The Book of the Beast by Tanith Lee Page B

Below to the northeast wandered the river, coils of which, leadenly glimmering like a dragon, were partly visible between the roofs. Southwards on the heights stood the ghost of the great Church.
    What could there be in this dark like so many others, which set the hairs electrically upright along the body?
    Haninuh tensed, and leaned slightly forward, his hands upon the uprights of the window. Keen-eyed, he had seen something moving, away along the south-west scallops of the City roofs. This in itself was not bizarre. A cat might be hunting there, or a robber. And yet something in the manner of the movement did not suggest either feline or man.
    Haninuh the observer saw again a curious flapping lunge, like the wing-beat of some huge raptorial bird.
    Of too large a size—
    And whatever went about there in the night was capable, it seemed, of running up stonework, folding itself over housetops, and sliding to the street below like water flowing from a jar.
    Haninuh was abruptly very glad he had sent the child to her bed.
    Half-unconsciously he murmured, “From the visions of the night, when deep sleep sinks on men, fear came on me which made my bones to shake, and then a spirit passed before me and the hair of my flesh stood up—’
    Haninuh fell silent. The apparition had poured suddenly from view.
    There was then a long second of the sort in which, as they said, death might pass over; the space between two breaths.
    But then, from the black hollows of the City there tore a frightful wail, a wavering shriek so truly appalling that for a moment the Jew doubted his ears.
    The night seemed splintered, and dropped back in pieces. An abysmal quiet staunched the wound of the single cry.
    Every nerve a quill, Haninuh poised to see a hundred windows lighted, a hundred people dash out on the streets.
    Nothing occurred.
    Like a thrown flint, the grisly screech had gone without a trace into the swamp of night.
    If any others marked it they did not act.
    Only far off a dog or two howled, nearby a rat scuttled. Presently the notes of Laude drifted from a convent by the quays. The stars swung noiseless overhead.
    Some drunkard has been throttled in an alley, or some old score settled with a knife . One had witnessed nothing.
    The Jew turned from his watch, listening intently now to be sure his own house stayed peaceful. It did.
    One must be grateful for that. For the rest, it was the world’s way.
    The vice which tuned and strummed the night had not let go, but only slackened somewhat. Yet Haninuh was weary. Spared a revelation, he could descend now and sleep, as a soldier slept between his watches.
    “Blessed be the Lord at our lying down and blessed be He at our rising. Into thy hand I commend me, my redeemer, O God.”
    Next morning, Haninuh awakened with a feeling of oppression. This did not surprise him, nor was it due to lack of sleep. He spoke a prayer of thanksgiving for the new day; in the house above he heard the beaded laughter of his child.
    Having some business near the upper markets, Haninuh went in that direction, southwesterly. The route shortly took him into a square with a public fountain. A crowd was gathering here, jostling and exclaiming, and it was impossible to proceed.
    “What is the matter?” Haninuh asked of a man in the crowd that he knew, a cobbler by trade.
    The cobbler turned to him hotly and said, “Something happened during the night. A murder in the gate of the tanners’ yard. An apprentice found the body not an hour ago.”
    “There are frequent murders in the City,” remarked the Jew.
    “Just exactly. But not like this.”
    “Why, what is its novelty? Murder is murder.”
    The cobbler was about to speak when a party of the Duke’s soldiers rode into the square and breached the crowd.
    Unable to go by, or to get closer, Haninuh waited impassively.
    A stillness was settling. The soldiers had grouped at the tanners’ gate. Suddenly a woman cried out wildly: “Oh! Oh sweet Jesus!” And there