"SHUNGWAYA"
LAKE NAIVASHA, KENYA
OCTOBER 14
1545 HOURS ZULU
"Bad complexion? My eyes are too close together? What did you tell him that for?" Eden closed her eyes wearily, trying to relax in a tepid bath in her bungalow adjacent to the main house.
"Because I knew it would annoy you," she said to her doppelganger. "Because it wasn't smart to show yourself to Lincoln Grayle this afternoon; what were you trying to prove?"
"I'm not annoyed. My feelings are hurt. If I have to remind you again that I have feelings. I'm your mirror image. We are exactly alike."
"No, we're not. At least I have a sense of humor. For the last four months whenever we… get together, all you do is moan and complain."
"I'm bored. I haven't been out for more than a week."
"That's another thing. When you are... out, you don't have to dress like I do. I told you; dare to be a lit-tie different."
"I can be different! Just name me, and release me. I promise, faithfully swear, I will never desert you."
"Nothing doing."
"Then I don't have a choice. I have your taste in clothes, your taste in jewelry, your interest in Lincoln Grayle."
"Excuse me?"
"I wasn't trying to 'prove' anything. I did what you asked me to do at the university library." Her research in the library had whetted an old appetite. She wanted to read more. Read for herself, season her mind with the life experiences of others, learning apart from what Eden already knew. But there never was enough time. She came and went too quickly, subservient in a monocracy. "After that, because you weren't in a rush to recall me, I went for a walk?' Gwen sighed, reliving the blood-perk of blissful freedom. "After all, it was my first time in Nairobi. And I just happened to walk by the Stanley. And there he was. I can see why you're nuts about him."
"Whatttt? I don't intend ever to see him again, which I made perfectly—"
"Oh, bull. I know what you know; I feel what you—by the way, if you're having your period, you probably shouldn't be taking a bath."
"Why, are you bleeding?"
"No, of course not."
"Not exactly alike then, are we?" Eden said, with the merest hint of malice. She was tired, and her glands were subtly out of phase.
"Okay, one important difference. I can't reproduce the species, so what's the point of going through that every month. Anyway, you can hide me, but you can't hide anything from me. You know you put a little extra something into that good-bye kiss at the airport."
"Temporary girlish weakness."
"Can't you just admit you've been lonely, and you were thinking about how nice it would be to curl up in bed with—"
Eden pitched a soapy bath sponge at her doppelganger, who had already stepped out of the way. She said with an impudent grin, "Why bother? I knew it was coming."
Eden sighed and sank deeper into the old zinc tub.
"Okay, I like him, but it's impossible. Let's get off the subject of Lincoln Grayle. Can I have my sponge back?"
The dpg retrieved Eden's sponge for her. "Can't refuse any request. It's in the doppelganger's job description." She quickly held up a hand. "But you don't want to blow the five o'clock whistle yet."
"I'm not. Stay a while. And tell me if you found out anything today."
"Marble staircases, possibly of religious importance. There are a lot of those, particularly in Rome. Do you want me to download all of my research while you're soaking? Based on your sketch, I did about three hours on the Internet and in the stacks at the library."
"Keep it short; I don't need a lot of travelogue stuff cluttering up my brain."
"I counted twenty-eight steps in your sketch. I assume you were certain about that number, because you took pains to make it exact."
"I tried to draw exactly what I dreamed. Maybe the number is important."
"Helpful. I came up with La Scala Santa, the only staircase in Rome designated as 'holy.' It's located across from the basilica of St. John Lateran in an unimpressive little building filled with Christian relics and a couple of sculptures, one of which is the Ecce Homo—'Christ presented to the rabble by Pontius Pilate.' That's significant."
"Why?"
"According to legend, that same staircase led to Pilate's office in the Governor's palace in Jerusalem. Fourth century A.D., it was taken apart and shipped to Rome by order of Helena, Emperor Constantine's mother. She was a convert to Christianity and took a trip to Judea to locate objects Christ might have touched. More than three hundred years had passed, but she found what she thought was the 'True Cross'; it also occurred to her that Christ probably walked up Pilate's staircase for his arraignment, Pilate being in Jesus' time the provincial governor of Judea."
"Then Christ walked back down those steps on his way to Golgotha."
"So… through tradition the steps became objects of veneration to the popes of Rome. In the sixteenth century the staircase was moved to where it stands today, a ceremonial approach to the papal chapel on the second floor of the building, the sanctum sanctorum. Holy of holies. It's one of the major attractions for pilgrims to Rome, who follow the example of generations of popes by ascending the steps on their knees, stopping to meditate or pray. In the photos I saw the building looks kind of dark inside, so you had that part right. But the steps are covered in wood."
"Easier on the kneecaps of the devout. Doesn't change anything. Underneath the staircase is still marble. And I saw it desecrated. Dripping blood."
"Whose blood?"
"Well—it must be—the Vicar of Christ. Pope John the Twenty-fourth. He's going to be murdered, like that evangelist in Tennessee."
"Unless you're reading way too much into some bloody paw prints."
"I'm not! But that's just what Bertie would say. She may be hard to convince. And Tom."
Eden stood up in the tub. Her doppelganger handed her a towel, glanced at the inside of a tanned thigh where blood mixed with bathwater ran thinly. Eden looked down and grimaced.
"You never have an easy one, do you?" the dpg said sympathetically.
"No, and I'm getting another cramp. I'm gonna lie down for a while."
"When are you going to introduce me to Bertie and Tom?" the dpg asked. "After all, it's been four months. I feel like a poor relation."
Eden paused in toweling off and looked at her. "Well—I don't think they're quite ready for you yet."
"Ready as they'll ever be," the dpg said with a pout.
"But you're still the boss."