wanted more. Just like the child she was, she always wanted more.
‘I’ve already told you all I know,’ said Herrith. ‘There’s really not a lot about her in the holy books. Just what I’ve told you already.’
‘Then tell me again,’ said Lorla dreamily. ‘Tell me how she was an orphan, and how she met our Lord and He healed her. That’s a good story. I like that one.’
Actually, it was the only story about Elioes, but Herrith told it again. And as he spoke Lorla seemed to forget the festival around her, ignoring the menagerie and calls of hawkers. While he spoke, Herrith watched her eyes, and every time he said the word orphan, he saw a light flicker behind her emerald veil. She adored the simple story of Elioes, a tale meant to comfort children and convince them of God’s holy powers. But Lorla heard more than just a simple fable. She heard truth.
‘God saw something very special in Elioes,’ said Herrith finally. ‘Just as He sees something special in all of us. Even you and I.’
‘What does He see special in you?’ asked Lorla. She licked at her treat, waiting for an answer.
Herrith stumbled through his collection of cliches, but then decided to tell her what he really believed. ‘I’m His servant,’ he declared proudly. ‘He knows I’ll do His will without question. That is why He burdens me. He has set me to a great task.’
‘To destroy Biagio.’
‘That’s right. He’s the devil’s own. I’m to destroy him, and all his evil w
orks. That’s what Heaven demands of me. No matter what the cost.’ Herrith glanced away, frightened by the challenge. A terrible feeling of old age made his shoulders slump. ‘Lorla, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Horrible things. And I have to continue to do horrible things, because that’s what God wants of me. It’s why He called me to the church, maybe the very reason I was born. I am Nar’s only hope. I’m its savior.’
The little girl smiled crookedly. Herrith couldn’t tell if she believed him, but the warmth in her eyes was comforting.
‘Is that why there’s war in Dragon’s Beak?’ she asked. ‘Because God wants it?’
‘God wants His kingdom on earth,’ replied Herrith. ‘If we must battle for it, if we must sacrifice and die, so be it. God has been very clear to me on this, little one. It’s why He killed Emperor Arkus, and why He’s delivered me the weapons needed to fulfil His plan. Now . . .’ Herrith forced a sunny smile. ‘No more talk of this. We have a whole month to reflect. Today is for fun.’
No sooner had he said that than a monkey scooted across the street, landing in Lorla’s lap. Lorla shrieked at the intrusion, dropping her treat to the pavement and putting up her hands, afraid to touch the curious creature. Herrith’s bellow brought the monkey’s trainer running.
‘Bobo!’ cried the man, a young Dorian dressed in festival clothes. The trainer bowed apologetically to the bishop, while Herrith’s shadowy acolytes crept imperceptibly closer. The little monkey bounced up and down on Lorla’s lap. Like its master, the creature wore a bright green tunic and a red hat on its fuzzy head shaped like a bell. Its yellow teeth flashed as it cried out, but it didn’t threaten the girl at all. It seemed more interested in the ruined treat at her feet.
‘It’s all right,’ said Herrith quickly, putting Lorla and the trainer at ease. He gave a quick glance to his priests, who took a cautious step back. ‘Don’t be afraid, Lorla. It won’t hurt you.’
‘Bobo wouldn’t hurt anyone, Holy Father,’ the young Dorian assured them. He smiled and laughed, seeing Lorla’s sudden delight. ‘Don’t worry, girl. He’s just saying hello.’
‘Hello, Bobo,’ said Lorla, staring down at the mischievous monkey. Bobo bounced when he heard his name, then reached out a hand to explore Lorla’s face. She giggled as his tiny fingers tickled her lips. ‘Can I touch him?’ she asked. ‘He won’t bite me, will he?’
‘Go ahead,’ urged the trainer. ‘Rub his head. He likes that.’
Lorla reached out and lightly stroked the monkey’s head. When she did, the smile on her face stretched wide.
‘He’s so soft!’ she declared.
‘Bobo’s from Casarhoon,’ the trainer explained. ‘He’s come all the way up here just to say hello to you and the Holy Father. You like him?’
‘Very much,’ Lorla cooed. She ran her hands over the creature’s head repeatedly, a gesture that calmed Bobo and made his simian eyes droop. ‘He’s very sweet.’
‘And smart,’ said the Dorian. ‘He can count to ten. And he knows his name better than some people. Bobo even helps me with the other animals. The elephants are afraid of him!’
Herrith watched Lorla and the monkey, and the spark of an idea occurred to him. It didn’t do for her to be so alone in the cathedral. Without other children, she had no companionship save for the priests. A child needed pets. He took hold of the trainer’s sleeve and pulled him closer.
‘How much for the monkey?’ he asked.
The Dorian blinked. ‘Holy Father?’
‘I want to buy it, for the child. How much?’
‘Really, Father?’ asked Lorla elatedly. ‘For my own?’
‘For your birthday,’ Herrith explained. He loved the explosion of joy on her face. ‘Something special for you. Would you like that?’
‘Holy Father, Bobo’s not for sale,’ said the Dorian. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s mine.’
There was enough trepidity in the young man’s voice for Herrith to know he could be persuaded. The bishop smiled at him serenely, leaning back on the bench.
‘Come now, my son. It’s just an animal. How important can it be? I will pay you double what you paid for it yourself. Now that’s more than fair.’
‘Uh, Father . . .?’ said Lorla shyly.
Herrith ignored her. ‘Double, my son,’ he said again, holding up two fingers. ‘Name your price.’
‘I’m sorry, Your Grace, it’s not the money. Bobo’s not just an animal. He’s more like a friend. I could never sell him.’
‘Father, I don’t want the monkey,’ said Lorla sharply, pulling at his robes. Herrith looked at her, startled.
‘You don’t?’ he asked. ‘Why not?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t. Not for my birthday gift. I want something else.’
‘What else?’
‘Just something else,’ she said simply, then frowned at the monkey. ‘He’s a very pretty monkey, though.’ Still stroking Bobo, she glanced at his relieved trainer. ‘You’re lucky. I bet he’s a good friend.’
The trainer offered a smile of thanks. ‘Yes, he is,’ he said, then lifted Bobo off Lorla’s lap. The monkey quickly scurried up its master’s shoulder, perching there like a bird and waving at Lorla and the bishop. ‘Say goodbye, Bobo,’ the man instructed. Bobo squawked an incomprehensible farewell. Lorla returned the wave as the two disappeared back into the crowd. Her eyes lingered on the monkey until it was gone.
‘I thought you would like a companion of your own,’ said Herrith. ‘That creature would have made a fine gift for your birthday. Now I’ll have to think of something else. Still . . .’ He stood, taking her hand and lifting her from the bench. ‘I think I know a place to get you something good.’
‘What place?’ asked Lorla.
‘You’ll see.’
Herrith led her by the hand along the sidewalk, past the performing animals, and past a street magician with a long cape and a handful of cards he kept making disappear. The bishop ignored the noise and the well-wishers crowding around him. What he wanted, what he knew Lorla could never resist, was on the corner of High Street, between a candlemaker and a blacksmith’s shop. Halfway down the avenue, Herrith spotted his destination.
Piper’s toy shop.
Crowded around the shop’s window was a throng of children, all pressing their noses to the glass to get a glimpse of the marvels inside. Already Herrith could hear the faint music of the mechanical flute player in the window, even above the din of the street. He directed Lorla’s view toward the shop.
‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s where we’re going.’
Lorla squinted. ‘What is it?’
‘A toy shop. The most amazing shop you’ve ever seen, little one. Believe me, you’ll find something special there for your birthday.’
‘Yes,’ cheered Lorla, squeezing Herrith’s hand. ‘Yes, I’m sure I will’
Now it was she who led him through the street, practically dragging him in her excitement to reach the toy shop. When at last they reached the window, Lorla let go of him and dove into the mass of children, elbowing her way to the window. Herrith paused on the sidewalk, happily watching her. With a press of little bodies on both sides of her, she put her palms to the glass and peered inside. Herrith didn’t have to see her face to know the awe splashed across it.
Lorla lingered at the window, staring into the toy shop. The other children around her shouted and laughed, but she was silent as stone, mesmerized by the mechanical piper and all the miraculous dollhouses. Inside the shop, Herrith could see Redric Bobs, the shop’s proprietor. Their eyes met for a fleeting instant before the toymaker looked away to deal with his customers. Predictably, the Piper’s shop was packed with patrons. Naren nobles and their spoiled offspring crowded every inch of the store, grabbing greedily at the beautiful things the toymaker had built. Herrith shrugged off the idea of fighting the crowd. He was the Archbishop of Nar. He wouldn’t need to wait for service. As Lorla stared at the toys, Herrith stared at the toymaker. A sad man, really. A great
artist in his own way, but a recluse since his wife died. No children. Herrith closed his eyes and mouthed a little prayer for Redric Bobs. He was probably very lonely.
‘Father,’ Lorla called loudly. She didn’t turn her attention from the window, or pull her hands from the glass. ‘Father, come look!’
Herrith gently pushed himself through the crowd of children and parents. The assembly parted a little as he moved through them, allowing him to pass. As always, the bishop’s acolytes shadowed him. When Herrith reached the window, filled with toys and moving, mechanical marvels, he smiled down at his adopted ward.
‘See? I told you. Isn’t it fabulous?’
‘Fabulous,’ Lorla echoed. Her eyes were fixed on a beautiful dollhouse in the window, a giant, meticulously detailed model with real wood shingles and varnished a flaming, feminine pink. It was grander than all the other grand houses in the window, more stunning even than the wooden piper and his songs. ‘Look at that dollhouse,’ she whispered. ‘The big pink one. Isn’t it lovely?’
‘Beautiful,’ Herrith agreed. ‘The man who makes them is called the Piper. Like the flute player in the window. See?’
He tried to show her the wooden man, but Lorla wasn’t interested, so enthralled was she by the dollhouse. Her little lips twisted with a sad grimace.
‘It’s so pretty,’ she remarked. ‘I’ve never had anything like that.’
‘Would you like one?’
Lorla finally tore her eyes away from the window and looked at the bishop. ‘You mean it?’
‘A gift, from me to you. Something special for your birthday.’
‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Lorla. ‘Yes, I would like that very much. And I want a big one! Like that pink one.’
‘I don’t think the Piper will sell us that pink one,’ said Herrith. ‘From what I understand, he builds them one by one. That pink one is his own. It’s been in his window forever.’