The Watchers (59 page)

Falling into blackness …
Kill
…

thirty-six

Rochat came into the loge after the midnight rounds.

‘He isn’t here yet.’

‘He’s probably drinking his supper somewhere. Let’s not worry, not yet anyway.’

Katherine was sitting on the bed, sorting clothes to pack in the rucksack Rochat had given her. Monsieur Booty sat nearby, pawing at each item as if laying claim to it. Katherine brushed him away each time. Rochat took Monsieur Buhlmann’s cloak from the door hook and folded it. He handed it to Katherine.

‘You can take this because it’s winter and you need a coat. We forgot to buy you a coat from the lady behind the counter.’

‘I thought it belonged to the other guy who works here.’

‘I can buy Monsieur Buhlmann a new cloak for Christmas. You need a coat to go home and I’m very sure he won’t mind. He’s a very nice man.’

‘Gosh, thanks, I really love this old thing.’

Rochat turned around, reached up to a shelf, took down the tin box with the picture of the Matterhorn on the lid.

‘And you can take the rest of the money too. I have more in my bank.’

‘Marc, you’ve done enough already.’

‘But what will you do to make money?’

‘Have to earn it the old-fashioned way, I guess.’

‘You mean like Marie-Madeleine?’

‘I guess so.’

‘But if you take my money you won’t have to sell yourself any more and you can just go home.’

Katherine stared at the tin with ninety-six thousand Swiss francs inside, like ninety-six thousand second chances staring back at her.

‘Tell you what. I’ll take it if we call it a loan. A loan I’ll pay back.’

‘I have more in my bank.’

‘I know but I need to pay you back. Not quite sure how but I will. Even if I have to flip hamburgers at McDonald’s for the next twenty years.’

Rochat thought about the McDonald’s near Place de la Palud. The people behind the counter wore funny hats and always asked if Rochat wanted an extra-large drink with his meal.

‘Is that a joke?’

‘Yeah, I hope so anyway. But I promise, I’ll pay this back, every franc.’

‘
D’accord
.’

She took the tin and stuffed it into the rucksack. Rochat reached to another shelf, took down a sketchbook and a jar of pencils. He sat at the table, opened the sketchbook. Katherine watched him a moment.

‘What are you drawing now, Marc?’

‘I’m drawing you getting ready to go home.’

‘You’re going to wear down your pencils drawing me. Why don’t you finish that funny story. The one about the wizard and the guys in paper hats on the flying caterpillar. What’s his name, Pompidou?’

Rochat looked from Katherine to his sketchbooks on the shelf, seeing the one with the word
piratz
scribbled on the binding, noticing it’d been moved from where he’d left it.

‘Did I show you the book with the story of the pirates in the paper hats?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Then how do you know about the pirates in the paper hats?’

‘Oops, guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?’

Rochat looked at Monsieur Booty sitting on the bed next to the rucksack, busily looking back and forth at the two of them.

‘He’s on the bed.’

‘Yeah, I know. It’s an expression, Marc.’

Rochat watched Katherine pick up Monsieur Booty, set him on her lap.

‘Now he’s on your lap.’

‘Yeah, I know that too. Truth is … Marc, look at me, forget the cat, he’s fine.’

‘Forget the cat, he’s fine.’

‘Yeah, forget the cat. I was peeking through your things when you went to the café, the first day after I got here.’

‘Oh.’

‘You’re really talented.’

‘
Merci
.’

‘No, I mean it. All your drawings are wonderful and that story is really, really funny. I loved the part where they’re all yelling silly stuff at each other. I couldn’t stop laughing.’

Rochat stood, took
piratz
from the shelf, handed it to her.

‘You can take it with you.’

‘Wow, really? This is the best thing.’

‘It is?’

‘Sure, you made it with your heart.’

‘I made it with my hands.’

‘Man, am I going to miss you. Did you finish it?’

‘Finish what?’

‘The story.’

Rochat thought about it.

‘The pirates need to get into the ice castle and rescue the princess and find the future-teller diamond and then they go home.’

She handed the sketchbook back to him.

‘Then you sit down, buster, and draw while I finish packing.’

Rochat sat at the small wood table and opened the sketchbook to the page with the pirates in their paper hats waving wooden swords and shouting, ‘Oh yeah?’ and Screechy the evil wizard shouting back, ‘Yeah and double yeah!’ Rochat picked up a pencil and his hand began to move quickly over the page.

Katherine watched Rochat draw for a few minutes, then she slowly packed her clothes. Monsieur Booty, seeing all the things he’d already laid claim to now being stuffed in a rucksack, jumped on a black jumper and purred in protest. Katherine picked up the cat and dropped him to the floor.

‘No claws on the cashmere, thank you.’

Mew
.

Monsieur Booty arched his back, flapped his ears, hopped on to the table to watch Rochat draw. He swung a furry paw at the pencil, Rochat brushed it away.

‘
Non
.’

Mew
.

‘Because I said so.’

Mew
.

Another swipe of the paw.

‘
Non
. You ask her, you miserable beast.’

Katherine stopped packing.

‘Hey, I’m standing right here. Ask me what?’

Rochat and Monsieur Booty looked at Katherine, then each other, then back to Katherine. Rochat pointed to the beast.

‘He wants to be in the story.’

‘Monsieur Booty told you he wants to be in the story?’

‘
Oui
.’

She looked at Monsieur Booty. The beast yawned.

‘You sure that’s what he said?’

‘
Oui
.’

‘OK, so put him in the story.’

‘I have to think of something for him to do.’

‘So think of something.’

Rochat scratched his black mop of a head and thought about it.

‘Monsieur Booty can be living in the ice castle from the times of the nice old queen before she died and one day he climbs to the tower on secret steps and finds the captured princess and falls in love with her. So he lets the pirates in the ice castle so they can take her home. But before they leave she reminds them about the future-teller diamond and the pirates all say, “Oh yeah, the future-teller diamond.” And Monsieur Booty shows the pirates where it is and they go steal it back, and the princess decides to take Monsieur Booty with her and they all fly back over the Boiling Seas of Doom on Pompidou the giant caterpillar. And then they put the future-teller diamond in its secret place and then they all drink tea in a vineyard overlooking the lake and it’s a spring day and the swallows are coming back to Lausanne and everyone’s happy. The end.’

Katherine tipped her head with wonder.

‘How the heck did you come up with that so fast?’

‘Because I imagined that’s the way the story’s supposed to end.’

‘Huh. What’s Monsieur Booty think?’

Rochat looked at Monsieur Booty.

‘What do you think, you miserable beast?’

Mew
.

‘He likes it.’

‘So, do it.’

Rochat went back to work. Katherine finished packing and lay down on the bed, watching Rochat draw till her eyes grew heavy and sleep began to wash over her.

‘I’m going to miss being in your cathedral, Marc.’

‘You can come back and visit.’

‘And you’ll always keep your lantern shining at night so I can find my way?’

‘It’s my duty.’

Katherine pulled the duvet over her legs. Monsieur Booty saw the opportunity for another nap and hopped to the bed. She scratched the beast behind its ears.

‘And thank you for saving me from the evil wizard, Monsieur Booty.’

Mew
.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Rochat’s pencil moving over the paper.

Rochat stood over her, the bright lantern in his hands.

Katherine shaded her eyes, saw his crooked shape. His black floppy hat and coat sparkled with drops of rain.

‘Marc … what’s going on?’

‘I just finished the two o’clock rounds. The detectiveman is down on the esplanade.’

‘Is he coming up?’

‘
Non
.’

Katherine looked out of the open door of the loge. Rain falling thickly.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I thought he was dead, but they only hurt him.’

‘What?’

‘The bad shadows, they hurt him.’

Katherine quickly unravelled herself from the duvet and rushed to the south balcony, she looked down over the railings. Near the fountain below the trees, a body in a bloodied shirt and trousers, face down on the soaking-wet cobblestones, a brown mackintosh tossed to the side.

‘Oh, Jesus, Harper.’

Rochat shuffled up behind her.

‘They cut him on his chest and stomach and he’s bleeding. That’s why I woke you up. I need you to hold the doors so I can bring him in the cathedral. I’m very sure he needs to hide too.’

Dull buzzing sounds through the darkness.

Tingles of awareness.

Breath, touch.

Opening his eyes, seeing a shadow taking form. Long black overcoat, black hat pulled down on his head.

Dead black potion pulsed through Harper’s blood.

‘Bloody half-breed!’

He lunged at Rochat, slammed him to the floor.

Katherine grabbed at Harper’s arms.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘He’s one of them!’

Harper drove a knee into Rochat’s chest and pinned him to the flagstones and tore the hat from his head. He grabbed his throat and squeezed. Rochat kicked his crooked legs, his face turning purple. Katherine pounded her fists at Harper’s back.

‘You’re killing him!’

‘That’s the bloody idea. Look at his eyes.’

Katherine pounded harder.

‘Stop it. What’s wrong with you?’

‘His eyes, you can see the dead black in …’

Seeing the faintest light. Flashing and fading.

‘… in his eyes.’

… his eyes, his eyes, his eyes …

Harper heard his own voice echo in the dark. He loosened his grip and Rochat crawled away, sucking at the air in wrenching gasps. Katherine rushed to him, held his shoulders.

‘Marc, can you breathe?’

Rochat coughed.

‘
Oui
.’

She shot a vicious glare at Harper.

‘You idiot, you nearly killed him!’

‘Did you see it, what happened, just now?’

‘See what?’

Harper shook his head.

‘No, it’s a bloody trick!’

He charged again, tossed Katherine aside. He pulled Rochat by his overcoat and dragged him over the flagstones, threw him against the stone balustrade. Harper leaned down, yanked Rochat upright.

‘Your father, which one was he?’

‘Monsieur?’

‘He was one of them, which one was he?’

Katherine pulled at Harper’s wrists.

‘Stop it, you bastard!’

Harper shoved her aside, silenced her with a killing look.

‘Stay back, Miss Taylor, or I’ll snap his neck here and now.’

Horrified tears welled in her eyes.

‘Please, Harper, it’s Marc.’

‘Who?’

‘Marc, you know who he is.’

Harper looked at Rochat, almost recognizing the face. Then seeing it again, the faintest light shining deep within his eyes.

‘No, it’s got to be a trick, it’s part of your cover.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘Stop lying to me!’ Harper grabbed the lapels of Rochat’s overcoat, shook him hard. ‘Your father, what was his name in the world? He would’ve told you his name. The name men gave him, from the Book of Enoch, what was his name?’

‘I don’t read well, there was an accident when I was—’

Harper slammed Rochat into the balustrade.

‘You’re lying. Tell me his name, you know his name! Azazel, Samyaza? Which one was he?’

Rochat quivered with fear.

‘His name was Papa, he was an architect, he was trying to save the cathedral from falling down.’

‘Bollocks! He showed you the dead black in his eyes, didn’t he?’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘You do know, you know everything, you’re a fucking half-breed!’

… half-breed, half-breed, half-breed …

Rochat seized up trying to speak, Harper shook him harder.

‘Tell me!’

Katherine fell on Harper’s back, grabbing his shoulders.

‘You son of a bitch! You’re scaring him to death!’

‘Your father showed you the dead black in his eyes, didn’t he?’

‘Papa showed me how to draw people and things.’

… draw people and things, people and things …

Harper heard Rochat’s terrified voice echo away.

… people and things, people and things, people and things …

‘What did you say?’

‘Peopleandthings, nodeadblackinhiseyes, peopleandthings.’

Harper released him, he fell back on the floor.

‘You draw things, you draw people?’

‘Papashowedmehow, Papashowedmehow.’

Katherine slid over the flagstones. She took Rochat in her arms.

‘Jesus, you’re trembling.’

Harper backed away into the shadows, listening to the lad’s words echo through the dark like a frightened prayer.

….
papa showed me how, papa showed me how …

Katherine turned on Harper.

‘What’s wrong with you, you bastard? What is this?’

‘His father could draw.’

‘So does Marc, so the fuck what?’

‘We can’t draw a picture, write a poem, a piece of music … not even the enemy. His father was a man.’

‘Of course his father’s a man. Have you totally lost your mind?’

… lost your mind, your mind, your mind …