Chapter Twenty Three
In which there is chili, and also creepiness.
Twenty Three
Once the shock over the window had died down, Oscar threw a geek fit and began making notes all over his legal pad about the window, while Luc went outside to kick around the bricks that had come loose.
"I've never seen anything like this," Oscar said, more to himself than either Portia, who was helping set up a ladder, or Félix, who was climbing it. "I mean, it's weird enough that there's this big Catholic church up here, and it's Byzantine, which is pretty rare after the, you know, the end of Byzantium as a major political power, if it ever really was one to begin with, and I don't know exactly what era rose windows are from but I'm pretty sure there isn't anything like this, uh, anywhere -- "
"Is that so?" Félix asked, possibly to force Oscar to stop and draw breath. The ladder was propped against two large iron bracings just below the centre of the window, and he was climbing very gingerly; Portia looked impatient to be next.
"Well, it's not a true rose window," Oscar continued, sketching it out with his pen.
"How can you tell?" Portia asked. Oscar looked up.
"It, uh, doesn't look like a rose," he said.
"Most rose windows don't," Portia replied.
"Yeah, but they bear some kind of geometrical resemblance to an open flower. This has panels and doodahs and all kinds of stuff."
"Doodahs? Is that a technical term?"
"Yeah, along with BWL."
"What's BWL?"
"Big Weird Lump," Oscar answered, pointing to where Félix was prodding the underside of a large metal piece in the centre, out from which green and yellow panes radiated. "It's a big black spot in the middle of the window -- seems counterproductive to me."
"It has things attached to it," Félix called. He grabbed part of it and, to Oscar's horror, yanked.
"What are you DOING?" Oscar shouted, as a piece came off in Félix's hand.
"It's just more rotten mortar. It's covered in soot," Félix answered. Another enormous lump came off, and Félix dropped it to the floor, where it shattered into dust. "It looks like a face!"
"A face?" Oscar asked, now thoroughly bewildered. "Seriously, are we sure this church was built in the sixteenth century? Nobody puts faces in a rose window!"
"Maybe it's a....hwoof," Félix grunted, prying a larger piece off of a curved surface. "Get Luc's torch?"
Portia vaulted out through one of the empty window-frames, and returned shortly with the electric torch, shining it over the ironwork in the centre of the window. Fangs gleamed. So did eyes.
And what appeared to be vines.
"You oughtn't to have done that!"
All three of them turned, Portia dropping the torch in surprise, as a fourth voice echoed down the nave. Standing halfway back, looking very small under the high ceiling, was the waitress from the pub, Enid. Oscar looked perplexed.
"Why?" he asked.
The girl was looking past him, though -- at Félix, descending the ladder, and then at the ladder as it was retracted, away from the window.
"Father Wright says it's an abomination, you wanting to remake a house of God," she blurted.
"Yes, we've heard," Oscar said drily. "Enid, isn't it? What brings you here to this travesty of the sacred?"
She scowled at him. "I was driving by and I heard the crash."
"And came to witness our souls be consumed in the fiery pit opening beneath our feet?" Oscar asked. Portia elbowed him.
"You're being mean," she said, in French.
"What'd she say?" Enid demanded.
"She said she'd like a beer," Oscar answered, as Félix joined them, vainly brushing at the soot dust on his fingers.
"Very funny," Enid said sullenly. "I was checking to make sure no one was hurt like any neighbour would if they were decent."
"Well, the next time you're pulling down a pile of bricks in your home, we'll be sure and stand by," Oscar said. Félix gave him a mild look, and stepped forward.
"It is a pleasure to see you again," he said, offering his hand. When she took it, he kissed the knuckles. Enid blushed.
"He learned from that museum guy," Portia said, again in French.
"Would you like to see the window more closely, as long as you're here?" Félix inquired. He hadn't yet released her hand, and now he used it to guide her along to aisle, towards the crossing. Under the dome, he stopped, and picked up the torch from where Portia had dropped it. He played the light over the window, smiling faintly. "We were just cleaning the centrepiece, there. What do you think?"
She was silent. Félix turned to regard it. "I think it's a face. Like le...in English, Veronica's Veil? The face of Christ?"
"No..." she said, shakily. He glanced at her.
"You know it, then?"
"I should go," she blurted, and pulled her hand out of his grasp, running past Oscar and Portia down the nave. Félix stepped closer, trying to discern what she'd seen.
"That was weird," Portia said. "And also vaguely Lottery-esque."
"What?" Oscar asked.
"You know, the old story about how the town has a lottery each year and the prize is getting stoned to death as a pagan sacrifice," Portia said.
"I never read that," Oscar said, sitting on the steps up to the altar, next to Félix but facing down the nave instead. "And could have happily spent the rest of my time in this small, creepy town without knowing the plot."
"Makes one wary," Félix said with a snicker. "What do you suppose she saw?"
"Could be she doesn't like holding hands," Portia grinned. "I'm going outside to see what Luc's up to with the brickpile."
"We'll come too," Oscar said. "Uh, if Félix wants to."
"Yes, let's see what made such a tremendous noise," Félix agreed, following them out.
What Luc was up to was cutting the brick up into manageable chunks with the help of a crowbar, and loading them into his truck. Félix admired the outside of the window while Portia sat in the cab of the truck and watched Luc load. Oscar began skimming small chunks of mortar off into the surrounding tall grass, idly.
"Hey Luc," he said, when the other man happened to pass close by.
"Oui, Oscar?" Luc asked, dusting his work gloves together.
"I know."
"Know?"
"About you and Portia. Just so you know, if you hurt her, I'll kick your ass."
Luc raised an eyebrow, then crouched and lifted a chunk of brick-and-mortar wider than Oscar's shoulders.
"I'll bear that in mind," he said with a smile.
***
"I should leave soon," Félix said, over dinner that night, which they'd mutually agreed should not be eaten in the pub Enid worked at. Consequently they'd decided to drive into London, and were enjoying the fabulous irony of an American-themed restaurant in the middle of Great Britain.
"Back to Paris?" Portia asked, wrinkling her nose. "What are you going to do when you move into the church, Félix?"
"Well, that's at least a year or two away, isn't it?" Félix asked. "By then Malo ought to be causing them enough trouble that they'll ignore whatever I'm doing."
"You're banking on the delinquency of your little brother?" Oscar asked.
"Worked for you," Félix replied. Portia snorted into her drink.
"So until then you're just going to fly back to Paris every three days or so?"
"They'll stop paying so much attention to me soon enough. They always do," Félix sighed.
Luc was poking a fork curiously at his chili. "I'm not supposed to be able to tell what's in this?"
"That's the fun," Portia answered. "I told you to get the salad."
"How's Malo doing after his big American adventure?" Oscar asked.
"They took away his passport and changed their credit-card numbers. He's sulking, but his tutors have eased up on the accounting a little."
"No head for business, huh?" Oscar asked.
"My parents are thinking law, now. Never hurts to have a few legal minds in the family."
"What did you get for the family?" Portia inquired.
"A tattoo," Félix said with a grin. "I was the bad one."
"You have not got a tattoo," Oscar protested.
"How do you know?"
"You wandered around the suite in a towel, Félix. Unless you have it on your -- oh look. There's my beer, saying 'drink me!'" Oscar finished, cheerfully changing the subject.
"He was checking you out," Portia grinned.
"Portia!"
"Oscar," she answered innocently. "I think he should have to prove he has a tattoo."
"He has an honours degree in Business," Luc said. Both of the Americans looked at him in surprise. "Don't you people read up on who you're working for?"
"Félix?" Oscar asked. Félix looked embarrassed.
"Accelerated degree," he mumbled. "I had tutors, it's not my fault."
"When, between the nightclubs, the high-profile starlet romances, and the gay sex scandals did you have time to get a business degree?" Portia asked.
"Someone's been reading up on Félix," Oscar said, around a bite of steak.
"I took a year off," Félix explained.
"A year?" Portia asked.
"I was nineteen, all my friends thought my family sent me to rehab."
"For a year?"
"Yes. They're not very bright, most of them."
"Wow," Portia said.
"Incredulous that I hold a college degree?" Félix asked mildly.
"No, it's not that...Oscar, help me," Portia begged.
"I'd only dig you in deeper," Oscar replied.
"That's not true!"
"Oh yes it is. I'd do it on purpose."
"Luc, they're picking on me!"
Luc beamed. "Yes, I'm enjoying it."
Portia pouted and sat back, crossing her arms. Oscar burst into undignified snickering.
"Returning to business, if we might," Félix said to Oscar, "I'd like you to work on the plans while I'm away. Coordinate with Luc over budgets and such. Talk to some interior decorators in London if you need to, or wherever you have contacts."
"I'd like to pull up the carpet," Luc said. "It can't have been there for two hundred years. It's a little baffling."
"The whole thing is a little baffling," Oscar answered. "I wish we knew who'd built it. I'd like to study him. He was...eccentric. Innovative, I think, in some ways."
"Still thinking about the window?"
"The interplay of light and shadow was the prime concern of a lot of church architects. It's clear he was conscious of it. The windows were meant to be visually stunning -- "
"It is, though," Félix pointed out.
"Yes, but why the giant shadow in the middle of it? The darkness draws the eye towards that rather than towards an overall effect. It's a weird idea -- if they were going to be drawing attention to Christ's face, they wouldn't put it in shadow, that's contradictory."
"Maybe it's Satan," Luc suggested.
"In the middle of a rose window depicting the glory of God?" Oscar asked.
"Makes sense to me," Félix agreed. "The ever-present shadow."
"You're not thinking Catholic enough," Portia told Oscar, patting his arm.
"Scared the hell out of that girl," Félix mused. "She knew what it was, clearly."
"I'm sure the good people of St Thomas will love us even more than they already do if we start pestering pub girls about their deepest fears," Portia said.
"I'll do some research, take some pictures -- I can send them off to my professors from school, see if they have anything to say about it," Oscar said. "We'll keep cleaning it. It might be some kind of mend for a broken panel. It's where a fourth panel would go, in the scheme."
"Reminds me, should I look into some replacements for the ones I broke?" Luc asked.
"Yes," Félix replied. "But I don't just want some unknown person coming in and botching the job. Ask the Church who they'd recommend, surely they have specialists for this sort of thing."
Luc nodded, and poked at his chili again. "Honestly, it's supposed to look like this?" he asked Portia, who grinned at him and took the bowl, changing it for her basket of fried chicken.
"If this keeps up, she's going to lose her edge," Oscar stage-whispered to Félix, right before Portia kicked him in the shin. He made a noise that might even have been a squeak, and bowed his head over his food for a minute.
"So are we going clubbing tonight?" Portia asked Félix, sweetly, while he rubbed Oscar's shoulder sympathetically.
"Mm, no, I thought tomorrow night. Saturday's better for it. And then I'll stay over in London and fly out in the morning on Sunday. Home in time for dinner with my parents," Félix said, with an expressive eyeroll. "I'll bring Malo something nice from London."
"Nothing for the lovely Danielle?" Portia said, devouring Luc's chili happily.
"I think not. My infernal presence will irritate her enough," Félix said happily.
Twenty Three
Once the shock over the window had died down, Oscar threw a geek fit and began making notes all over his legal pad about the window, while Luc went outside to kick around the bricks that had come loose.
"I've never seen anything like this," Oscar said, more to himself than either Portia, who was helping set up a ladder, or Félix, who was climbing it. "I mean, it's weird enough that there's this big Catholic church up here, and it's Byzantine, which is pretty rare after the, you know, the end of Byzantium as a major political power, if it ever really was one to begin with, and I don't know exactly what era rose windows are from but I'm pretty sure there isn't anything like this, uh, anywhere -- "
"Is that so?" Félix asked, possibly to force Oscar to stop and draw breath. The ladder was propped against two large iron bracings just below the centre of the window, and he was climbing very gingerly; Portia looked impatient to be next.
"Well, it's not a true rose window," Oscar continued, sketching it out with his pen.
"How can you tell?" Portia asked. Oscar looked up.
"It, uh, doesn't look like a rose," he said.
"Most rose windows don't," Portia replied.
"Yeah, but they bear some kind of geometrical resemblance to an open flower. This has panels and doodahs and all kinds of stuff."
"Doodahs? Is that a technical term?"
"Yeah, along with BWL."
"What's BWL?"
"Big Weird Lump," Oscar answered, pointing to where Félix was prodding the underside of a large metal piece in the centre, out from which green and yellow panes radiated. "It's a big black spot in the middle of the window -- seems counterproductive to me."
"It has things attached to it," Félix called. He grabbed part of it and, to Oscar's horror, yanked.
"What are you DOING?" Oscar shouted, as a piece came off in Félix's hand.
"It's just more rotten mortar. It's covered in soot," Félix answered. Another enormous lump came off, and Félix dropped it to the floor, where it shattered into dust. "It looks like a face!"
"A face?" Oscar asked, now thoroughly bewildered. "Seriously, are we sure this church was built in the sixteenth century? Nobody puts faces in a rose window!"
"Maybe it's a....hwoof," Félix grunted, prying a larger piece off of a curved surface. "Get Luc's torch?"
Portia vaulted out through one of the empty window-frames, and returned shortly with the electric torch, shining it over the ironwork in the centre of the window. Fangs gleamed. So did eyes.
And what appeared to be vines.
"You oughtn't to have done that!"
All three of them turned, Portia dropping the torch in surprise, as a fourth voice echoed down the nave. Standing halfway back, looking very small under the high ceiling, was the waitress from the pub, Enid. Oscar looked perplexed.
"Why?" he asked.
The girl was looking past him, though -- at Félix, descending the ladder, and then at the ladder as it was retracted, away from the window.
"Father Wright says it's an abomination, you wanting to remake a house of God," she blurted.
"Yes, we've heard," Oscar said drily. "Enid, isn't it? What brings you here to this travesty of the sacred?"
She scowled at him. "I was driving by and I heard the crash."
"And came to witness our souls be consumed in the fiery pit opening beneath our feet?" Oscar asked. Portia elbowed him.
"You're being mean," she said, in French.
"What'd she say?" Enid demanded.
"She said she'd like a beer," Oscar answered, as Félix joined them, vainly brushing at the soot dust on his fingers.
"Very funny," Enid said sullenly. "I was checking to make sure no one was hurt like any neighbour would if they were decent."
"Well, the next time you're pulling down a pile of bricks in your home, we'll be sure and stand by," Oscar said. Félix gave him a mild look, and stepped forward.
"It is a pleasure to see you again," he said, offering his hand. When she took it, he kissed the knuckles. Enid blushed.
"He learned from that museum guy," Portia said, again in French.
"Would you like to see the window more closely, as long as you're here?" Félix inquired. He hadn't yet released her hand, and now he used it to guide her along to aisle, towards the crossing. Under the dome, he stopped, and picked up the torch from where Portia had dropped it. He played the light over the window, smiling faintly. "We were just cleaning the centrepiece, there. What do you think?"
She was silent. Félix turned to regard it. "I think it's a face. Like le...in English, Veronica's Veil? The face of Christ?"
"No..." she said, shakily. He glanced at her.
"You know it, then?"
"I should go," she blurted, and pulled her hand out of his grasp, running past Oscar and Portia down the nave. Félix stepped closer, trying to discern what she'd seen.
"That was weird," Portia said. "And also vaguely Lottery-esque."
"What?" Oscar asked.
"You know, the old story about how the town has a lottery each year and the prize is getting stoned to death as a pagan sacrifice," Portia said.
"I never read that," Oscar said, sitting on the steps up to the altar, next to Félix but facing down the nave instead. "And could have happily spent the rest of my time in this small, creepy town without knowing the plot."
"Makes one wary," Félix said with a snicker. "What do you suppose she saw?"
"Could be she doesn't like holding hands," Portia grinned. "I'm going outside to see what Luc's up to with the brickpile."
"We'll come too," Oscar said. "Uh, if Félix wants to."
"Yes, let's see what made such a tremendous noise," Félix agreed, following them out.
What Luc was up to was cutting the brick up into manageable chunks with the help of a crowbar, and loading them into his truck. Félix admired the outside of the window while Portia sat in the cab of the truck and watched Luc load. Oscar began skimming small chunks of mortar off into the surrounding tall grass, idly.
"Hey Luc," he said, when the other man happened to pass close by.
"Oui, Oscar?" Luc asked, dusting his work gloves together.
"I know."
"Know?"
"About you and Portia. Just so you know, if you hurt her, I'll kick your ass."
Luc raised an eyebrow, then crouched and lifted a chunk of brick-and-mortar wider than Oscar's shoulders.
"I'll bear that in mind," he said with a smile.
***
"I should leave soon," Félix said, over dinner that night, which they'd mutually agreed should not be eaten in the pub Enid worked at. Consequently they'd decided to drive into London, and were enjoying the fabulous irony of an American-themed restaurant in the middle of Great Britain.
"Back to Paris?" Portia asked, wrinkling her nose. "What are you going to do when you move into the church, Félix?"
"Well, that's at least a year or two away, isn't it?" Félix asked. "By then Malo ought to be causing them enough trouble that they'll ignore whatever I'm doing."
"You're banking on the delinquency of your little brother?" Oscar asked.
"Worked for you," Félix replied. Portia snorted into her drink.
"So until then you're just going to fly back to Paris every three days or so?"
"They'll stop paying so much attention to me soon enough. They always do," Félix sighed.
Luc was poking a fork curiously at his chili. "I'm not supposed to be able to tell what's in this?"
"That's the fun," Portia answered. "I told you to get the salad."
"How's Malo doing after his big American adventure?" Oscar asked.
"They took away his passport and changed their credit-card numbers. He's sulking, but his tutors have eased up on the accounting a little."
"No head for business, huh?" Oscar asked.
"My parents are thinking law, now. Never hurts to have a few legal minds in the family."
"What did you get for the family?" Portia inquired.
"A tattoo," Félix said with a grin. "I was the bad one."
"You have not got a tattoo," Oscar protested.
"How do you know?"
"You wandered around the suite in a towel, Félix. Unless you have it on your -- oh look. There's my beer, saying 'drink me!'" Oscar finished, cheerfully changing the subject.
"He was checking you out," Portia grinned.
"Portia!"
"Oscar," she answered innocently. "I think he should have to prove he has a tattoo."
"He has an honours degree in Business," Luc said. Both of the Americans looked at him in surprise. "Don't you people read up on who you're working for?"
"Félix?" Oscar asked. Félix looked embarrassed.
"Accelerated degree," he mumbled. "I had tutors, it's not my fault."
"When, between the nightclubs, the high-profile starlet romances, and the gay sex scandals did you have time to get a business degree?" Portia asked.
"Someone's been reading up on Félix," Oscar said, around a bite of steak.
"I took a year off," Félix explained.
"A year?" Portia asked.
"I was nineteen, all my friends thought my family sent me to rehab."
"For a year?"
"Yes. They're not very bright, most of them."
"Wow," Portia said.
"Incredulous that I hold a college degree?" Félix asked mildly.
"No, it's not that...Oscar, help me," Portia begged.
"I'd only dig you in deeper," Oscar replied.
"That's not true!"
"Oh yes it is. I'd do it on purpose."
"Luc, they're picking on me!"
Luc beamed. "Yes, I'm enjoying it."
Portia pouted and sat back, crossing her arms. Oscar burst into undignified snickering.
"Returning to business, if we might," Félix said to Oscar, "I'd like you to work on the plans while I'm away. Coordinate with Luc over budgets and such. Talk to some interior decorators in London if you need to, or wherever you have contacts."
"I'd like to pull up the carpet," Luc said. "It can't have been there for two hundred years. It's a little baffling."
"The whole thing is a little baffling," Oscar answered. "I wish we knew who'd built it. I'd like to study him. He was...eccentric. Innovative, I think, in some ways."
"Still thinking about the window?"
"The interplay of light and shadow was the prime concern of a lot of church architects. It's clear he was conscious of it. The windows were meant to be visually stunning -- "
"It is, though," Félix pointed out.
"Yes, but why the giant shadow in the middle of it? The darkness draws the eye towards that rather than towards an overall effect. It's a weird idea -- if they were going to be drawing attention to Christ's face, they wouldn't put it in shadow, that's contradictory."
"Maybe it's Satan," Luc suggested.
"In the middle of a rose window depicting the glory of God?" Oscar asked.
"Makes sense to me," Félix agreed. "The ever-present shadow."
"You're not thinking Catholic enough," Portia told Oscar, patting his arm.
"Scared the hell out of that girl," Félix mused. "She knew what it was, clearly."
"I'm sure the good people of St Thomas will love us even more than they already do if we start pestering pub girls about their deepest fears," Portia said.
"I'll do some research, take some pictures -- I can send them off to my professors from school, see if they have anything to say about it," Oscar said. "We'll keep cleaning it. It might be some kind of mend for a broken panel. It's where a fourth panel would go, in the scheme."
"Reminds me, should I look into some replacements for the ones I broke?" Luc asked.
"Yes," Félix replied. "But I don't just want some unknown person coming in and botching the job. Ask the Church who they'd recommend, surely they have specialists for this sort of thing."
Luc nodded, and poked at his chili again. "Honestly, it's supposed to look like this?" he asked Portia, who grinned at him and took the bowl, changing it for her basket of fried chicken.
"If this keeps up, she's going to lose her edge," Oscar stage-whispered to Félix, right before Portia kicked him in the shin. He made a noise that might even have been a squeak, and bowed his head over his food for a minute.
"So are we going clubbing tonight?" Portia asked Félix, sweetly, while he rubbed Oscar's shoulder sympathetically.
"Mm, no, I thought tomorrow night. Saturday's better for it. And then I'll stay over in London and fly out in the morning on Sunday. Home in time for dinner with my parents," Félix said, with an expressive eyeroll. "I'll bring Malo something nice from London."
"Nothing for the lovely Danielle?" Portia said, devouring Luc's chili happily.
"I think not. My infernal presence will irritate her enough," Félix said happily.