Death Masks

"You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re a Knight of the Cross."

"Da," he said.

"So if you’re not religious, you risk your life to help other people because -?"

"Because it must be done," he answered without hesitation. "For the good of the people, some must place themselves in harm’s way. Some must pledge their courage and their lives to protect the community."

"Just a minute," I said. "You became a Knight of the Cross because you were a communist?"

Sanya’s face twisted with revulsion. "Certainly not. Trotsky. Very different."

I stopped myself from bursting out in laughter. But it was a near thing. "How did you get your sword?"

He moved his good hand to rest on the hilt of the blade, where it lay beside him on the cot. "Esperacchius. Michael gave it to me."

"Since when has Michael gone running off to Russia?"

"Not that Michael," Sanya said. He pointed a finger up. "That Michael."

I stared at him for a minute and then said, "So. You get handed a holy sword by an archangel, told to go fight the forces of evil, and you somehow remain an atheist. Is that what you’re saying?"

Sanya’s scowl returned.

"Doesn’t that strike you as monumentally stupid?"

His glare darkened for maybe a minute before he took a deep breath and nodded. "Perhaps some could argue that I am agnostic."

"Agnostic?"

"One who does not commit himself to the certain belief in a divine power," he said.

"I know what it means," I said. "What shocks me is that you think it applies to you. You’ve met more than one divine power. Hell, one of them broke your arm not half an hour ago."

"Many things can break an arm. You yourself said that you do not need a god or goddess to define your beliefs about the supernatural."

"Yeah, but I’m not agnostic. Just nonpartisan. Theological Switzerland, that’s me."

Sanya said, "Semantics. I do not understand your point."

I took a deep breath, still holding back the threat of giggles, and said, "Sanya. My point is that you have got to be more than a little thick to stand where you are, having seen what you’ve seen, and claim that you aren’t sure whether or not there’s a God."

He lifted his chin and said, "Not necessarily. It is possible that I am mad, and all of this is a hallucination."

That’s when I started laughing. I just couldn’t help it. I was too tired and too stressed to do anything else. I laughed and enjoyed it thoroughly while Sanya sat on his cot and scowled at me, careful not to move his wounded arm.

Shiro appeared at the door, bearing a platter of sandwiches and deli vegetables. He blinked through his owlish glasses at Sanya and then at me. He said something to Sanya in what I took to be Russian. The younger Knight transferred his scowl to Shiro, but nodded his head in a gesture deep enough to be part bow, before he rose, claimed two sandwiches in one large hand, and walked out.

Shiro waited until Sanya was gone before he set the platter down on a card table. My stomach went berserk at the sight of the sandwiches. Heavy exertion coupled with insane fear does that to me. Shiro gestured at the plate and pulled up a couple of folding chairs. I sat down, nabbed a sandwich of my own, and started eating. Turkey and cheese. Heaven.

The old Knight took a sandwich of his own, and ate with what appeared to be a similar appetite. We munched for a while in contented silence before he said, "Sanya told you about his beliefs."

I felt the corners of my mouth start to twinge as another smile threatened. "Yeah."

Shiro let out a pleased snort. "Sanya is a good man."

"I just don’t get why he’d be recruited as a Knight of the Cross."

Shiro looked at me over the glasses, chewing. After a while, he said, "Man sees faces. Sees skin. Flags. Membership lists. Files." He took another large bite, ate it, and said, "God sees hearts."

"If you say so," I said.

He didn’t answer. Right about the time I finished my sandwich, Shiro said, "You are looking for the Shroud."

"That’s confidential," I said.

"If you say so," he said, using my own inflection on the words. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you looking for it?" he asked, chewing.

"If I am- and I’m not saying that I am-I’m doing it because I’ve been hired to look for it."

"Your job," he said.

"Yeah."

"You do it for money," he said.

"Yeah."

"Hmph," he said, and pushed his glasses up with his pinky. "Do you love money then, Mister Dresden?"

I picked up a napkin from one side of the platter, and wiped my mouth. "I used to think I loved it. But now I realize that it’s just dependency."

Shiro let out an explosive bark of laughter, and rose, chortling. "Sandwich okay?"

"Super."

Michael came in a few minutes later, his face troubled. There wasn’t a clock in the room, but it had to have been well after midnight. I supposed if I had called Charity Carpenter that late, I’d be troubled after the conversation, too. She was ferocious where her husband’s safety was concerned-especially when she heard that I was around. Okay, admittedly Michael had gotten pretty thoroughly battered whenever he came along on a case with me, but all the same I didn’t think it was fair of her. It wasn’t like I did it on purpose.

"Charity wasn’t happy?" I asked.

Michael shook his head. "She’s worried. Is there a sandwich left?"

There were a couple. Michael took one and I took a second one, just to keep him company. While we ate, Shiro got out his sword and a cleaning kit, and started wiping down the blade with a soft cloth and some kind of oil.

"Harry," Michael said finally. "I have to ask you for something. It’s very difficult. And it’s something that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t even consider doing."

"Name it," I said between chews. At the time, I meant it literally. Michael had risked his life for me more than once. His family had been endangered the last time around, and I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask something unreasonable. "Just name it. I owe you."

Michael nodded. Then looked at me steadily and said, "Get out of this business, Harry. Get out of town for a few days. Or stay home. But get out of it, please."

I blinked at him. "You mean, you don’t want my help?"

"I want your safety," Michael said. "You are in great danger."