David Drake: The Heretic

So you fooled Zentrum into thinking it was Golitsin he was talking to.

Precisely.

Why?

I should think it would be clear to you.

No.

Abel shook his head. It felt as if it were a jug of water, sloshing about. So much to take in. Maybe too much.

You wanted proof.

Yes.

Proof that all we say we are, of all that we tell you it means, is true.

Yes, I do!

You have experienced the Mind of Zentrum. Do you doubt this?

Fields of grain, he thought to himself. We’re flax to him. Barley. Nothing else. Nothing more. And he will fail. The fields will cease to produce. This world will go back to wilderness.

Yes, all right, thought Abel. Zentrum is my enemy. He’s the enemy of all humankind. Even if you two are not real, I would still believe that now.

Good.

But why did you make Zentrum think I was Golitsin?

Don’t you see, lad? said Raj. So Zentrum will have his heretic to burn . Otherwise, it would have been you.

Abel shook his head again. It was beginning to clear.

Rostov dead. Golitsin to burn, he thought. We’ll see about that.

Abel stood, sheathing the dagger. He tottered for an instant, then managed to steady himself. His eyes lighted on Rostov’s long knife, still sunk into the ground.

Nishterlaub . Wouldn’t do to leave that here to be discovered by some farmer who might get into trouble with the Law if he were found with it.

He pulled the knife out of the muck-it came easily free-and slid it into his belt, knowing as he did so that he didn’t give a damn about that farmer and that he wasn’t going to place the knife into the nishterlaub warehouse at the Hestinga temple, either.

Dortgeld, he thought. Scoutish for the spoils of war.

This was his knife now.

A thumping sound. It took him a moment to recognize the sound as dont hoofpads.

Kruso rode up on a dont. He was smoking his pipe. It was filled with the aromatic Delta weed he preferred, and the odor wafted down to Abel, a new and calming odor amidst the acrid smell of gunsmoke and the iron tang of blood. Behind him, Kruso was trailing Abel’s dont Spet, the animal’s halter reins in Kruso’s grimy, four-fingered hand.

Kruso took the pipe from his mouth with his other hand.

“Ha founded thy Spet levee ondownded,” Kruso said. He smiled crookedly, his teeth and the whites of his eyes flashing in his soot-covered face. “Gone need thesen dont if tha wish ta see off that rest ov tham Blaskoye dowun in tha paddies.”

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 fucking 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?”