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A group of nuns gave out holy pictures of St. Veronica. But thehottest items were the color photographs of the Veil itself, snappedin the church by photographers and then reprinted by the thousands.
"Amazing grace, amazing grace. . . ." sang one group in unison,rocking back and forth as they held their places in line.
"Gloria, in excelsus deum!" burst from a long-bearded man withhis arms outstretched.
As we drew nearer the church, we could see little clusters andcrowds engaged in seminars everywhere. In the midst of one, a youngman spoke, rapid, sincere:
"In the fourteenth century, she was officially recognized as asaint, Veronica, and it was believed that the Veil was lost during theFourth Crusade when the Venetians stormed Hagia Sophia." Hestopped to push his glasses back on his nose. "Of course the Vaticanwill take its time to rule on this, as it always does, but seventy-threeicons have already been derived from the original icon, and thisbefore the eyes of countless witnesses who are prepared to testifybefore the Holy See."In another place, there were several dark-clad men, priests perhaps,I couldn't tell, and around them rings of those listening, eyessquinting against the snow.
"I'm not saying the Jesuits cannot come," said one of the men. "Ijust said that they aren't coming in here and taking over. Dora hasasked that the Franciscans be the custodians of the Veil, if and whenit leaves the cathedral."And behind us, two women rapidly concurred that tests had alreadybeen done, the age of the cloth was beyond dispute.
"They don't even grow that kind of flax anymore in the world;you couldn't find a new piece of such fabric, the fabric itself in itsnewness and cleanness is a miracle.""... all bodily fluids, every part of the image, derived from fluidsof a human body. They have not had to hurt the Veil to discover this!
This is ... this...."". . . enzyme action. But you know how these things get distorted.""No, not The New York Times. The New York Times isn't going tosay that three archaeologists have ruled it authentic.""Not authentic, my friend, just beyond present scientific explanation.""God and the Devil are idiots!" I said.
A group of women turned to stare at me. "Accept Jesus as yourSavior, son," said one of the women. "Go look for yourself at theVeil. He died for our sins."David pulled me away. No one paid us any mind. The littleschools continued far and wide, the clumps of philosophers andwitnesses, and those waiting for the spellbound to stumble down thesteps from the church, with tears running down their faces.
"I saw it, I saw it, it was the Face of Christ."And back against the arch, cleaved to it, like a tall spidery shadow,the figure of the vampire Mael, almost invisible to them perhaps,waiting to step into the light of dawn with his arms outstretched inthe form of a cross.
Once again, he looked at us with sly eyes.
"You too!" he said, under his breath to us, sending his preternatu-ral voice secretly to our ears. "Come, face the sun, with your armsoutstretched! Lestat, God chose you as his Messenger.""Come," David said. "We've seen enough for this night andmany nights hereafter.""And where do we go?" I asked. "Stop, stop pulling my arm.
David? Did you hear me?""I've stopped," he said politely, lowering his voice as if to instructme to lower mine. The snow fell so softly now. Fire crackled in thenearby black iron drum.
"The books, what happened to them?" How in God's name couldI have forgotten.
"What books?" he asked. And he pulled me out of the way of thepassersby, against a shopwindow, behind which a little crowd stood,enjoying the private warmth inside, looking towards the church.
"The books of Wynken de Wilde. Roger's twelve books! Whathappened to them?""They're there," he said. "Up there in the tower. She left themfor you. Lestat, I've explained this to you. Last night, she spoke toyou.""In the presence of all those others, it was impossible to speak thetruth.""She told you the relics were yours now.""We have to get the books!" I said. Oh, what a fool I was to forgetthose beautiful books.
"Be calm, Lestat, be quiet. Stop making them stare at you. Theflat is the same, I told you. She hasn't told anyone about it. She hassurrendered it to us. She will not tell them that we were ever there.
She has promised me. She has given the deed to the Orphanage toyou, Lestat, don't you see? She has cut all ties with her former life.
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