Angel Of The City
Page 21
“Unfortunately no. A living hero is just as dangerous as a dead martyr.”
“Seems like an impasse.”
“Not at all. In lieu of death and as a symbol to the people of Ministry justice, you will be exiled, escorted to the outside through a passage under the western wall.”
“Original.”
“Not really. It’s an old punishment, one that hasn’t been used in many years, but it is still in the books. Given the present chaotic state of affairs, it won’t take long for word of your fate to filter out to the general population. I have arranged for your wounds to be seen to prior to your expulsion, just to cast further doubt. Then the people will be left to ponder whether you were truly exiled, or whether you were allowed to escape. In time, some may even begin to question your role in the Angel’s death.”
He sets his cup down gently. “Please understand that I take no joy in my actions, but the welfare of the city must take precedence over all other considerations. Still, I do admire you. This operation would not have succeeded, if not for you. I asked for this meeting specifically because I felt you had earned an explanation.”
No signal is given that I can see, yet the door behind us opens and two counselors appear. “Now then, I’m afraid our time is over.”
I’m lifted from the chair and helped across the carpet to the waiting elevator. At the door, I turn, hobbling to keep the weight off my fractured ankle. “Am I permitted to ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“What does lie outside the city?”
He smiles again and I suddenly realize why his face had seemed so strange at first. His was a face without fear, untroubled by regret or uncertainty. It was the face of a man utterly at peace with himself. I have never seen such a face before. “What indeed, Mr. Ellison. What indeed.”
Epilogue
Thunder crashes as rain falls heavy upon a green world, sweet and clean as the first day of creation. They’ve moved me here, to this shelter in the glade, that I might look to the east one last time before the end comes. They care for me more like a pet than a man these days, but I do not begrudge them that. That they continue to care for me at all is a wonder, though I do make the children laugh.
Thick cataracts of age play on a mind unable to remember yesterday’s meal, yet in these last years I have seen her again, clear and unmistakable. She comes to me mostly at night, comforting me with words that only I can hear. The children laugh when I tell them; say they are just dreams, shadows of my life that was. But what do they know of dreams? To them, my tales of the city are only a dream, the nightmarish dream of an old man.
And so have I become, both the dream and the dreamer.
Now I see her again, standing in the mists, beckoning. In all the long years since I set out from the city, I have never forgotten her.
It is time. Peering into the rain, I take a final breath and whisper her name.