Starfist: Lazarus Rising (11 page)

She knew what that meant. "Emwanna," the woman answered. She unslung the bundle from her back and held back the rag that had been covering her child's head from the sun. "Chisi," she said proudly, holding the baby out toward Zechariah. The baby's head was very big and its brown eyes enormous. It blinked at Zechariah.

"The poor thing is starving," Hannah Flood said softly.

"Do you speak English?" Zechariah asked slowly. English was the lingua franca on Kingdom, as it was throughout the Confederation of Human Worlds. All the peoples who'd emigrated there brought with them the languages of their forefathers but everyone used English, if not in their daily lives, then in their relationships with other groups.

"Yes." The woman nodded. "Little." Her voice sounded like the rustling of old parchment. "Water?" she asked. Several of the onlookers rushed off to get the woman water. Someone produced a cup of milk for the child.

"Where do you come from, child?" Zechariah asked.

"Long way. From my people," she rasped, and pointed over her shoulder in the direction from which she had just come. She took the glass of water someone had given her and drank eagerly while one of the women gently removed the child from her arms and fed it milk. She drained the cup and bowed in thanks toward Zechariah.

"Who are your people?"

"Pilipili Magna. But all dead, all dead," Emwanna said tonelessly, and she drank deeply from her refilled cup.

When Charles followed the Brattles out into the street, the first person he recognized was the red-haired woman who'd escaped from the caves with him, Colleen. The Sewalls had taken her in. Charles walked up to her, leaving Comfort with her father. "Long time no see," he said, putting his arm around her.

"Charles, you saw me only this morning!" Colleen laughed and kissed him lightly on his cheek. Comfort noticed the intimacy and chided herself at the feeling of jealousy that surged up within her.

Zechariah stood next to Emwanna and put his arm around her. "Friends, the Lord has seen to deliver this poor soul to us from the wilderness. It is our Christian duty to take her in, as we have Charles and Colleen and Chet. Who among us will care for this woman and her child?"

"I will, Zechariah!" Hannah Flood bustled forward and took Emwanna under her wing. "I'll take that one too." She chuckled, pointing at Charles.

"God bless you, Hannah. I believe—" He paused, looking for the right word, the ghost of a smile on his face. "—that Mrs. Brattle and I have grown very fond of Charles. Even if he does swear like a trooper," he muttered under his breath.

"Friends," Zechariah addressed the rest of the crowd, "it's not wise to bunch up like this. Let us disperse to our homes and duties. Hannah will restore the woman and child and then we'll let her speak about her ordeal. Don't forget, guard mount changes in one hour." He beckoned to Charles, who joined him. "Charles, what do you think?"

"I think she is only the first of many who will find their way to us, Zechariah. I think those things that killed your friends and held us in cages have devastated our world and they
will
be back for us." Although Charles could not remember what he had done in his former life, he was sure he was also a native of this world, like everyone else around him.

Zechariah nodded. "The security measures you recommend, Charles, are very wise. You have had experience in these matters at some time in your life, that's obvious to everyone. I pray each night the Lord will restore your memory perfectly.

I have a feeling we'll need all the advice we can get in the near future. When will you feel up to taking over the training of our able-bodied people to form some kind of defensive force?"

"Tomorrow, Zechariah."

"Good." He turned to Comfort. "Daughter, you go on watch in one hour."

"Yes, Father." As she walked back into the house she frowned back at Charles.

At first Charles was surprised at the look she gave him, and then his face reddened. Damn, he thought, she saw me kiss Colleen. The girl has a crush on me!

He was both amused and alarmed. "Comfort," he called out, "wait up!" and followed her into the house.

Spencer Maynard placed a hand on Reuben Stoughton's arm as they walked down the street. "See that?" He nodded at Charles and Comfort. "She's pretty sweet on that stranger." Spencer was twenty-five years old, and he'd been thinking of courting Comfort long before the community had moved to the Sea of Gerizim.

"You are looking daggers at the man's back, Spencer," the older man observed wryly.

"Lord forgive me for that," Maynard answered. They continued walking down the street. "But Reuben, is there something, you know,
suspicious
about the strangers? I mean, they come to us out of the night claiming they don't remember who they are, and we take them in. We really don't know who they are, do we? I do not trust them.

In fact, Reuben," he leaned close and whispered into Reuben's ear, "I think they're
spies
." He nodded firmly.

"Hmm, I'm not so sure," Reuben replied. "They came with no clothes and nearly dead—the other man and the woman would have died if we hadn't found them in the morning—"

"Ah! You need only one man to do the job, but you send three? And what do we know about this ‘amnesia,’ eh? I looked it up, Reuben. They weren't hit on the head.

We've all talked to them and they don't seem to be trying to forget something awful in their personal lives. They don't seem to be suffering from any diseases that would cause loss of memory, and if they were exposed to toxic substances, wouldn't that show up in some way? Oh, they talk about being tortured, but they
remember
that experience, they're not trying to forget it! They want us to believe the devils did it to them, but Reuben, the devils kill human beings, like they did all our friends, they don't just let them go! No, no, there's something about these three that just doesn't add up, Reuben."

"Hmm. Yes, maybe?" Reuben said doubtfully. He looked hard at his companion.

He was fully aware that Spencer was jealous of Charles's relationship with Comfort, and he did not discount that as his motive for making such a slander. Still... He clapped Spencer on the shoulder, "Let us keep a close watch on the three of them, and if your suspicions grow into facts, we'll talk to Zechariah. Meanwhile, I've got the watch tonight."

Spencer Maynard nodded and smiled. He'd get the facts, all right.

CHAPTER 8

Charles followed Comfort back into the house. She was slinging her shot rifle and picking up her coat when he caught up with her. Outside someone was giving the signal for the relief watch to muster at the meetinghouse—
Bong!
—one, two—
Bong!

—one, two—
Bong!
—one of the several warning signals Charles and Zechariah had worked out before instituting the watch system.

"Comfort..." Charles paused, catching his breath. His long convalescence had weakened him. Comfort glared back at him. "Um, is that rifle loaded?" he asked.

Comfort's expression changed to one of bewilderment. The Remchester 870

Police Model shot rifle was based on the simple design of the old-fashioned pump shotgun, with a tubular magazine mounted beneath the barrel; rounds were transferred from the spring-loaded magazine into the breech by working the slide to the rear and then ramming it forward to load the rounds. The Remchester was designed to fire a wide variety of ammunition, from ordinary buckshot to powerful explosive and armor-piercing projectiles. It came in a semiautomatic gas-operated version, but evidently the previous owner of this weapon preferred a pump action, because it was thought to be more reliable, if a bit slower to put into battery.

"Never go on guard mount with a loaded weapon. The sergeant of the guard will inspect—" Charles smiled and held out his hand for the rifle, which Comfort passed over without comment. Then she smiled. He had remembered some more! Charles opened the breech and a live round popped out. "See?" he said, stooping and picking it up. He shoved it into the weapon's magazine. "Leave the action open, so you can look inside and see the round in the magazine and that the breech is clear.

Put your finger into the breech to double-check that there's nothing in there. That way there's no chance of discharging your piece by mistake. You'd have gotten a gig for going on guard with a charged weapon."

"What's a ‘gig,’ Charles?"

"Huh?" Charles screwed up his face. "Oh, well, a ‘gig’ is—it's, you know, like a mistake? Hell's bells, Comfy, I don't know! It just came to me." He examined a button on the left side of the rifle. It was sticking out. A green strip indicated it was on safe. "How many rounds does this thing hold?"

"Four, Charles."

Charles nodded. "Are these rounds solid shot or pellets?"

"I don't know. I reloaded after the fight with the devils and didn't bother to look.

When I used it that day, I just pointed, fired, and worked the action. Afterward I noticed black and blue marks on my shoulder, and Father said it was because I didn't hold the butt end properly. But I killed them, Charles, I killed them."

Charles smiled. She didn't look like she could kill anything, but he'd heard that story many times, and he knew Comfort would never hesitate again in combat. "It needs cleaning, Comfort," he observed sourly. "When you come off duty tonight we'll sit down and run some oily rags through the tube, get the dust and grit out of the action." He pointed the rifle in a safe direction, hefted it and sighted along the barrel. "How do you get a proper sight picture with this thing?"

"You fire when the outline of the stock, or the whatchamacallit, lines up with the bead on the front of the barrel. Father taught us that, but in the fight, I just pointed and squeezed the trigger and worked the pump back and forth."

Charles handed the rifle back to her. "Well, your father wants me to start organizing and drilling a defense force starting tomorrow. But I'm going to start tonight. I'm going with you. Who's watch master tonight?"

"Reuben Stoughton."

"Let's go."

"Charles," Reuben Stoughton exclaimed in surprise as Charles and Comfort walked into the meeting hall. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm Zechariah's ‘military’ adviser, Reuben, and tonight I'm starting off my new duty by observing your guard mount."

"Well, we don't need any advice, Charles, we've all done this before." He glanced suspiciously at Comfort, remembering the innuendos Spencer Maynard had made against Charles and Comfort earlier in the evening. Charles noted the look but said nothing.

"That's fine, Reuben. I'm sure you're an excellent watch master. But when the rest of your people arrive, I want to talk to them."

Soon the others—Joab Flood, twelve; Lela Stoughton, seventeen; and Kezia Sewell, twenty—arrived. They were also surprised to find Charles there. He explained his presence in a few terse sentences.

"Effective tonight, we're putting all of our defensive measures on an organized, military footing," Charles told them. "Tomorrow we're having a meeting of everyone in New Salem and we'll go over the details. But tonight I'm going to show you how to mount a proper guard detail—not that Reuben hasn't been doing it right, but I have a better way, and you'll learn it."

Reuben frowned but said nothing; the others looked expectantly back at Charles.

"First, the watch master will inspect your weapons. I know most of you are

‘armed’ with cudgels, but he'll make sure you have them and that they're serviceable.

Comfort has a shot rifle." He took it from her and held it up for all of them to see.

"You will all be trained on how to operate this weapon—you may have to in an emergency. But observe how it is now, action open, breech empty. Reuben will make sure, every night, that when Comfort brings this with her, it is in the same condition as it is now—rounds in the magazine but breech empty. She will load it at her post and make sure it's safe. When she goes off duty in the morning, Reuben will ensure that the weapon is made safe before she is relieved."

Joab Flood grinned and looked hungrily at the weapon. He'll make a good gunner, Charles thought. "The watch master each night will make sure you remember which signals you are to give in case of alarm. I know, they're very simple, but in an emergency anyone can forget and give the wrong one. But you won't do that because we're going to drill over and over again. Your first order on watch is to take charge of your post. The second is to remain alert, and so on, and each time you go on duty you will be reminded of these things." He pointed at Lela Stoughton. "Miss, what do you do if you see something coming on the air?"

"You hit the gong, bong—pause—bong—pause—bong," she answered immediately.

"No!"
Charles snapped, and immediately felt sorry for it when he saw how embarrassed the young woman was. "The signal for an air attack is a quick and vigorous
'Bong, bong, bong!'
over and over again!" he said gently, and laughed.

"See what I mean?" He patted the young woman on the shoulder to reassure her that he wasn't angry with her. "I know you won't forget that again, Miss, er...?"

"Stoughton," Reuben said.

"Stoughton. But you see what I mean? We go over and over even the simplest things so that when you are scared to death and every fiber in your body screams that you should
run
to safety, you'll do your duty. You watchers have the safety of this whole village on your shoulders and we're all depending on you to keep alert out there." He turned to Reuben. "How do you post your people to their watch stations?"

Reuben shrugged. "When I see they're all here, I just let them go. They all know where the posts are."

"Tonight we go in a group, watch master. We'll drop them off one by one, and in the morning your replacement will relieve your men in the same way. No more wandering around by yourself out there, especially after dark. I'll stay with you for part of the night. You will check each post every hour. How would you do that?"

"I've been starting with post number one and walking around the perimeter to number four."