Stories of Adelwreth

Lawmen: Part II

Thanian marvelled at the two massive pillars that guarded the doorway to the church. He drew in a breath of smoke from the rolled cigarette. The slight warmth of the smoke seemed to stave off the chilling cold of the morning. The heavy wooden doors were carried by large steel hinges. They looked more like old city gates than a church entrance. Outside sat a few homeless men, picking through their belongings. Thanian motioned to Constable to knock on the door. He looked back across the street at the tightly packed houses and dwellings. Everything became more crowded the further you moved away from First Street. He was always taken aback by it. Seventh Street was mostly the point of divide in the city. No lord or lady lived further down east. Thanian took in another breath of smoke. A minute or two after the constable knocked on the door, the door slowly inched open to the outside. A balding man dressed in black cloth with yellow accents peered through the opening.

“Morning sirs,” he said.

“Good morning,” replied Thanian. “Mind if we come inside and ask you a few questions?”

The priest seemed to think it over for a second, but then opened the door and beckoned them inside. Thanian dropped the cigarette and stepped it out before entering the massive building. The constable followed.

Inside, it was warm. Wooden benches stretched from wall to aisle on either side. Some homeless people occupied the benches; others were sleeping and snoring under blankets. The faint aroma of soup filled the air. Great stained glass windows depicting angels fighting creatures lined the sides of the building. Thanian and Constable adjusted to the warmth, removing their coats and shaking off the cold. Behind them, the priest closed the doors and bolted them. Thanian looked at him questioningly. The priest noted his confusion.

“Oh. Well… that is only for the wind,” he said and gestured to a hinge bolt. “See, this bolt needs tightening. If the wind blows, this whole door falls back and forth,” the priest chuckled slightly and took their coats.

“Now, these questions of yours…” He started walking to the front of the church. “Are they about faith and religion?” He looked back at them. “Or are they about law and order?”

“The latter,” Thanian replied and followed the priest. “And regarding a certain man that claims to be in your presence at a certain time.”

“Then we shall speak in my office,” the priest said sternly.

Thanian and the constable followed the priest past the homeless-filled benches, past the hulking organ with all its pipes and cabinets, past the podium and off to the side. Buckets of water that had been put down in a hurry stood in the middle of nowhere. Thanian frowned and followed the priest into a narrow passage and down a corridor to a small, thin door.

“Here we are,” said the priest, pushing open the door and gesturing for them to enter.

Thanian walked into the cramped room. There was barely any light. The constable followed and stood beneath the tiny window. Except for a desk laden with books, there were two chairs and a small bed with a suitcase protruding from underneath it.

“Now then,” the priest said as he shuffled in behind the desk, gesturing for Thanian and the constable to take their seats in the chair and on the bed, respectively. “Let us begin.”

“Are you acquainted with a certain Wilhelm Wickgen?” asked Thanian.

“I am,” replied the priest. Thanian wrote down the reply in his notebook. He heard the constable writing as well.

“What can you tell us about him?” asked Thanian.

“Well, which one?” replied the priest.

Thanian looked up. There was only one Wilhelm Wickgen to his knowledge and, to his knowledge, it would be foolish to use that name as one’s own.

“Both?” Thanian looked at the priest quizzically.

“Mr Policeman,” said the priest, sitting forward, clasping his hands. “Do I detect some confusion?”

Only then did Thanian realise that they hadn’t even introduced themselves to the priest. In his marvel of the building and inspection of the interior, he had completely forgotten.

“Our apologies, priest,” he said, tapping his pen to the notebook. “This is Constable Constable and I am Iger Thanian of the Adelwreth Police Service.”

“Mandor Govbarni, Adelwreth Orthodox Church,” replied the priest. “You are confused, yes?”

“To our knowledge, there is only one. Blond, flamboyant… takes up residence in the Fifth Street Hotel?”

“That is indeed Wilhelm Wickgen,” said the priest. “Perhaps you know more about him than I.” He sat back in his chair. “Well, I do not know his place of residence, but I do know that he visits that establishment from time to time.”

“And the other one?” asked Thanian.

“That description fits both of them,” said the priest, thinking.

Thanian was puzzled. He glanced at the constable, who was writing down every word that was spoken in his own notepad. He seemed at ease with all of this. Thanian wondered how long it took the constable to learn how to write and smirked. He forced himself back to the questioning—back to finding out what was going on.

“If you can, please describe the difference between the two of them.” 

“Well, one of them feels old; the other one seems oblivious.”

“You said ‘feels old’?”

“Well, yes, their appearance is almost identical, save for a few personal preferences in their attire. But one of them feels ancient as if he has lived in a bygone era.”

Thanian thought back to their encounter at the hotel. Surely, if he had met both of them he would be able to distinguish them.

“When last have you seen either of them?” he asked.

“Oh, well, the”—the priest searched for a word—“old? Old? Yes, old one, was here a few mornings ago and the other I have not seen for a couple of months.” 

“And what did they do here—respectively, this young Wickgen and the old Wickgen?” Thanian eagerly awaited the reply.

“Well, they came to confess,” the priest said in a violent hiss. Thanian looked up. “Confess? What did they confess?”

“Oi, well the priest certainly cannot answer that!” interjected Constable. “Besides, it is against the law to ask such a question to a priest. Places ‘em in a difficult position!”

“That would be true, but it was more mockery than confession, young Constable,” said the priest.

Thanian looked up at the constable, then back at the priest. What was that sticking out from beside the bed? He looked back at the constable. Beside the bed protruded a corner of a painting—a familiar painting. Something about it seemed to call out to him.

“How was this a mockery?” he asked, standing up.

“Well, oh, the young one was more bragging than sorrowful of all the women he had dishonoured. Some married, some not. Some were of high esteem and some, of low esteem.”

“And the old Wickgen?” asked Thanian as he stepped past Constable and started pulling out the painting.

“The old one spoke of how he had killed himself,” said the priest. “About how he was a changed man and that he had rather enjoyed it, saying he had a lot of plans for the future of this city.”

“I see.” Thanian picked up the painting. It depicted a dark hall, pillars, and a trail on a cobblestone floor. Hundreds of elderly and starved men seemed to be searching back and forth. Around the hall was a gaping monstrous mouth with spine-like teeth—hundreds of teeth. The hall seemed to fade and draw into a tuning fork and from there sprouted Adelwreth, teeming with life. On the edges of the city were foul creatures with eyes and tentacles, both manlike and unmanlike at the same time. Winged beings stood guard, keeping those creatures at bay.

“Did he say anything else?” asked Thanian. Another winged being stood guard by the church in the painting.

“Only that I would be visited by the police in a few days,” said the priest. Thanian was lost in the painting; he spotted what looked like an umbilical cord faintly running up past the fading of the hall.

“Did you feel… oppressed… when he was here?” asked Thanian.

“By which one?” asked the priest

“The old one,” said Thanian.

“I felt violent,” said the priest and sat in thought for a moment. “But now that you mention it, yes, there was a certain feeling that he was frustrated in a way.”

“I see.” Thanian followed the cord to a depiction of a blond man at the hotel.

“What is so interesting about that painting Mr Thanian?” asked the priest.

“Hmmm?” Thanian followed the cord up into the hall.

“The painting by Madam Tulas?” The priest gestured. “It’s an old painting—some hundred years old actually—brought it here from Denewreth.”

“Did Wilhelm Wickgen ever see—” Thanian stopped abruptly. The cord snaked up to a figure—a figure that stood in a shroud of light, somehow hidden from first sight; hidden from his inspection. It could only be seen if the observer followed the cord. He looked back at the priest, then back at the painting, and it was gone. He frantically searched for the cord again, followed it and found the depiction of the blond man shrouded in light in the dark hall. “Did he see this painting!” he exclaimed. The priest frowned.

“Why, no, well. What is so interesting, Mr Thanian?” He stood up and shuffled out from behind the desk. “Prince of Adelwreth, by Madam Tulas 1726,” said the priest, peering over Thanian’s shoulder. Constable Constable wrote down every word of the exchange—a practice that was taught but never really observed by the police.

“What is this painting about?” asked Thanian.

“Well, oh, it is a piece of abstract art depicting the Prince and his warriors warding off the evil,” replied the priest, pointing towards the winged beings. “See, these represent his servants… this tuning fork symbolises him standing guard against the darkness, and, well, the evil that consumes all… as depicted by this.”

“Mr Govbarni,” said Thanian. “This by no means depicts that which you interpret it to be.”

“Well, it’s the interpretation that is taught by the Orthodox Church,” replied the priest.

“We need to show you something.” Thanian tucked the painting under his arm and walked briskly out of the room. The priest followed and Constable was close behind.

Thanian almost ran up the corridor, swung about, grabbed a lantern at the entrance and darted to the organ cabinets. 

“Can you open this for us?” He pointed to the locked door. The priest nodded confusedly and fetched his keys. Thanian struck a match and lit the lantern. Constable eyed him curiously.

“Does he not know of the thing beneath the church?” asked Constable.

“This is more for me than for him,” Thanian replied. The image of the winged being seared his mind. The prophecy clawed at his mind, as if an avalanche was about to break, smothering him in understanding.

“I do not understand, Inspector,” said the constable. “What does this have to do with Mr Wickgen?”

Thanian smiled. The constable was a good man with a good heart, but little understanding. The priest returned and unlocked the door. 

“I was going to replace the water for the humidity anyway,” he said as they entered. Thanian knew what he was looking for. A while back they were informed by a certain librarian, doctor and inventor that there was something happening beneath the church. Upon investigation, they had learned that the previous priest had made offerings of homeless people and orphans to something in the sewers.

“Do you know why you were summoned to Adelwreth, Mr Gorvbani?” asked Thanian as he walked to a trapdoor.

“Well, oh, to lead and protect the flock, as the previous priest had not fulfilled his duty,” he said in a puzzled manner. Thanian smiled, opened the trapdoor and peered into the darkness.

“No, Mr Govbarni,” said Thanian, looking about. “The previous priest was a murderer and by no means a good man”. Thanian spotted a length of rope tied to a post and tossed its end into the hole.

“He was very religious, mind you—made regular offerings and sacrifices.” Thanian took hold of the rope. “But those offerings and sacrifices were made to evil.” He slid down the rope into the darkness.

In the dark stood a statue. This statue was of a winged being. The being held a sword but something was missing from it. Thanian looked at the painting and up at the statue. The being beside the church in the painting looked so similar to the one portrayed by the statue. The priest clambered down and Constable jumped down after the priest cleared the way.

“What is this?” said the priest in surprise.

“This is the same thing that is in the painting,” replied Thanian.

“No, it isn’t,” said Constable. They looked at him in surprise.

“Look at its neck,” he said. “The necklace with that fork is missing from the statue.”

The realisation slammed into Thanian. His life seemed to fade away. Darkness crept over his vision, the light from the lantern unable to keep it at bay.

The prophecy had begun to be fulfilled. They had started to meddle in things—things far, far greater than any of them. Things that could shape the world. Things that could destroy it.

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