…Whatever hope is yours
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world.
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves grieves richlier than here,
For of my glee might men have laughed,”
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now.
—Wilfred Own, “Strange Meeting”
Gertrude found her in the parking lot, sitting on the ground beside her squad car, and smoking as she peered out toward the distant Barricade. It took her a while to notice the Intruder, or at least to stir from her reverie sufficiently to acknowledge the visitor.
“Stormy, husky, brawling—Gertrude of the big shoulders,” she greeted. She could have been speaking of herself, for they two were much alike. Not as sisters are alike, but as those who by mixed chance and choice have lived similar lives; they were alike for the same reasons a bat and a bird both have wings.
Gertrude approached her slowly, at once reluctant to see her and anxious, too. She could not recall whether they had last parted as friends or enemies.
She took the proffered cigarette and lit it with her own lighter. She perched on the hood of the car, beside the Sheriff, and felt a little of her contemplation.
“I hear you’ve been involved in this,” she said, flicking her cigarette toward the lab, “nosense.”
Gertrude nodded, slowly, acceding but not adding. Instead, she asked, “And what are you doing here? I heard the family has you playing guard dog.
The Sheriff snorted. “The family. You know how much—and how little—dayside coin will buy here. Just like our money over there.”
Gertrude let that “our”slip by, because although the Sheriff was a citizen and servant of dayside, and therefore hardly one of “us” duskies, they’d long ago exhausted that fight, and they had the scars to remind them of it if memory failed.
“So why the hell are you here?”
“Because there’s more to the dayside ecology than money. There’s politics, too. There’s people I answer to. And they said, ‘Jump.’”
“The Church.”
The Sheriff shot her a suspicious glance, and then gave up a nod. She pointed to the gold robe dimly visible inside the lab, sparkling in lanternlight. The robe moved to and fro, as the priest’s attention shifted.
“The seem to have some interest in this man Aquitaine. They hope to find what they want here, in the ashes, or else in Aquitaine himself.”
“I heard the family had him locked up, too.”
“Let me guess, Murray jumped to some conclusions?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if they don’t get what they want here or in a padded room, then Murray will have his assumptions adjusted forcibly, I guess.”
“They’ll go after him?”
“They’ll go after him. It’s a long shot, but sooner or later they’ll check it out. Too bad for Murray. And,” she added, her face hardening, “too bad for you.”
“You mean—“ Gertrude’s hand tensed instinctively, and quivered in the general direction of her gun.
“I haven’t given you up. Yet. But I will if it gets hot enough for me. And besides, Murray’ll toss you up like a drunk over a toilet, anyway.”
But she’d receive no special protection. Was it because the Sheriff didn’t have it to give, or because she didn’t care to give it? ‘Trude tried to meet her gaze, but the woman’s eyes were fixed upon the softly glinting crenellations of the Barricades. She’d always let her gaze stray that way, in all the years ‘Trude had known her. She knew the Sheriff had history on the other side, but she had no clear idea what that history was, what she’d left behind to wield her fists and her guns in the twilight. Or, for that matter, why she’d done so.
“You know something, don’t you, Trude? You saw something in there, or heard it?” She rose now, and stood before her. She grasped her shoulders, and now at last their eyes met and held.
“No,” the Sheriff said. “You took something, didn’t you?” She’d always had that talent, to look into your eyes and steal the truth. She sighed and tightened her grip until the pain burned in Gertrude’s shoulders. But somehow she knew, the other was not trying to hurt her so much as keep herself erect. Their bone-weariness was not quite the same there was no solace in sharing its burden.
“What was it, Gertrude? Tell me.” Her hands fell away, to her sides. For a brief instant, both tensed, suddenly ready for whatever combat. They’d fought before, with every kind of weapon, and when they fought it was with a ferocity that knew nothing of the several loves they might once have felt. Or maybe that was what so fueld the fury.
But this time, the Sheriff let the anger drain off into the darkness. She turned away, and once more considered the Wall.
“You have to go. You know that, don’t you?”
“Before, when it was just Murray, I might have stayed. I have it in me to take on all of Dusk, but no one had ever done well against armies of Day. Who could?”
There was something unreadable in the other’s eyes as she nodded agreement. “But where can you go?” The question was little more than a whisper.
Saying nothing, Gertrude turned away.
Caught up in themselves, neither woman saw nor felt the gold-robed priest watching from a crazed window, noticing their motions, listening to the vague outlines of their words. And noting, if nothing else, the name of the one who turned to leave.