The Sword of the Lady (11 page)

″Yah, he must be about the loneliest man on earth,″ he mused.

Denson shrugged. ″Kate actually
loves
the fat, ugly bastard, poor girl. God knows why. Oh, yeah, and his son loves him too, but Tommie′s only eighteen months old. And old Bossman Tom doted on him. Apart from that . . . you said it, Sheriff Vogeler.″

″Captain Vogeler, if you have to use something besides my name. I
earned
that. My dad was a Sheriff, but my elder brother inherited the title. The pompous asshole.″

Another chuckle. ″Vogeler, I′m not surprised you made your hometown too hot to hold you, and your friends are just as bad. That priest who was with you was seen going into the Catholic Cardinal′s palace—and it wouldn′t be good politics to try to muscle in there, even though I suspect he gets in and out without our noticing, somehow. The other four, the black kid and the three women, haven′t been found, and I don′t think they′re just waiting for you to get the chop. That sensitive spot between my shoulderblades starts getting an arrow-itch every time I go outdoors. And the two we did catch are the Bossman′s pets now. They′re giving him ideas.″

″I thought you State Police were the Bossman′s loyal muscle. What do you care what ideas he gets?″

″We are,″ Denson said, and pulled a pipe out of a case at his belt. ″And don′t play dumb with me.″

To Ingolf′s surprise he pulled out the wanderer′s battered briar as well and filled and lighted it, before handing it to him through the bars.

″Your two friends in the playing-card costumes are telling the Bossman he should be a King with everyone swearing homage on bended knee.
And
telling Kate Heasleroad that she should be Queen. He likes the idea. So does she, though I think it′s mostly the thought of having a crown and a fancy dress like that
Princess
. . .″

″Princess Mathilda.″

″Yeah, Mathilda Arminger . . . has. I said Kate loved Tony. That′s pretty good evidence she′s not too bright, hey?″

″Tony
is
King, near as no matter, Denson,″ Ingolf pointed out. ″That′s the way they think out west, anyway—Mathilda′s and Odard′s bunch of them, at least. They′re nuts for that knights-and-castles stuff. Some of the castles are pretty damned impressive, too; not as big as Des Moines, but high. And you wouldn′t want to meet their heavy cavalry in a bad mood, believe you me.″

″No shit. Actually it all sounds pretty workable. Not
all
that different from the way we do things, but more . . . polished. More regularized, you know, sort of as if a lot of the kinks and rough spots had been worked out.″

Ingolf nodded; he′d had the same thought, when he was west of the Cascades. If you subtracted the castles and coats of arms, the Association′s territories had the same setup as most parts of the Midwest; refugees from the cities and their children—grandkids too, just lately—working for landowners, the landowners owing allegiance to bigger landowners who managed the local defenses, and all of them to an overboss. Although the Farmers and Sheriffs in Richland—his own homeland in what had been southern Wisconsin—were a lot less high-and-mighty about it than here in Iowa, and the Bossman of the Free Republic was a lot closer to first among equals than either of the Heasleroads, father
or
son.

″But a King doesn′t have quite as much need for the State Police,″ Denson said, smiling like a shark. ″The only reason we haven′t done anything about ′em is those Cutters from Montana.
They′ve
been telling Tony the Bossman should be a fucking
God
. Provided he follows the—what do they call that funny-farm fake Bible of theirs?″

″The Dictations. And the Book of Dzur. That′s how
they
run things, which I′ve seen firsthand,″ Ingolf said.

Along with some other things I′m not going to mention, because you′d think I was crazy. And being a prisoner in Corwin . . . you
do
go crazy. I don′t think I realized how much until I began to recover, in Chenrezi Monastery.

″But I think they have their own Prophet in mind for the job, and nobody else,″ he said aloud.

″That′s about what I thought,″ Denson said. ″Besides, that everyone-is-dirt-beneath-your-feet and soulless-minions-of-the-Nephilim stuff is just
far
too tempting. I′m all for the Bossman′s authority, but let′s not get ridiculous.″

He produced a silver flask from his belt and took a nip. Without looking around he also lashed out with one foot, and connected with a set of fingers that were gripping the bars of the next cell at the sight of the liquor. The hairy face behind them jerked backward, swearing—quietly—and disappeared.

″Which sort of presents me with a problem,″ he said. ″They′ve also been telling the Bossman that you and your friends should all get the chop, soonest.″

″That′s the sort of advice Tony Heasleroad usually listens to,″ Ingolf said sourly.

There was a certain freedom in his position. Denson′s confiding mood confirmed it; the man was probably talking more freely to him than he could to anyone else, because he didn′t expect one Ingolf Vogeler to be around very much longer. One way or another. Though he wondered at his letting the other prisoners eavesdrop.

Ah
, he thought.
He wants to judge my reactions before he risks letting me out of the cage even for an instant, even at the end of a catchpole.

″I get it,″ Ingolf said, snapping his fingers with a look of sardonically exaggerated surprise. ″You′re going to sit there and tell me all your evil plans before you kill me.″

″Christ, no, I saw that movie before the Change,″ Denson said genially.

He extended the flask—cautiously, at arm′s length, so that Ingolf could just reach it but not the other man′s hand. It was peach brandy, well-aged, smooth and sweet, and went well with—at least temporary—relief.

″Ah, that′s sippin′ liquor,″ Ingolf said. To himself:
Phew. He
needs
me for something. Needs me alive.

″Thanks.″

″You′re welcome,″ Denson said, taking it back. ″No, when
I′m
going to kill someone I just kill them, fast and quiet. Dead men don′t figure a way to turn the tables on you.″

Ingolf felt an unwelcome stab of emotion; it took him a moment to recognize it as hope. That made the inside of his head itch.

Careful,
he told himself as his breath caught involuntarily.
You can′t afford to get muddleheaded.

″So I figure I need to get that hard-ass Graber and even more that lunatic they call a High Seeker out of town, and hopefully your bunch too. You can all go off and kill each other somewhere else, and we can get on with life. Tony will be annoyed, but he′ll get over it when he finds some new toys. If I had you all chopped against his orders, he might . . . probably would . . . start thinking of
me
as a threat.″

″And that wouldn′t do. He might get antsy.″

″Oh, you′ve got no idea. Our boy has a well-developed sense of self-preservation.″

″The Corwinites probably have plans of their own,″ Ingolf said.

″Yeah. The other guy usually does, the dirty bastard.″ Apropos of nothing, Denson went on: ″You′re not old enough to remember the Change, are you?″

″Nope,″ Ingolf said. ″Not really. I remember the flash of light and the headache, but not much before that and not much more after, not for years. I wasn′t even six then.″

″Yeah, I can′t remember much of when I was six either.″ Denson nodded.

″I
do
remember how scared everyone was.″

″Yes,″ Denson said; the flask halted for a moment halfway to his lips, then came down again. ″I was old enough to
know
.″

When he went on his eyes were locked on nothing, on a vision that gave them a haunted bleakness Ingolf recognized. He′d grown up seeing it in his father, and the other adults.

″People are always saying how lucky Iowa was. It didn′t feel that way then. The whole world had just dropped out from under our feet. If the fucking
laws of nature
can change on you, what can you count on? Most people were . . . you know how a cow or a pig looks when you hit it on the head with the hammer, just before you cut its throat?″

Ingolf nodded at the familiar image; the only people who didn′t know that were those too exalted to ever slaughter their own food or so poor they didn′t eat meat, both small minorities in this part of the world. Denson snorted at the automatic agreement.

″Yeah, you′re a Changeling, all right. Back then, even here in Iowa most people
didn′t
know how that looked, ′cause they′d never seen an animal butchered unless they worked in a slaughterhouse. Even
farmers
hadn′t. Hell,
I
hadn′t.″

″Whoa,″ Ingolf said, shocked despite himself.

He′d known things were very different back then, but—

″Not around Readstown. My dad butchered deer; he was a hunter even before the Change. I
do
remember that. And one of my uncles raised pigs and slaughtered them and smoked his own bacon.″

″Wisconsin. The Kickapoo country in Wisconsin at that—the
sticks
.″

″Yah, we′re all ignorant cheeseheads, I′ve heard that before. You still had it lucky here.″

″Everyone says that, because we′ve got as many people now as before the Change. That′s after a generation of everyone breeding like crazy—hell, the kids are even
useful
, now, instead of swallowing a fortune in college tuition. Back around the Change enough people here died that life got real cheap, real fast. Only a few saw what had to be done if we weren′t
all
going to die. Get the city people out to the farms, get the farms rerigged to work with hand tools, get tools made, get the food in the silos and such stored before it went bad, get the livestock out of the confinement pens before they died, organize the Amish as instructors so we could plant a crop that first year . . .″

″Wise people like
you
, I suppose,″ Ingolf said.

He′d noticed that people who′d been adults before the Change tended to think that they were smarter than their children. When they were actually just more . . .

What was the word? Right,
introspective
. Always watching themselves watching themselves watching themselves. Sometimes I wonder why they didn′t just disappear up their own assholes.

Denson grinned. ″No. I was sixteen then, scared spitless, but old enough I remember it pretty good. Dad was like some crazy preacher then, spreading the gospel—that drove it into my head good and hard. He was number three or four in the State Police; though he drafted me, soon enough. And Tom Heasleroad, he
really
knew what had to be done, and saw the opportunities, if you know what I mean. Abel Heuisink saw it too, damn him, and he was in the State government like Tom.″

″I′ve met him. We stayed at his place.″

″He′s no fool, just . . . in his old age he′s turned into what they used to call a flaming liberal.″

″You mean he′s a free spender?″ Ingolf said, puzzled; the Heuisinks had struck him as generous even for rich, well-born landholders, but not wasteful.

″Nah. The word′s changed meaning—changed back, actually; I looked it up once when I noticed. We could close him down, but he′s got supporters. And Anthony likes to have an official opposition . . . keeps all the other groups competing to make sure he doesn′t deal them in. Plus he knows Abel isn′t a friend of mine, personally, and neither is
your
friend Heuisink Junior. Balance of power stuff.″

″Jack doesn′t like you either, no. His father worked with your father, though.″

″Yup. Holding his nose while he did. Trouble was, they weren′t the real bossmen back then. The guys right at the top were sitting around wringing their hands, or putting Band-Aids on gut-stabs, shuffling the deck chairs on the Titanic—″

He paused at Ingolf′s look of incomprehension and shrugged, amending the phrase:

″Fiddling while things burned, when we didn′t have any time to waste. They couldn′t get their heads around what had happened. Not fast enough.″

″So Tom Heasleroad and old Abel Heuisink and your dad took over,″ Ingolf said. ″And of course, Tom and your late father just
had
to
keep
running things because the Emergency never quite stopped.″

Denson laughed. ″Pretty much. Though that bastard Heuisink really
would
turn everything over to the vakis″—which was Iowa slang for
evacuee
, the ex-townsmen and their descendants who were the Farmers′ labor force—″which I admit just between me and you wouldn′t mean everyone starving to death, not anymore, since these days they know something about working the land, but that′s politics.″

″But you′ve put all your money on the Heasleroads, and if they go down, you do too,″ Ingolf said. ″Why haven′t you just taken the Bossman′s Chair yourself?″

Denson shrugged again. ″I′m the boogeyman for Tony, like Dad was for
his
father. The
Bad Cop
,″ he added, chuckling. ″Though with Tom Heasleroad and my father it was more like Bad and Worse. A lot of these Sheriffs and County Commissioners and Guard colonels hate me too much to take my orders directly, but the Heasleroad name still has a lot of chops—we
didn′t
all starve, after all, which everyone likes, and the Farmers and Sheriffs are on top of the heap, which they like plenty. And they like the way the State Police keep order without their having to do the dirty work themselves.″

″And the point of this little history lesson is?″

″That I have to
manage
the Heasleroads. Which means I have to keep the wrong people away from Tony; his father was a lot more sensible, but what can you do?″

″Not give him everything he wants just because he wants it?″ Ingolf suggested. ″That′d turn a saint into a monster, and I′ll bet Tony Heasleroad was never a saint.″

″Well, maybe. Tom was a lot better Bossman than he was a father, if you ask me; Dad never spoiled
us
. Water under the bridge, though.″