The Heretic (General)

PART FIVE:

The Heretic





1

The wagonload of muskets was headed to the Temple compound, so Abel hitched a ride with the drover. It would be better if no one saw his dont tied outside the nishterlaub storehouse, in any case.

When he arrived, the other two Regulars who had come along, riding with the muskets in the back, hopped out and began to unload the guns.

“What a f*cking loss,” one of them said. “None of it to be reworked. I hear they’ll gather it up and make arrow points of the metal.”

“I’ll bet you bones against leather that we will be on the hot-metal gathering detail,” said the other. “I don’t even like touching the things now.”

And away they carted them by the armful to the courtyard. Here the muskets were tossed on top of a great pile of wood built from the remains of the chevaux-de-frise, some of the pieces still coated in dried blood and strips of flesh. No matter. It would burn as well as any other wood.

They were calling it the Bonfire of Heresy in the village. The town was not only invited to witness, but was required to attend. The summons included outlying farms and dwellings within a ten-league distance.

The priests needn’t have bothered. Everyone would have come anyway. How often did you get to see a burning, after all? Abel expected half of Garangipore and all of Lilleheim to be in the village, as well.

He made his way to the nishterlaub warehouse. Two Regulars stood at the door, an officer and an enlisted man. The officer was Xander DeArmanville, Mahaut’s brother.

“I’d like to see him,” Abel said. “You can accompany me inside.”

“Purpose?” asked Xander.

Abel glanced down, pretending to consider his answer. His eyes caught the black doorstop stone. Was it the same one he had once used to bash his own head? He supposed they might have cleaned it of blood and put it back into place.

Yes, Center said.

Was ever thus in the Land, said Raj, with a wicked chuckle.

Abel looked back up to Xander.

“He and I…remember the trip we took to Cascade to bring back the powder?” Abel said. “I need to ask him about some details of a certain establishment we visited there before they…before he’s no longer available for consultation. Passwords and special knocks and such.”

Xander thought this through for a moment, let show a sly smile, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “It won’t be necessary for me to go in there with you. Place gives me the creeps, anyway.” He took from a thong around his neck the steel key that had previously stayed in the door lock, perhaps for generations, slid it into the keyhole, and opened the lock. The ring popped out of the plaited-cane door, and Xander pulled the door open.

Golitsin wasn’t sitting at the front, but far in the back. He was sifting through the pieces of the ruined piano, attempting to sort them by size and appearance. He stood over them, puzzling, not even looking up as Abel walked over to him.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said, “or was. Clearly it was something.” Finally he turned his attention to Abel. “That thing at least I know is a bench,” he said, pointing to the intact piano stool nearby. “Have a seat if you’d like.” Abel did so.

“There’s a storage compartment in that,” Golitsin said. “Empty, though. What could they have kept there?”

Abel looked steadily at Golitsin.

“How are you?”

“Well, well.”

He circled around the pile of piano parts, stared at his pile of keys.

“They feeding you all right?”

“Can’t complain.”

Golitsin circled back around, came to stand closer to Abel. He knelt and picked up a piece of wood with the chip coating of paint on it. “This is a leg,” he said.

“Listen, Golitsin,” Abel said, keeping his voice low. “I feel terrible about this. I’m prepared to get you out. I’ve figured out how to do it.”

Golitsin started. He didn’t look up, however, but continued to stare downward at the floor. “Escape, you mean? Run away?”

“Yes.”

He considered for a moment, then laughed. “Definitely a leg,” he said. “But holding up what?”

“Did you hear what I said, Golitsin?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Well?”

“Don’t you see I can’t,” he answered. “He’ll find me.”

“He?”

“Zentrum.”

“Ah.” Then a thought occurred to Abel. “You don’t have that wafer thing in your mouth now, do you?”

Golitsin looked up at him. He opened his mouth and showed Abel it was empty. “I tried it. Once. Just touched it to my tongue, didn’t push it up. Saw something. Horrible. Got the damn thing out of my mouth and never touched it again.”

“Where is it?”

“Smelter.”

“Okay,” said Abel. “That’s good, I guess. But if that’s the case, why do you think he’ll find you?”

“Because there’s nothing but the Land,” Golitsin said. “No place to go for a man like me. I wouldn’t last a day in the Redlands. You know that. I’m a man of villages and towns. I used to say I’d live in Lindron my whole life if I had the choice. Was angling for that, you know.”

“You could blend in there. Hide. Change your name.”

“And do what?” Golitsin said. “I’m an orphan. Raised to be a priest. Always a priest.”

“You could be a carpenter, a wheelwright. You are a genius at making things.”

“No,” Golitsin said. “Not practical. Nobody would believe it once I start talking.”

“So don’t talk.”

Golitsin laughed, as if this were the most absurd request he’d ever received. “Not likely.”

“Thrice-damn it, Golitsin.”

“But it’s not any of that,” said Golitsin. He stepped closer to Abel, and this time he did glance up and make eye contact. “If not me, they find another scapegoat. Somebody gets blamed.”

“Me?”

“Not likely. Nobody would believe a kid like you could’ve come up with those breechloaders,” he said. “No, it would probably be Zilkovsky. And I couldn’t have that. We’ve had our disagreements, but he’s been like a father to me.”

“I see,” Abel said. “You’re probably right.”

“Can’t go,” said the priest. “That’s that.”

“All right,” Abel said, after a moment.

Golitsin reached over and gave Abel a kindly pat on the shoulder. “I don’t regret a thing,” he said. “Your ideas, my hands. I think—”

He paused, looked around the room.

“I think it was people like us who did this. All of this,” he said, motioning about him. “Crazy thought. But it could be.”

“It could be,” Abel said.

“And if they could do it once, maybe someone will do it again.”

“Yes.”

“But not us,” Golitsin said.

“Your rifles saved the district. Maybe the Land itself,” said Abel. “You know that. There were over ten thousand of them, Golitsin. Ten thousand of them and five thousand of us.”

“Maybe not saved,” Golitsin replied. “Maybe evened the odds.”

“Tilted them in our favor,” Abel said. He stood. “All right, I should go. You won’t reconsider?”

A quick response this time. “No.”

“All right.”

Abel turned to leave.

“Good-bye, Dashian.”

“Yeah.”

“Coming to the burning?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Do, okay?”

Abel turned back. “You really want that?”

“Would make it better, knowing a friend was along.”

“Very funny,” Abel said. “But I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” said Golitsin. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Abel walked toward the door. He knocked, but before it was opened by the exterior guards, he turned to have a last look at Golitsin. The priest was bent once again over the piano parts.

“It was a musical instrument,” Abel said. “It had strings. They were made of metal.”

Golitsin looked up in surprise and happiness. “Metal,” he said. “You knew all along! Metal.”

Then the door opened, and Abel left the priest to his contemplation.