"Lott."
"Liar. You have never been the man you believed yourself to be."
"But I…" Lott began.
"What do you seek?"
"I seek the grail."
"Liar. You seek what we all seek. Forgiveness. Redemption."
"I…"
"Where were you when she needed you? When she needed you to be the man you claimed you were. Hoped you were. Where were you?"
"I don't know. I was lost."
"Ask the question," the voice commanded.
"What question?" Lott asked.
"Ask the question. The one you truly want to know the answer to."
"Where is the grail?"
"Liar. Will you ever be forgiven? By God. By your friends. By yourself. For you… darkness."
The night swallowed Lott.
Percy emerged onto the second floor. He leaned against the wall next to the stairwell, then slid down it until his butt hit the floor and he slumped against his knees. The darkness frightened him, the voice moreso. It troubled him, in a too-knowing sort of way, so he pushed the entire encounter out of his mind. Two bedrooms faced the front of the property and two bedrooms faced the rear, the large master suite before him. A barrel-vaulted ceiling towered above him. Had trundled out of the darkness of the stairwell, innocent eyes nonplussed, and squatted down beside Percy.
"You hear the voice?"
Had nodded.
"It scare you?"
Had shook his head.
"Really? It scared me. A little. Kind of like a storm."
Had cocked his head as if admiring or studying the movement of Percy's mouth.
"It asked me secret things."
Had stared at him with no recognition in his eyes.
"Think we should wait for Kay? Or Lott."
Had peered into the darkness, then shook his head no, as if he, too, knew secret things.
"Okay." Percy scrambled to his feet and took Had by the hand. He checked each of the two rooms overlooking the backyard. Each room was empty. He walked past the door to the master suite to the other rooms. The two facing the front were identical. Both had huge walk-in closets and bathrooms with broken toilets. Both had a bedroll in the corner. And both had clear views of the winged lion statues.
"Edward and Hugh," Percy said. "They look like an Edward and Hugh."
Had smiled at him.
Percy led them back to the master suite and turned the doorknob. Across the room was another door. Between them and that door was a man seated in a wicker chair. With a thin but muscular build, his jersey showed off the measure of his tattoos. Half of his body, like a living X-ray detailing his skeleton. Though his face was too thin, his eyes, hazel and glassy, were determined. He exuded power and fierceness. The man wasn't one to cross.
"You a long way from home, hese." Black made no effort to move, just stood there as if entranced. His eyes fixed on the large boy, perhaps assessing him, perhaps dismissing him, perhaps not really seeing him.
"Not really. I live just up the street," Percy said. Still holding his hand, Had slipped behind him.
"You lost?" Black took their measure in a glance. If he perceived a threat, he didn't let on.
"No. Just looking for something."
"You 'just looking for something' in my house?" Black said. "You like Christopher Columbus and shit. 'Discovering' a land already occupied by people."
"This is your house?" Percy gaped about in awe. "It's nice."
"I stay here. You got to have a place to lay your head. No one knows that really. Only the people I trust most."
"I don't know you."
"I know. So when you say you up in my house 'just looking for something', guess that makes you a thief. We know how to handle thieves around here."
"I'm no thief."
"What are you looking for?"
"A cup. It used to belong to a friend of mine. It had a… ring inside."
"So now you calling me a thief?"
"No," Percy said unblinking and unafraid. "I thought… I was told it might be here."
"Who told you that?"
"Another friend."
"Your friend tells stories," Black said.
"Yeah. He does that sometimes."
"Why you want it back so bad? It valuable?"
"I don't know. I was told it could help a friend. He's sick."
"What's the matter with him?"
"He was shot and now won't wake up."
Calculations filled Black's eyes and he tugged at his glove. "You a friend of King's?"
"Yeah."
"That motherfucker needs to burn. Along with any motherfucker that stands with him." Black removed his glove and held it in front of his face, both admiring and loathing it. He glared at Percy, his anger prematurely exposed. Not solely anger, but despair. A huge void, the sheer immensity of the pain and loss, threatened to devour him where he stood if he didn't constantly tend to it. Which also fueled his anger.
"Why?" Percy didn't move. The way the man held his hand out, he was afraid threat underscored the gesture.
"Because of what happened to my sister."
"Lyonessa."
"Yeah. Someone's got to pay." Black reached out to him.
"She was pretty." The tiny voice stopped them in their tracks.
Percy turned. Had stepped out from behind him and met Black's gaze.
"She was pretty." Had stared straight ahead, not really focused on Black. His shoulders stiff, as if warding back a shiver. "And nice. She played with me."
Black peered down at the round-faced boy, oddly captivated by his sweet face. There was an innocence, a purity, about him which reminded him of his sister. He lowered his arm. Had approached him. Then, before Black could react, Had took his hand.
Black cried out, his voice choked and grievous, more in fear for the boy than any pain himself. But he stared at him. No burning. No raised flesh.
"I don't understand." Black tried backing away from Had, but the boy kept pace with him, not releasing his hand. Black fell back into his seat. Had stood next to him, still holding his hand. A tear trailed down his face.
"She was pretty," he said as if letting the memory of her wash over him. Not just the memory of her, but the pain of her absence, the tragedy of her death. The guilt of Black's life. All of it, the pain and hurt of Black. All of it.
Had nodded at Percy as if shooing him along. Percy backed away from them, again with the overwhelming sensation that he was intruding on something personal. Something sacred. He fumbled for the knob of the other door, which gave way without complaint in his grasp.
Another set of stairs greeted him. A tight spiral of steps which seemed to go up quite a ways. Percy almost got dizzy simply from the view up. He took the first one, testing it to see if it or the delicate frame could take his weight. Then the next. The structure didn't buckle or sway. Rather than risk vertigo staring to see how far he had left or down to check how far he'd gone, Percy kept his eye simply on the next step.
Time became meaningless to him. He knew he ascended a tower. He kept climbing, pausing every so often to rest. Sweat soaked through his red shirt, giving it the appearance of a blood-drenched rag. Finally he came to a landing and collapsed in a heap.
"It's such a waste," a clown said. Her face, white with paint grease, had a scar dividing the side of her face. When she closed her eyes, her lids completed the image of a cross over each eye. When she moved, she glided about the floor with the swivel-hipped body language of a dancer.
"It's all such a waste."
Percy scrambled to his feet, steadying himself on the banister. The room had a sacredness to it. A quiet retreat hidden from the rest of the world. And she was beautiful. A princess.
"What is?" Percy asked.
"The fighting. The killing."
"It makes me sad, too."
"You've come for the cup," La Payasa said.
"Yeah."
"Is it yours?"
"No."
"Then why should I give it to you?"
"It's important," Percy said.