Beautiful Blood

Early in the proceedings, when the top three floors were still unfinished, but the House was already open for business, a functionary of the Church, a cardinal sent from Mospiel, visited the offices and asked to speak with the person in charge. Instead of steering him to one of Rosacher’s proxies, a young office worker, knowing no better, escorted him into the fourth floor laboratory, a windowless room whose walls of unfinished stone resembled those of a prison, where Rosacher (working in the House pseudonymously) was engaged in his study of Griaule’s blood. The cardinal was a fleshy man with an aquiline nose and thick gray hair and the beginnings of a double chin, wearing on his ring finger a huge gemstone of the sort set above the cathedral atop Haver’s Roost, and clad in a black robe trimmed with silver. He wandered about for a time without acknowledging Rosacher, his gaze lingering on the vials and alembics and other scientific apparatus that cluttered the several countertops. Only after completing his inspection did he address Rosacher, who had hovered all the while. He first surveyed Rosacher, taking in his shabby clothing, the scarring on his face and hands, and then with a haughty air, said, “I asked to speak with the person in charge.”

“You’re after seeing Mister Mountroyal, I reckon,” said Rosacher, affecting a country accent. “He’s not here. You’ll have to speak to me or one of the other administrators.”

“I’ll wait,” the cardinal said. “I would like to meet with him today, but tomorrow in the morning will do.”

“I don’t suppose I made myself clear. Mister Mountroyal lives across the water on Saint Cecilia’s Isle. Take him the best part of a week for to get here. Longer if he’s occupied elsewhere.”

The cardinal let out a petulant sigh. “If I must wait, I will wait. Prepare accommodations for me and my assistant.”

“Perhaps…” Rosacher pretended to falter, to be ill at ease. “Perhaps Your Eminence should consider finding more suitable quarters. The rectory on Haver’s Roost, for instance.”

“I’ve dwelled among the sinful all my life,” the cardinal said pompously, as if this were a unique accomplishment. “Nothing that occurs here will have the slightest effect upon me.”

We’ll have to see about that, Rosacher said to himself. He went to the wall and pulled on a bell rope. Momentarily another office worker appeared and Rosacher instructed him to ready two rooms, and to make certain anything that the cardinal might find offensive was removed.

“No, no! I am here to observe the normal functioning of your establishment. Leave everything in place.” The cardinal spotted a wooden chair in the corner, went to it and settled himself, spreading his robes beneath him as might a woman. “I wish you to convey a message to your Mister Mountroyal,” he said, addressing himself to Rosacher. “Tell him Cardinal Chiano has come from Mospiel to question him about the objectionable tone of his business. I will not leave until I have met with him. Can you manage that?”

“I can.” Rosacher walked to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. “Would Your Eminence mind if I asked a question?”

Chiano gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

“What did you mean by ‘objectionable tone’?”

“Surely it’s obvious. In every aspect of your business, you appear to be mocking the Church.”

Rosacher feigned amazement. “Why, that’s not so. If anything, we’re mocking the folks who think Griaule is divine.”

“Griaule may well be divine. The council appointed by the Church has not yet made its determination.”

“Well sir, I’m sure there are wiser heads on your council than me, but I’ve lived close by Griaule my entire life and I’m here to tell you, that pile of stink behind us ain’t nothing more than a half-dead lizard. A whopping big lizard, but a lizard all the same.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“If Griaule was a god, you think he would have let us drill into his hide so as to stabilize the biggest whorehouse in the country?”

“You actually drilled into the beast?”

“Mister Mountroyal figured what with the size of the place, we couldn’t rely on cables like the old hotel that stood here did.”

Chiano pursed his lips. “You may have a point.”

“People in these parts are crazy for religion. We didn’t have the Church until recently, so folks worshipped what there was to worship. If Griaule wasn’t around, you could stick an empty wine bottle up on a rock and someone would say a prayer to it. When you get right down to it, the House is doing the Church’s work by associating the lizard with, if you’ll pardon my language, a nice piece of fish. It causes folks to see their superstitious nonsense in a new light.”

“It’s an interesting point of view, I’ll hand you that,” said Chiano. “What’s your name?”

“Myree,” said Rosacher, suspecting that he had said too much and thus sparked the prelate’s interest in him. “Arthur Myree.”

“Well, Arthur, perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to chat again.”