Neal Barrett Jr. (26 page)

“Ah, but I am speaking of craft by miraculous machines, friend Cory. Many things produced at once, without the use of people.”

Howie gave Chan a curious look. “And how you goin’ to manage that?”

“It is really quite simple,” Chan began. “The device used to propel great ships across the sea can—”

Chan stopped, caught himself, and looked thoughtfully at Howie. “I think perhaps I am not a good spy, possibly my comrades are right. I talk too much; and fail to listen to others.”

“Hell, I ain’t going to tell no one a thing, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Howie wondered why anyone would
want
to hear such tales. “I don’t go spoutin’ off what I get from a friend.”

Chan seemed relieved. It was obvious to Howie that his new companion’s open and amiable manner masked some very real fears. His countrymen had cut him off, left him all alone in a land he didn’t know. And whatever the reason for this treatment, it was taking its toll on Chan.

“You have seen what they do in my presence,” Chan said abruptly, as if he guessed Howie’s thoughts. “I am ignored. They pretend that I do not exist.”

“Listen, that’s your business,” Howie said. “I ain’t buttin’ in.”

“I know. You would not do this. And as you say, it is not your concern.” Chan offered Howie one of the quick, peculiar bows the Asians seemed to like to do. “Forgive my intrusion. I did not mean to burden you with my problems.”

“You’re not burdening me at all. I expect I know how it is to have a whole lot of stuff on your mind, and nowhere to put it.”

Chan stopped walking and looked at Howie. “Yes. This is so. I saw this, when I walked into, your room. I told myself, ‘Here is a man who is also greatly troubled. Perhaps he will be a friend.’ Do you think this might be so, Cory?”

“I sure don’t see why not,” Howie said.

“Good. That is very fine.” Chan smiled broadly and shook Howie’s hand. “We will help one another. I am certain that we will.”

Howie was sure Chan meant exactly what he said. He wasn’t playing any games. The man felt threatened, and wanted desperately to share his problems—even with a stranger he scarcely knew. That wasn’t too smart, but then Chan wasn’t thinking real straight. He was half scared out of his wits; anyone who looked at the man for a minute could see that. Still, Howie had no intention of baring his thoughts to Chan, or to anyone else he met at High Sequoia. A man could smile and stick a knife in your gut—before you even had a chance to smile back. Chan would only learn this was true if he didn’t stop spouting off to anyone who happened to come along.

L
orene was a pleasant surprise, one he hadn’t expected at all. The maze of barriers and fences at High Sequoia had convinced him there was little hope of seeing her again. He heard her outside in the dark, and rushed to the window before she could call his name.

“Lord, I think I stepped on every sharp rock in the place,” Lorene complained. “I better not be bleedin’ or anything.”

Howie helped her over the sill and held her tight. He had been lying naked on his bed, and now the softness and the warmth of her body against his skin sparked a surge of excitement in his loins.

Lorene held him off and grinned. “My heavens, Cory, you sure don’t waste any time. She glanced shyly down the length of his body, and Howie saw the color in her face. “Don’t guess I have to ask if you missed me. I can kinda see you did.”

“I ain’t going to lie. I sure been wantin’ you a lot.”

“Oh, Cory!” Lorene wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “Lord help me, I can’t do without you!”

Howie started tugging at her gown, tearing it past her waist to her shoulders. Everything got stuck around her head, and Lorene laughed and helped him along. When his hands touched her flesh she went limp and cried out; Howie swept her up and carried her to the bed.

“How the hell did you get away?” Howie whispered.

“All those guards and everything. I didn’t think you’d come, Lorene, I didn’t see how you could.’

“I grew up here, Cory, remember? It isn’t that hard if you know how. And if you got somewhere you really want to go. I just— Oh, God, it’s been such along time!’

The thought touched his mind, lingered there an instant, then vanished at once, lost in the far greater needs of the moment, It was early in the morning, when he once more lay in his room alone, that he saw Lorene could take him anywhere he wanted in High Sequoia. Through the maze and the guards, right to Harriver Mason. All he had to do was think of some way to ask, some reason why she’d do such a thing. He couldn’t figure what kind of reason that would be.

H
owie was talking to Chan at breakfast when Ritcher Jones appeared. Chan seemed flustered; his friends across the room were clearly impressed as well. Jones greeted them all and stopped to shake their hands, saying how fine it was to have them all there.

“Cory, if you don’t have anything planned for a while, I’d be pleased if you’d join me for a walk. That all right with you? WeIl, fine, a right pleasant morning outside.

As ever, Jones didn’t wait for, an answer. People always did what he wanted them to do, and asking was just a way to pass the time. He clapped Howie soundly on the back and led him out .of the dining room and into the pale forest light.

“I hope you like your quarters all right,” the preacher said. “Anything you need, why you let me know.”

“Thanks,” Howie said, “everything’s just fine.”

Jones stopped and gripped Howie’s shoulders. “Now’s as good a time as any to say this, Cory. You and me had a misunderstanding back at the house. It wasn’t any more than that. Leastways, not as I see it. I want everything to be right between us. That’s real important to me. Are we straight now, son?”

“I sure don’t hold no bad feelings ’bout you,” Howie said. He was surprised, even touched, by the preacher’s concern. “It might be I shouldn’t have run off into town like that. I mean, I maybe should have said something to you.”

“No, no, not at all.” Jones shook his head. “You were right in what you said. You’re a full-grown man and I had no business calling you down.” Jones let out a breath and, screwed up his face in a painful frown. “It’s a failing of mine, Cory. I’m used to being a shepherd, and I guess I forgot just who’s in my flock and who’s not. I suspect that I have, in my mind, included you as one of my own.”

“That’s a real nice thing to say,” Howie said. “And I’m grateful for all you’ve done.’

“Why, I haven’t done anything at all,” Jones said. “Nothing more than the Lord bids all of us to .do, and that’s heed our brothers’ needs.”

Jones looked up, peering at the great tree overhead. He smiled then, as if God might be perched in a branch looking down. “Come along, Cory,” he said, “it’s time you got a first-class tour of High Sequoia.”

W
ith Ritcher Jones at his side, no one cared about Howie’s yellow button. The guards couldn’t move fast enough. Every gate and doorway opened wide as soon as the preacher came in sight, Howie could scarcely believe his luck. He saw everything he’d ever want to see in High Sequoia—the big main chapel, the offices and dormitories, the surprisingly plain house where Lawrence himself lived. He saw the building where the Brothers and Sisters made fine weapons, like the one Jones carried himself He yearned for a look inside, but Jones quickly passed the place by.

And, more important than anything else, he saw the widely separated compounds where the Rebel and Loyalist officers were quartered. Jones didn’t take him real close, but Howie saw enough. He had what he needed to know. And he learned that everyone was here for the talks. The last group had arrived the night before, and the talks would begin in a couple of days.

And how long would they last? Howie wondered. How much time did he have? Asking Jones more about the talks would likely seem innocent enough, but. Howie wasn’t about to press his luck. Mason was here now. That was all he had to know.

Throughout the tour, Jones kept up a, running commentary, and Howie kept his good eye open. A map was taking shape in his head. He was almost certain that he wouldn’t have to risk prying answers from Lorene. That had never been a good idea, and he was glad he likely wouldn’t have to try. Lorene had a real suspicious nature, and she knew him too well; no matter how careful he was, she’d surely guess he was up to no good.

It was close to noon when Jones walked Howie back to his quarters. The preacher was plainly tired from the tour, and seemed pleased to have a cool glass of tea with Howie in the empty dining room. Jones leaned back in his chair and sighed, dabbing his face with a bright handkerchief.

“I forget how big the place is. I assure you, Cory, that I do not cover the entire compound every day.” He pat-ted his ample belly and grinned. “Though there are those who think perhaps I should.”

Howie wondered just who’d have the nerve to say that, besides Lawrence himself. “I sure do appreciate you talc- in’ me around,” he told Jones. “It’s about the finest place I ever seen.”

“It is all of that,” Jones said. He nodded his head in thought. “The Lord’s Haven, and that’s as true as it can be.” He paused for a moment, then turned to face Howie. “We’ve never really talked, you know. About you, I mean, Cory. What you have in mind for yourself, what you might want to do.

Howie couldn’t think of anything to say. “I don’t guess I got any plans. I never done a thing except farming, and a little bit of fighting. Don’t either of ’em tempt me a lot.”

“There’s a great deal for a young man to do,” Jones said. “The future will be a lot brighter than the past. I assure you of that. Peace is in the offing. Make no mistake about it. With the Lord’s help, we’re going to see to that.”

“That’d be different, all right.”

Jones ran a finger along his glass. “You might give some thought to High Sequoia. There could be a good future for you here.

Howie was startled, and Jones caught his, expression at once. “No, no, not as a Brother, Cory.” The preacher grinned. “Not every, man’s cut out for such a life, and I doubt it would suit you at all. I didn’t bring you all the way to California to fit you with a robe.”

Jones leaned forward across the table and folded his hands. “You know what I saw in you, Cory? Why I wanted you to make the trip with me? I saw a young man who’s been hurt somehow, a young man who is confused about where he wants to go, what he wants to be. I felt then, and I feel this now, that the Lord’s hand has touched you. That He has a task for you to do. This is what I believe. That you are here because you’ve been given some wonderful thing to do. You don’t know what it is right now, but you will. I’m certain of that. The Lord’s Truth shall be revealed.”

Jones stood. “There are a great many study groups here at High Sequoia. You are free to take advantage of everything we have to offer. And I want you to think about this: Being a Brother or a Sister isn’t the only way to serve the Lord. There is a place for you here, Cory.”

“I’ll sure think about that,” Howie said, hoping Jones as-too tired to read him well.

“Oh, why I nearly forgot.” Jones laughed at himself. “I try to think of everything at once, and usually forget about half of what’s on my feeble mind. At any rate, you are invited to dinner tonight. As my guest. You will meet Lawrence himself, Cory. Not many folks are accorded such an honor. I think you’ll find the evening to be a blessed event in your life. Well, until then, my boy.”

Ritcher Jones turned and walked off through the early afternoon. Howie wondered what Lawrence would be like. From everything the preacher said, God’s Light followed him around all the time. If that was true, it’d sure be something to see.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

H
owie had no idea what a study group was for, and didn’t much want to find out. The words study and group told him all he cared to know. Still, Ritcher Jones had said he ought to give this activity a try; Howie figured it was smart to let the preacher think he might like to stay at High Sequoia. Acting normal right now seemed the right thing to do—especially if you planned on killing someone real soon. Do something like That and it wouldn’t be a good idea to stick around. Which he might just have to do for a while.

This new idea began to work its way into his thoughts after Ritcher Jones’s tour. Maybe running was the wrong thing to do. Even if he got lucky and stole a horse, there was-a damn good chance of getting caught. He didn’t know the country, and everyone at High Sequoia did. If he stayed, though—simply killed Harriver Mason and went back to bed—why would anyone suspect him at all? No one knew who he was, or why he’d vowed to kill the man who ran Silver Island. There were Rebels at High Sequoia, on hand for the talks, and that’s where the Brothers would look first. Some high-ranking Loyalist kilted off by a Rebel. That’s what everyone would think. And later on, when things had a chance to cool off; Howie could tell Jones he’d decided not to stay.

It sounded all right. Howie just wondered if he had the nerve to do it. To stick around and wait for everything to die down. It’d take more guts than running off.

There was only one thing, or maybe two or three, thoughts that worried at the edge of his mind, and they mostly had to do with Ritcher Jones. The preacher had treated him right, and Howie felt bad about that. And killing Harriver Mason would mess up the peace talks for sure. Could he live with a thing like that, knowing that he’d maybe kept the war going on, and gotten a lot more folks killed? No, not if he thought there was even a chance in hell of the peace talks doing any good. He never had believed that. Ritcher Jones could spout off about love and the Light, but he didn’t know beans about war. He didn’t know men like Lathan, and Colonel. Jacob. Men like that didn’t have any
Light
in their hearts. They had an awful taste for power and for blood. They wouldn’t give that up because a bunch of folks in robes said peace would be a fine idea. Killing Mason. wouldn’t hurt anyone except Mason himself, and that bastard had it coming.

There was one other thing—a possible threat, but nothing he could do much about unless he called the thing off. Ritcher Jones knew he had been in Tallahassee when Slade, the
other
big hero of Silver Island, had gotten his throat cut. Would he think about that when Mason turned up dead? Maybe, and maybe not. Still, there was no reason Jones would connect one killing with the other. It was the preacher himself who’d said Rebel guerrillas from the ’glades had gotten Slade. If he’d blamed the Rebels then, he’d likely look to them again.