City of Iron

by Williamson, Chet

  "Okay, now what?" Tony said. Even though he spoke softly, the words still echoed weakly off the arched ceiling.

  "Let's find the priest," Laika said. She glanced meaningfully at the stained-glass window of the man in the white robe, staring down at the chains that bound him, then looked at Joseph, but he did not respond.

  At the rectory door, they waited two minutes and were about to leave before they finally heard footsteps inside, and saw, through the sheer curtains that covered the glass panel of the door, a black form approaching. A wizened face looked out at them from around the pulled-back curtain, and Laika showed her false credentials. There was a sharp click as a lock withdrew and the door swung in.

  The priest must have been tall once, but was now so severely stooped that Laika suspected he suffered from a degenerative disease. He peered at them from over the top of a pair of wire-rimmed bifocals, an attitude that was more vulturine than quaint. Laika introduced herself and the others to the priest, who identified himself as Father Thomas Grady, and asked them what they wanted. The inquiry was curt, and Laika felt there would be no cheery conversation on the priest's part.

  "Sir, the character of our investigation is classified," she said, trying to be as charming as possible to thaw his wintry countenance, "but certain things we've discovered have led us to your church. Has anything recently happened here out of the ordinary? Strangers hanging around, or anything missing? I notice you keep the church unlocked."

  "And why shouldn't we?" he answered in a brittle voice. "It's a church. People should be free to come in and worship."

  "You don't have a problem with theft?" Tony asked.

  "No. People here respect the church." Laika heard in his tone a broad implication that the current visitors didn't.

  "But there must be others, a criminal element," Joseph said.

  "Criminals don't bother us here. They know better."

  That sounded to Laika like a veiled threat, but she smiled nonetheless. "You haven't seen a gentleman around lately with a Scandinavian accent, have you?"

  "No. I haven't seen anyone but parishioners."

  "Is there anyone else who lives here who might be able to help us?" she asked. "A housekeeper, or—"

  "No one else lives here. A woman comes in to clean twice a week. I don't need anyone else. I can't help you."

  "Well, sorry to disturb you, Father, we'll just—"

  "Father?" Joseph said, interrupting. "Just one question of an historical nature. That one stained-glass window? The one with the man in chains? When was it done? It wasn't installed when the rest were, was it?"

  "No," the priest said, showing a shadow of interest. "The others were installed in the 1880s, but the one you mention—the St. Stephen window—was done later."

  "1910, I'd guess," Joseph said with an air of superiority.

  "You'd guess wrong," said the priest. "1919. Now, is there anything else?"

  Laika glanced at Tony and Joseph, but they both shook their heads no. "Thank you for your time, Father. Sorry to disturb you."

  "Well, you government people are used to disturbing folks, I'm sure," Father Thomas said, and closed the door.

  "Did anyone detect," said Joseph, as they walked away from the house, "a distinct note of hostility from Father Hotsky?"

  "Yeah," said Tony. "He wasn't your usual priest—should've seen more Barry Fitzgerald movies."

  "I had the feeling he blamed us for abortion," Joseph said.

  Laika nodded. "And the national debt and the decline in his church attendance. It doesn't seem like a thriving parish." On the street, she turned to Joseph. "Why did you ask about the window?"

  "All right, I'll tell you. But no reading any cosmic significance into it, okay?"

  "The guy in the window looked just like the guy in your dream," Tony said.

  "Yeah. That's right, he did. Same robe, same hair, and he was chained up the same way."

  "And you don't see anything weird about that?" Tony asked.

  "It's weird, but not inexplicable. It's improbable, but totally possible that I was taken to that church when I was a little kid, saw that window, and retained it in my subconscious. Years later, it came back to me in a dream."

  "And it's just coincidence that we happened to come here the very next day after you had your so-called dream." Tony waved an arm in the air. "I don't buy it, Joseph. This is some very, very weird shit. That vision—because it wasn't a dream, damnit—had something to do with this church and something to do with that sculpture, and you can deny it all you want. But when all these things mesh, calling it a coincidence is the real anomaly."

  "All right," said Laika. "Let's not get into another argument. Let's just work from the facts. The main thing is that the map brought us here. Now, we didn't find anything in the church except for the window. The priest is definitely hostile, which may mean that he has something to hide, and what he's hiding may very well be what we're looking for."

  "Whatever and wherever the hell it is," Joseph said scornfully.

  "I already know where it is," said Tony.

  Joseph grinned lopsidedly. "Now you're psychic?"

  "No. Just logical. You remember what was special about the iron pipes that indicated this area?"

  "Two of them dipped under the floor at one place," Laika answered. "You think it's under the church?"

  "Has to be under something," Tony said. "And there's no subway line that runs under here."

  "Then let's check the church basement," Joseph said, turning back toward the building.

  "That's not where I was thinking," said Tony, just loudly enough for Laika to hear, but he followed Joseph toward the church doors. "That priest is gonna be watching us," he added.

  "We're the government," Laika said. "For all he knows, we can go anywhere we damn well please. He'll probably appreciate our feeding his paranoia."

  Back inside the church, they quickly found a heavy door that could lead nowhere but downward. "Locked," Joseph observed.

  "Gee, isn't that a shame?" said Tony, taking out a small packet of manual picks. In five seconds he was pushing the door open. Then he flipped on the light switch, illuminating a broad stairway leading down. "One of us ought to stay here."

  "You're elected," Laika said, and started down the stairs. Joseph followed.

  The cellar was exactly what she had expected. It was large and open, filled with ancient cardboard boxes containing old issues of Catholic magazines and church records. A few broken pews were piled against one wall, and an old oil furnace with a dozen octopoid metal arms sat silently in a corner.

  The only sound was the tiny patter of mice feet over the old newspapers that covered the floor. Laika raised one of them with her foot and saw dirt beneath.

  They made a circuit of the cellar, lit dimly by three bare bulbs, but found nothing of interest, no secret doors hidden in the brick walls, no areas of rebricking. "Well, they didn't bury any pregnant nuns alive down here that I can see," said Joseph, slapping the dusty bricks. "You satisfied?"

  Laika took one last look around and nodded. They climbed the stairs and turned off the light, and Tony locked and closed the door. "Anything?" he said.

  Laika shook her head. "Where were you thinking?" she asked Tony.

  "You're gonna laugh," he said, and looked at Joseph. "I know you will, but I don't care. I think there's something in that crypt."

  Joseph didn't laugh, but he gave a disgusted noise deep in his throat. "What crypt?"

  "There are three of them out there in the graveyard," Tony said. "Now, with everything else around here being in lousy shape, why would that one crypt have what looks like a brand new shiny lock on it?"

  "Because vandals busted into it?"

  "My ass. This place isn't well kept, but there's not one sign of vandalism here, not one. No graffiti, no beer cans, no nuthin'. I know you don't get into churches much, Joseph, but that alone makes this church just a little unique in New York City. Now, some of these crypts go down into the ground, rig
ht?"

  "Right," Joseph said.

  "Well, that's below the surface, and I bet that's where Holberg was pointing."

  "Jesus Christ," muttered Joseph, "why couldn't he just have written a note?" He looked at Laika. "You agree with this nutty theory?"

  "I don't think there's much else we can try, short of exploring the priest's basement," said Laika, "and I doubt if he'd let us down there without a warrant. The lock is new, it's true. There has to be a reason."

  "Great," said Joseph. "Maybe we should have watched Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things last night instead."

  Chapter 35

  At two o'clock the following morning, the three operatives went back to St. Stephen's Church. They were dressed in dark colors to blend into the night, and Tony had brought along a more potent set of B&E tools.

  The lights in the rectory were all off, and no candlelight came through the stained-glass windows of the church. Although Laika tensed for some recognition of their intrusion onto the church property, none came. How did this place stay undisturbed, she wondered. The gates were wide open, yet no druggies were pushing crack under the trees, no whores were doing their johns in the bushes.

  Ghosts? She had to admit, the place was eerie. But that wouldn't have stopped the lowlifes that dirtied up the rest of the city. What, then?

  The night was cloudy with no moon, but the glow of the city all around them provided them with enough light to find their way through the overgrown grounds to the large granite tomb with the name Peters carved on the lintel above the door. As it turned out, there were two locks. The newer padlock secured an ironwork gate that covered the heavy door of the tomb itself, a massive slab faced with marble that had an inset lock like a house door.

  "You going to pop it?" Joseph asked in a whisper.

  Tony shook his head. "Don't want anybody to know we were here and gone." It took him three minutes with a feeler pick, a ball rake, and a tension wrench to get the padlock open, and another eight minutes for the door. When he turned the lock, he whispered, "This hasn't been opened in a long time. Some of the tumblers were rusty. Maybe I was wrong."

  "We're here now," Joseph said. "I wouldn't miss this for the world. Open 'er up."

  The heavy door opened hard, and with a high-pitched squeal, and Laika thought that the top hinge had partially given way and was dragging the bottom of the door over the marble floor. Tony wrapped his fingers around the edge of the door and lifted it upward, and it opened more easily.

  Laika expected the smell inside to be rank, filled with decay, but there was only the dry odor of dust. They stepped inside, not wanting to use a light until the door was closed again. Tony and Joseph pushed it shut, and then they turned on their flashlights.

  The vault was empty. There were no caskets, no markers on the walls, no niches or urns or decoration of any kind. But there was a four-by-six-foot slab in the middle of the marble floor, and a heavy iron ring set into it.

  "What are we waiting for?" said Joseph, more loudly now that the door was closed. "A flashing neon sign that says, 'Pull tab to open?'"

  The ring was large enough so that each of them could get their fingers around it. They pulled upward and the slab moved slowly. "You read Lovecraft, right, Tony?" Joseph said, panting. Tony nodded. "What would Lovecraft have put under this slab?"

  "Whatever it is," Tony said, "I hope it tears your face off first."

  They shifted the slab to the side, and a strong smell of human waste and body odor that made Laika wince drifted up from the opening. A wooden staircase led downward, and when Tony shone his light down, they heard a feeble gasp from below.

  "Jesus," said Joseph, "there's somebody down there!"

  They all three drove the strong beams of their lights into the hole, and Laika saw what looked like two fat, white spiders crawling about in a whiter nest. Then she realized that she was looking at a white-haired man dressed in black, who was attempting to cover his head with his hands. A cry of anguish surged up at them, and the thin, twisted fingers stretched, futilely trying to shelter the head beneath like an umbrella. If this was Peder Holberg, his hair had gone white.

  "Move your lights away," Laika said, turning her beam up, out of the hole. The others followed suit. "We're coming down," she said to the man below. "Close your eyes and cover them with the palms of your hands." Without waiting to see if he obeyed, she started down the narrow stairs, shining her light in front of her. The man scurried into the corner of what looked like a room eight feet square.

  At the bottom of the stairway, Laika stepped onto the floor of the room. It was black, and the beam from her light merely sat upon it without casting any reflection. The walls and ceiling were similar. On the wall opposite was an opening six inches high and a foot wide. There was one wooden chair in the room, and a thin mattress lay on the black floor, a dirty woolen blanket over it. A metal basin, partially filled with urine and feces, was in the far corner.

  "Who are you?" she asked the man, whose face she could not see. "Let us see your face." He didn't move, and she prodded him with her foot, ready to move should he attack. "I mean it. We won't shine the lights directly on you, but we want to see your face!"

  Laika shone her light into the opposite corner, and the others turned their lights out at her direction. The man, now only dimly lit, slowly turned, lowered his hands, and raised his head. He was not Peder Holberg.

  Beneath the mop of white hair, the face was lined and wrinkled, punctuated with a few pustules that glistened redly. The man was cadaverously thin, his neck a bag of wattles, the pouches beneath his closed eyes like hanging half-moons filled with liquid. His partly opened mouth revealed no teeth, and his thin lips were as cracked as old parchment. The skin of his face, lined deeply with the map of his years, was a sickly gray-white.

  "Tony," Laika said, "pat him down." Tony moved to the old man reluctantly, but did his job quickly and efficiently. The old man grunted and whined as Tony's hands explored him, and his fingers fluttered like fire-crazed moths. He never once opened his eyes.

  "All right, I'm going to turn the light out now. Then we'll talk, understand?" There was no answer. "Do you understand me?" she said more firmly.

  "Yeh . . . yes. . . ." the man said. Though Laika assumed he must have been down here for some time, his voice, though weak, did not sound rusty from disuse.

  If there was one thing she did not want, it was to be in this vile tomb with this man in the dark. But even her single light seemed to stab his eyes like nails, and she knew she would get no answers until he was comfortable once more. She put the fabric of her jacket over the lens, reducing it to a dull crimson glow so that the tomb seemed bathed in thick blood. Then she reached into her jacket pocket, took out a microcassette recorder, and pushed play.

  The old man's whining subsided, and she heard him breathe out, "Thank you . . . thank you . . . I have no light . . . never, never anymore. The pain was so great . . . so great . . . that I wasn't . . . quite myself." He stressed the words too dramatically, and Laika realized immediately that the man was not sane.

  "And who are you?" she said, glad that her voice sounded firm.

  "I am Samuel," the voice intoned. "Father Samuel, oh yes, Father Samuel, a servant of our Lord, trying to live my life for Him now, for Him. . . ."

  "You're a priest?" She recalled all the old legends of the ghosts of nuns who had been walled up and left to die by their superiors for pregnancy or other sins, and the thought flashed through her mind, "Now they're walling up priests instead." A nervous laugh came to her lips, but she bit it back. There was already enough insanity here.

  "I am . . . I was. Oh yes, I was . . . a good priest, yes, a very good priest, I cared, you see, I did, for everyone, not just my parishioners, oh no, but all who came here, all who needed, needed. . . ."

  "Needed what?"

  "Oh, needed Christ, yes, so many, always so many. . . ."

  "Why are you down here?" Laika asked.

  "Should be . . . should be .
. . for my sins."

  "Penance?" she heard Tony's voice say, and was glad to have aural proof that her team was still there.

  "Oh yes . . . yes, penance. . . ."

  "Are you being held here against your will?" Laika asked.

  There was a long silence, and then the priest's quavery voice slithered through the near-darkness. "Noooo . . . noooo . . . I chose. I chose this, none other. For what I did, I did. . . ." Then Laika heard a scuttling, and although his form had not moved, she had the uncomfortable feeling the old priest had crept closer to her in his eagerness to explain. The smell of his body was strong and cloying.

  "I like it now, I like it down here, you see, you see? I have the time now, time to meditate on the Holy Mystery, on what I have done. I pray always, always, I pray and say my rosary, and He is with me, yes, even down here, and someday He will forgive me, and grant me absolution, yes, even I. . . ."

  "What was it that you did?" Laika asked gently.

  There was a long sigh and another silence, and when the priest spoke again, his voice was pinched, as though he was struggling to hold back tears. "I set him free . . . I set him free . . . I couldn't help myself . . . you see, I thought he needed Christ, too, I was so foolish, yes, that's how great a fool I was . . . to think that he needed Christ. . . ."

  "Who was he, this one you set free?"

  "Oh, who he was, who was he, I thought . . . so many things I thought, he told me, he spoke to me in here, in here, the son of the father, I said, yes, that I said, the son of the father . . . but no, not that, not that . . . the holy ghost, unholy ghost. . . ."

  "Where did they hold him?" Laika asked, trying to steer the conversation back into a more rational channel. If they lost him now, they might never get him back.

  "Oh here, oh here, yes, here, who'd look here? Who'd think . . . who'd think here?" he ended weakly.

  Laika heard Joseph's voice in the darkness behind her. "Father, the prisoner," he said softly. "Was he the one in the window? The man in chains?"