Quest of the Five Clans

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The doings at Melrose Abbey

Dealer spoke true. The good stuff is always in ruins. Pity he didn't walk with me through the sunlit arches, the roofless chapels of Melrose. He would have expounded loud and loving upon the strange statues, the swirling patterns carved in wall and step. I could have asked the meaning of that crouching creature perched on roof-cornices, what story lay hid in this frieze of tragic figures fleeing the moon. I walked in a forest of symbols, ignorant of the things symbolized. Here were stone people named by roses and thorns, dogs and stars, swords, hearts, skulls... these signs shouted to tell of the person beyond the worn stone.

But ignorant of the meanings, I saw only the signs, not the things themselves. Mere flower, thorn, dog and star, heart and skull. Statue faces that remained mysteries, same as for any stranger passed on the street. I walked in a ruin of message, the meaning lost. Alas that my friend Dealer could not be with me. No one knew the language of signs and symbols so well, nor so delighted in sharing.

Granted, I'd have cut his throat when he finished.

Or would I? I sighed, sat on sun-warmed grave-stone and felt murder unworthy of the day. Unworthy of this quiet ruined church, this perfected sky. Forego blood-lust, suggested the wind. Here was warm sun and cool breeze, set in peace within the green-grass beauty of the Northlands. What more should I want? The stone beneath, fixed in holy sunlight, asked if I could not choose to sit fixed in peace as well, forgiving friends, forgiving enemies.

No, I told it. Never and never.

All one then, said the stone. It had seen the fire of battle, grief and thunder, and no doubt endless days of wind petting grass, clouds wandering sky. All one; live and love as you wish. It comes to grass and stone and ruin, by and by.

Melancholy things, grave-stones. I should seek advice from busier rocks. A mill-stone, perhaps. Optimistic and productive. Grind on, grind on, it would counsel. I felt weary at the thought. Of late, I was the thing being ground, not the stone grinding. Had Elspeth betrayed me?

There. Put to words at last. A soul-grinding question. Far more so than 'Do I travel with vampires'? And far more needing to be asked. I had not dared in my cell. Those were not words to ask chained in the dark, alone. They must be approached crabwise by sunlight, glancing sideways from the words.

I watched visitors touring the ruins, passing beneath the broken arches, sketching stones, holding hands. Families came in carts and carriages, set about to picnic. Birds circled, discussing the stones, eyeing crumbs. Some corner of Melrose Abbey remained an active church. From that spot of defiance to time, ruin, and disbelief I heard singing. A pleasant sound, so long as one need not sing along. Had Elspeth betrayed me?

Stephano might know. I recalled him carried from my cell, bleeding and gasping. Empty gesture, that howling, kneeling, waving of knife and guilt. Do not tell me a pirate-valet cannot cut a throat proper. He left it to me to teach him the correct slice. And so I would. Ah, but first I might inquire. Had Elspeth betrayed me?

But Stephano had growled she worshiped me. As he worshiped her, no doubt. And worship did not make for sure witness. He might kill her; but he'd close eyes tight to her failings. The very definition of worship. Had Elspeth betrayed me?

Green would know. He always knew such things. Whether he would tell, I doubted. He had a kind streak. Or at least a wish to avoid pain, whether his or another's. I could picture Green intoning 'Dear boy, your Elspeth was a simple girl, loyal to your house and heart.' And yet, our last meeting in his offices, had he not hinted? There is a traitor among us. Elspeth?