Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The cathedral of Ripon, as it could be seen nowadays, was the fourth church to be standing on that site. Ever since AD 672 people were coming to this place to worship – and to destroy: King Eadred and William the Conqueror, just to name the two most prominent barbarians who had laid hands on the building. But while Eadred and William had long turned into dust, the cathedral was still standing proudly – with traces of its predecessors enshrined in its mighty walls, for example the 7th century crypt dating back to St. Wilfrid's days.
So who had taken a beating but come out on top at the end? Again, Guerrero couldn't help but feel a certain kinship to the building.
While it looked fairly plain from the outside (because some 19th century barbarian had done away with the medieval tracery of the Early English gothic western front), even a little rough and sinister, the interior was mind-blowing. Guerrero walked through the gray arch that separated the Canon's choir from the rest of the church, than stopped dead in his tracks. He knew a thing or two about knives and carving and couldn't help but stare at the 15th century choir stalls in front of the main altar. If he had been anyone but "Guerrero", he'd have let his mouth fall open.
He had read somewhere that the carvings on the choir's stalls and bench ends had inspired Lewis Carroll while writing Alice in Wonderland. Back then he had dismissed the story as folklore, designed to attract more tourists, but seeing this now… nobody needed to invent stories about the cathedral. It spoke for itself. The longer he looked, the more details he could make out and the more complicated the picture got – cockatrices, elephants, monkeys, lions and centaurs adorned the different bench ends. The whole thing displayed an ever ongoing struggle between the forces of good and evil.
Guerrero slowly moved closer, squinted his eyes… the seats of the choir stalls were tip-up seats. The medieval Canons, for whom the whole choir was reserved, hadn't been supposed to sit down very often while in church, only during the Epistle, the Gradual at Mass and the Responses at Vespers. The rest of the time they had either been standing or kneeling.
Well, Canons usually were old men, back then just as well as nowadays – standing for a long time is hard on the knees, so ledges were attached to the underside of the seats that allowed the Canon to take the weight off his legs but technically still remain in proper upright standing position. These ledges were called "misericords" and, as Guerrero discovered, richly carved as well. He recognized scenes from the bible but, much to his surprise, also a mermaid, a pig playing bagpipes, a man pushing a woman in a cart, a preaching fox and a griffin with human legs. Guerrero almost laughed out loud – this choir didn't only portray the light and darkness of human life, it also showed its insanity, its irony, its ridiculousness…
Not to mention that a misericord was also a small dagger, used to deliver a a death stroke to a fatally wounded enemy...
Damn, this was art if he had ever seen some.
… … …
Winston was keeping an eye on Abby, so Chance could take a closer look at Alan, who had grown more and more foul-mooded and sinister during the past few days of the excursion. When Chance spotted him in one of the flanking aisles of the cathedral, however, he didn't look sinister at all. He was sitting in one of the benches and crying, staring at the wall in front of him.
The walls in Ripon cathedral were covered with gravestones and memorial plates, erected by mourning relatives in remembrance of their loved ones. The plate the young man was staring at with tears in his eyes consisted of white marble and dated back to the mid-19th century:
Dedicated to the memory of a beloved brother
Too early removed from the pains of this vale of tears
As it may be humbly hoped
To an eternal inheritance in heaven
Chance debated sitting down next to him and cautiously asking him what was going on, but Alan took the decision from him. He suddenly shot up from his seat, wiped his tears away and stomped off, muttering to himself. What he was saying was pretty unintelligible, but one phrase Chance could make out very clearly: "end this now".
Uh-oh.
Alan walked up to the stall where the "Friends of the Cathedral" sold tickets that allowed access to the central tower.
Big uh-oh.
Now, Chance had dealt with suicide candidates before, had even managed to talk some of them out of their decision, but it was a risky business. People who were determined enough to climb over the railing of a bridge or onto the ledge of a skyscraper tended to make rash, impulsive, unfortunately irreversible decisions.
The best way to stop suicide candidates from graduating to suicides was to keep them away from heights altogether. Of course, in the long run that didn't solve the problem, but that was the psychiatrists' job. In the acute moment of danger, remaining on solid ground was definitely a lot less risky than on top of a 50 feet high tower – which, in itself, was on top of a rather high roof.
Chance quickly drew out some cash to get a ticket – nothing would have been worse in that situation than to be stopped by an overzealous Friend of the Cathedral.
Well, nice plan, but…
"I'm afraid sir you'll have to wait a couple of minutes", the woman behind the counter informed him with an apologizing smile.
"Excuse me?"
"Only twelve people are allowed on top of the tower at a time. As soon as someone comes down, you can go up. Health and safety regulations, sir."
Talk about the irony of life…
Now Chance had to make a quick decision – wait and risk that the next someone to come down would be Alan, just without using the stairs, or try to get up the tower without permission and risk getting stopped? Well, the Friend of the Cathedral at the entrance to the staircase was approximately eighty years old and he was wearing a long, flowing robe. All in all his chances were pretty good he'd make it past him.
Just then a tourist came dashing down the stairs: "Help, we need help! There's a…."
Chance didn't waste time on hearing the end of the man's cry. He raced up the steps as fast as possible, taking two at a time, almost losing his balance because they were so worn.
The door to the tower's top was open, bright sunlight blinded him as he had finally reached his destination. Alan! Where was Alan? Chance expected to find him balancing on one of the battlements.
Oh he was so wrong…
Professor Simpson was dangling dangerously over the brink, HELD by none other than Alan.
"TELL THE TRUTH!", Alan was yelling. "GODDAMN IT, TELL THE TRUTH!"
