فصل بیست و دوم

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Gunner Alone

The Gunner sat with his back propped against the wall of the church. He looked broken. The bridle chains lying beside him on the pavement still smoked. He was staring up Fleet Street. The dragon, no longer white-hot, was climbing up onto its plinth. It was clearly too worn out to fly. As it climbed, it looked, despite its lion’s body, more lizard-like than ever before.

“Well, that was something out of the quotidian, I’ll grant you that, Gunner.” Dictionary spoke without looking around. Like the Gunner, he was not going to take his eyes off the beast scaling its high plinth.

“Say again?” coughed the Gunner.

“I don’t see that every day,” Dictionary said, after a brief pause.

“You think he’s done, the dragon?”

“Most certainly not. It is not his nature to be done. It is his nature to guard. And, as with any guard, he will not long leave his post, lest whilst in the pursuit of one interloper he leaves the way open to another.” “That right?”

“That is how he was made.”

“Well, what a maker meant, the made must mind, right?” “So I have heard it said. So I feel it in my bones.” “Got bones, have you?”

Dictionary paused. He jerked his head and barked wordlessly.

“Tchah—I feel I have bones. Aching bones.” “I know what you mean.”

The Gunner got to his feet painfully. He tucked the bridle chains into his belt.

The dragon’s head came up at the sound of metal clinking against metal, and there was a shadow of red in its eyes as it peered straight down the center of the street at them.

“He heard that,” Dictionary observed mildly.

“Then he’ll know me next time,” grunted the soldier.

“Where does your path take you?”

“The long path? I got no read on that. But tonight?” He stretched. Took a few steps that were really limps disguised as walking. “Tonight, like snakey there, I need to be on my stone for the day’s turn, or else …” Dictionary looked at the clock sticking out from the facade of the Law Courts like an unexpected pub sign.

“Fewer than three hours to midnight.”

The Gunner dragged his eyes from the dragon and looked up at the jerking wigged figure.

“Better get a start, then. S’ only a couple of miles, but it feels like it’s gonna be a long slog after the going-over he gave me.” “And the children?”

The Gunner suddenly sat down again, exhausted. He busied himself with attaching the bridle chains to his belt as if this was what he had sat down for. Actually, he was barely able to stand. He just didn’t want to talk about it. Dictionary watched him, unusually motionless, not twitching at all. A gray bird settled on his head and squittered white down the back of his jacket. When he spoke again his voice was flat and harsh as a church door slamming.

“And the children, Gunner?”

“What must be, must be. And I must get my breath, and be on my stone at turn o’day.” The Gunner finally met his eye. “—The children are on their own.” “Not if you send a pigeon.”

The Gunners head came up. He shook it to clear it. He wasn’t thinking straight. He should have thought of that.

“Well?” said Dictionary. “Is that not your conceit? Is that not how the brethren of military spits communicate between themselves?” “Worked in the trenches. Works in London,” mumbled the Gunner. “You’re right. But I’ll need to get a—” Dictionary raised his hand. The gray bird hopped off his wig and onto it. He slipped off his plinth and crossed to the Gunner. The Gunner nodded and pulled a stub of pencil from one pocket and a tiny roll of paper from the other. The effort exhausted him.

“Shall I?” said Dictionary, and exchanged the bird for the writing materials.

The Gunner sat against the cool stone, eyes closed, gently holding the bird as Dictionary wrote. Then he took the minute scroll from him and attached it to the bird’s leg. He breathed into its ear.

“All the Jaggers. All the soldiers. Watch out for gargoyles. You’re a messenger, not a taint’s teatime snack.” He gently lifted his hands, and the gray wings fluttered and the bird lofted gently into the night sky.

The Gunner watched it disappear into the night.

“Thanks, Dictionary.”

Dictionary just handed him back the pencil and paper and harrumphed. The Gunner got to his feet.

“Better make a start.”

Dictionary watched him stagger off. The Gunner turned.

“If I don’t…”

Dictionary nodded.

“It’ll not be just Jaggers and soldier-spits keeping an eye out for the children, Gunner. You have my word.” The Gunner held his eyes for a beat, then nodded back.

“A word from you. That’s a thing well worth having.” Dictionary inclined his head in something like a bow. “You do me a kindness. Godspeed.”