Part VIII
Father and Vincent didn't linger on conveniently elusive passages of the Pardoner's tale for long. They touched briefly on the morality of greed, but it was a well worn discussion that led to entirely unacceptable levels of agreement and accord between them, until Father likened Death's description of what lay under the tree to the words of the prophets that sent Oedipus on his unfortunate path to patricide. Vincent waved off the similarity as tenuous at best, alike in theme, perhaps, but not in intent or meaning or origin, but Father insisted on drawing the parallel. Both men took to the shelves and book stacks, the elder in search of various translations of Sophocles and the younger in search of Western European folklore and cautionary tales. They were quarreling in earnest over relevant passages as they paged through each text when angry voices in the corridor caught their attention once more, and Vincent made a point of hearing no coarse oath pass Father's well-mannered lips.
The relative levity in the chamber slid out from under them when Jacqueline fought her way in, past Winslow, Rebecca, and Kanin and their vehement protests.
"How could you just let them go like that?" she demanded of Father as she charged down the steps. She had large, hoop earrings that swung in time to her fervor. "Those men are still up there. What the hell did you do to chase them off?"
Father pulled off his glasses and closed them with a pointed snap, but Winslow spoke before he could. "Chased them off? Tell that to Mouse and Vincent. I say good riddance to them!"
"Showed 'em more than our share of mercy," Kanin said. "We weren't exactly going to beg them to stay."
"We'll all sleep easier for it, I can tell you that," Rebecca added.
"Am I to surmise from all of this," Father interjected, "that Mister Kessler and his daughters have left us?"
"Ernesto found them wandering around, trying to get out, about an hour ago," Winslow said. "They were insistent, so he showed them the way." He glanced between Vincent and Father. "I didn't think it was anything that couldn't wait till morning to tell."
Vincent understood this to mean that Winslow had decided not to interrupt them.
"Look, I know no one likes how I went about bringing them down here," Jacqueline said, "but that's on me. Brian wouldn't have taken the girls back up when those men are still hunting them. What the hell did you all do to chase him off?"
"Now don't you dare—" Winslow shifted forward, but Kanin stopped him with a quick hand on his shoulder.
"After Mister Kessler's attempt on Vincent's life," Father explained with biting calm, "and after the afternoon I spent in emergency surgery to save Mouse from bleeding to death, the Council voted to honor our offer of sanctuary to your friend and his daughters. Now, I admit that our welcome may not have been quite as warm as is our usual custom, but I think under the circumstances, even you can agree that we did little to chase them off."
Jacqueline stared first at Father, then at Vincent, then at Winslow, Kanin, and Rebecca each in turn. Finally, she said, "I don't understand. Brian would never—"
"Mister Kessler would and, more to the point, has," Father answered.
"The knife is still there on the table, if you need proof," Winslow said.
Everyone looked at the table, at the silent blade, dark and crusted over with Mouse's blood.
Jacqueline shook her head, looking lost. "I still don't understand." She looked at Vincent, at the gauze wrapped around his forearm. "Why would Brian ever—?"
"Seemed to think he was saving Jamie's life," Winslow answered. "Damn it, Jackie, we have a process for a reason."
Some of the bewilderment left Jacqueline's face, replaced by lines of tension. "Is Mouse—?"
"He's healing," Vincent said, the two soft words commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
Jacqueline stared at him, took the temperature of his gaze. "Vincent, I'm so sorry. It just never occurred to me—"
"That seems to be the biggest part of the problem," Rebecca answered with uncharacteristic acidity.
Jacqueline turned on her, her contrition burning away in a white-hot flash. "They're up there, and someone's trying to kill them. Someone powerful, and determined. Mel and Andy are eleven and eight years old; do you think I should have left them topside so your Council could talk and debate and philosophize? Eleven and eight, Rebecca, and they've already lost their mother. These last weeks have been a terror to them I can't even imagine, and now their lives are in danger, too." Her gaze swept over everyone, bright with tears and sickening worry. "And whatever else Brian has done, he's a good man, just trying to keep his daughters alive. He was middle management before all of this, what's he supposed to do against these men? You're the only people I can turn to. Please, you have to help me. Help them. Please. I promised Maddie, if anything ever happened to her—Mel's my goddaughter, don't you understand, I can't just—please!"
She closed her eyes against the stony silence that met her words, and tears slipped out from under her lashes. After a moment and a deep, shuddering breath, she collected herself and opened her eyes once more. For all that it was still wreathed by unshed tears, the gaze she turned on each of them had cooled to solid steel.
"They'll die. Brian doesn't stand a chance, and they'll kill the girls, too. Some of the police have been bought off. There's no telling which ones are working for these bastards and which ones aren't. They have no one to go to, no one to help them."
"If they return to us, we will continue to offer them sanctuary," Father said. "But we cannot—Vincent, where are you going?"
Vincent paused half way across the chamber. "I need to borrow your cloak, Father."
"My cloak?" Comprehension dawned in Father. "You cannot possibly mean to—no! I absolutely forbid it, Vincent. There's already been one attempt on your life today. I will not allow you to go Above for this!"
Vincent regarded Father for a moment with raised eyebrows, but he said nothing. He finished crossing the chamber and took Father's cloak from its hook in silence.
"Vincent, this is crazy!" Winslow boomed.
"You can't go up there," Rebecca said.
He swung the cloak onto his shoulders, finding it a little short, but otherwise perfectly serviceable.
Kanin tried to block his way back across the chamber, but was forced backwards with each of Vincent's steps. "I know you want to help them, but they made their choice to return Above when they had safety here. Getting yourself killed isn't going to solve anything!"
Vincent dropped a hand on Kanin's shoulder in silent thanks for his words, but he moved past the other man, stopping in front of Father.
"Vincent, please—"
"I'll return soon, Father."
Father laid a hand in his son's hair and spoke quietly, his eyes solemn and fixed to Vincent's. "That question you asked me, earlier—you have nothing to prove. Not to us. Not to yourself. This risk—"
"You know I have to go, Father. If it's possible that I can do some good in this situation, I must go. Try not to worry. I will return."
Father moved his hand to the side of Vincent's face, and his son clasped his father's shoulder. After a moment, Vincent drew away and ascended the metal stairs to the doorway. The others shouted after him, but he didn't look back as he led Jacqueline out of the chamber.
They traversed the innermost chambers in silence. As they reached the less populated tunnels, Jacqueline spoke. "I want to try their apartment first. I hope to God he's not stupid enough to go back, but I'm not sure where else to start. I guess I'll go home and check my machine for messages, if they're not there."
Vincent nodded as she gave him the cross streets for Brian's apartment, mapping out possible routes and determining the quickest. He led the way in long, quick strides, but Jacqueline kept pace, her nervous energy spurring them both on.
"Vincent, whatever happens," Jacqueline said haltingly, "you know I can't thank you enough for coming with me." Her words lingered between them, difficult and unfinished, until she said, almost a whisper, "I don't know what else to do."
"We have the advantage over these men," Vincent answered. He considered the split in the tunnels ahead, deciding on the best direction as he turned his feet. "You know where Brian is likely to go, and he trusts you. We'll find them, Jacqueline."
"He's trying to be strong for them," she said softly. "But he's hurting and alone. And Melody, God, it breaks my heart, seeing her trying to be so strong for him. She still sleeps with her favorite doll, for God's sake, and she's trying to be a mother for Andy and a help to her father. I was so sure the tunnels would be good for them all. I couldn't even imagine—how is Mouse, really?"
"Mouse will heal." They passed through a carved archway smoothed into the stone by unknown hands, marking the boundary between stone tunnels and the brick of the undercity. "We were afraid for a time," he admitted. "But he's young and strong."
She said nothing for several corridors. As they neared the top, she asked, "And how are you, really?"
"I'll heal, as well." Truthfully, the local anesthetic Father had administered earlier had begun to wear off, a steady ache creeping back into the abused flesh.
"Yes, and it'll snow in Buffalo before the week is out, but that has nothing to do with the question I asked."
In spite of himself, Vincent smiled, just slightly, at the force of her words.
Jacqueline sighed. "Look, I know you've turned stoicism into a hobby, career, and bad habit, but if there's anything I can do, any apology I can make—"
"We're here." He stopped in front of a ladder. The grate above led to a narrow dead space between two shop fronts; somehow in the course of construction and reconstruction in the last century, each building had separately walled off the alcove, and the emptiness went unnoticed by the tenants of both. With a clever door in the outer wall and a hidden latch in the grate, it was one of the best and simplest thresholds the people Below had.
Vincent took to the ladder, tripped the latch, and led the way out. With his weeks of self-imprisonment Below, Vincent had expected the sounds and smells and infinitely open space Above to be strange and disorienting, but he found himself acclimating in the moments he waited for Jacqueline to crawl through the hidden doorway.
She looked around, trying to get her bearings. She pointed down the alley. "That way?"
He nodded. They set off, and Jacqueline blundered past him when he paused at the end of the alley, stopping only when she realized he wasn't directly behind. She turned and took in his wary glances into the open street before sense caught up with her. "Oh," she said.
But it was late, and the neighborhood was quiet. With the hood of his father's cloak drawn low over his face, he left the alley and let Jacqueline lead the way quickly.
She pointed to the building when it came into sight. "I'll go up and see if they're in. I—"
"It could be dangerous." He considered the building, square and brick and lined with uniform windows. "Which one is theirs?"
With a bit more careful skulking, they circled around to the back alley, and she pointed to a dark window. "There. The fire escape leads to Brian and Maddie's—" she caught herself with a small, choked sound. "To Brian's bedroom."
"Stay here." The gap between the ground and the first level of a fire escape was a challenge Vincent had overcome in his teens. He scrambled up on the outside of the railings, level to level, knowing this method to be quicker and quieter than using the steps. He crouched outside the correct window and peered inside carefully. The room looked empty of occupants, but it was clear that it had been ransacked; the dresser drawers had been pulled out and dumped over the bed, and the closet door hung open, revealing a chaos of clothes and boxes left there. There were no lights on in the apartment, but he waited and listened, just in case. And then—
"Damn it, Mel," Brian's voice said, his voice tight, "we don't have time for this. Just go and help your sister pack."
"Pack what? To go where?" Melody demanded. "You won't let us turn on the lights, and our stuff's all over the floor—"
"It doesn't matter. Just gather what you can and give me a moment to think."
"Let's go to Aunt Jackie's," Melody pled, and Vincent could hear tears welling up in her voice. "She'll help us—"
"Like she helped us this morning? No, we're going to…we're going to leave the city. Go."
Vincent moved back from the window. He pulled a smooth river stone out of his pocket and tapped softly on the metal grating beneath his feet: Present. Safe.
Jacqueline made no reply; he saw her hurry around the corner, back toward the street, and waited. After a couple of minutes, he heard knocking on the front door. It seemed to take a minute or two more for Jacqueline to convince Brian to let her in, but she didn't hesitate to speak her mind loudly and pointedly the moment he did.
"I went Below and found you'd disappeared. What hell are you thinking, Brian Kessler? Coming back Above, and coming here, of all places. They could be watching your building; clearly they've already been here. How could you bring the girls here with you?"
"You knew. You knew about that…that creature they have down there. Andy's been sick for fear of him. How could you send us down there, knowing? With no warning? Haven't they been through enough?"
"If you mean Vincent, I didn't see anything to warn you about. He looks a bit different—"
"Looks a bit different? He's not human, Jackie! He roars like some animal. He's got claws. He's strong like…like I don't know what, but it isn't anything human. He nearly killed me!"
"Did you really stab Mouse?"
This seemed to gut the force of Brian's blustering; he answered first with silence, then with words too quiet for Vincent to make out. Vincent waited and kept watch, wondering for the first time since he'd made the decision if it had been wise to come with Jacqueline. He had never found much reason to question his impulse to watch over and protect those who could not fight for themselves; Below it was always simply assumed to be his role, the one advantage in everything that he was. But Below, there was no fear to complicate things. Waiting outside the Kesslers' window, he began to worry that his presence could do no more than confuse the situation further.
He had just resolved to remain entirely out of sight and let Jacqueline handle the situation when he saw a car roll down the adjacent alley, toward the street, but instead of turning out, the driver cut the engine. The doors opened; he heard footsteps and low voices.
