Robert Wilson - Julian Comstock - A Story of 22-nd Century America

It wasn’t much longer before the Deacon arrived. He came with a cortege of Ecclesiastical Police, which he parked in the anteroom. He was dressed very formally in his Dominion vestments, and he bowed his way into Julian’s presence with all the pomp of an Oriental king. He nodded at Julian, and shook his hand, and smiled unctuously, and congratulated him on his swearing-in as Deklan’s successor. He could not have been sincere in this, but his acting was first-rate, entirely suitable for the Broadway stage. Apart from a single glance he ignored me altogether, and I wasn’t sure whether he recognized me as Calyxa’s husband.

His own “scribe” was a mean-looking little man with gimlet eyes and a fixed scowl. This creature set himself down in a chair opposite the chair where I sat. He glared at me, and I glared back. We did not speak.

The formalities and pleasantries continued for a time between Julian and Deacon Hollingshead. They spoke not as Princes but as Principalities, each of them “we,” alluding to the separate fiefdoms they represented, the Executive Branch and the Dominion.

They didn’t launch immediately into a discussion of the difficult subject at hand, but warmed up with generalities. Julian talked about his plan for greater cooperation between the Navy and the Army of the Laurentians in the conduct of the War in Labrador. Deacon Hollingshead talked about the need for a pious and prayerful foreign and domestic policy, and about the Dominion’s role in fostering that happy outcome. Commonplace as these sentiments might seem, they were, at bottom, disguised assertions of power. Julian was boasting that he controlled the military, and Hollingshead was reminding him that the Dominion held a sort of veto power, exercisable through the nation’s pulpits. They were like two tomcats, each one puffed up to make himself seem larger in the eyes of the other. Though they smiled, they growled; and the growls were an invitation to combat.

It was Julian who finally raised the subject of Mrs. Comstock’s house arrest. The Deacon responded with a conciliatory smile. “Mr. President, you’re talking about the incident at the so-called Church of the Apostles Etc. in the Immigrant District. You know, I’m sure, that the raid captured a whole school of Parmentierists and radical apostates. It was the result of a collaborative investigation between civil authorities and the Ecclesiastical Police, and we’re proud of the success of it. Because of that raid there are now people in jail who would otherwise be spreading sedition—not just against the Dominion but against the Senate and the Presidency.”

“And there are others suffering under forced confinement, who are guilty of nothing at all,” said Julian.

“I don’t mean to be disingenuous, sir. I know your mother was caught up in the matter—”

“Yes, and I had to send the Republican Guards to wrench her out of your grasp, just so we could be together on Christmas.”

“And I apologize for that. I’m happy to say, the Writ against her has been annulled. She’s free to come and go as she likes.”

That took some of the wind from Julian’s sails, though he remained wary. “I think I’ll keep her on the Palace grounds for now, Deacon Hollingshead. I’m not sure she’s entirely safe, elsewhere.”

“That’s up to you, of course.”

“And I thank you for the annulment. But she’s not the only one under arrest as a result of the affair.”

“Ah—well, that raises a different and more troublesome question. Your beloved mother could hardly have been part of any conspiracy, could she?— either ecclesiastical or political. That’s self-evident. As for any other persons, they’ll have to undergo the customary trial if they want to establish their innocence.”

“I’m talking about a woman who is currently my guest on the Palace grounds.”

Here Deacon Hollingshead looked directly at me—the first and last glance he gave me during this entire encounter. I expected to find either open hatred or concealed shame in his face, but his features were entirely relaxed and indifferent. It was the look an alligator might give to a rabbit who stopped to drink from his pool, if the alligator had recently dined and didn’t consider another meal worth taking.

He turned back to Julian, frowning. “Mr. President, don’t misunderstand me,” he said. “Mistakes happen. I know that—I freely admit it. We made a mistake in the case of your mother, and we corrected it as soon as it was brought to our attention. But the Dominion is a rock—immovable—when it comes to matters of principle.”

“I think we both know better than that, Deacon Hollingshead.”

“Excuse me, no. If you and I were ordinary men with a worldly disagreement, some compromise might be worked out. But this is an ecclesiastical matter above all else. The threat of the Unaffiliated Churches isn’t trivial or ephemeral. We take it very seriously, and I’m speaking here for the entire Dominion Council.”

“In other words you can find a way to excuse a high Eupatridian, but not a common person.”

Hollingshead was silent for a moment.

“I hope you don’t doubt my loyalty,” he said at last, in a flat and uninflected voice. “My loyalty to the Nation is tempered only by my faith. Eventually the whole world will come under the government of the Dominion of Jesus Christ, and after a thousand years of Christian rule the Savior Himself will return to make His Kingdom on Earth. [This is the core doctrine of the Dominion, to which every participating Church must commit itself.]

I believe that revealed truth as wholeheartedly as a man believes in his own existence. I hope you believe it, too. I know you’ve made statements in the past that could be interpreted as skeptical, even blasphemous—”

“I doubt that you know any such thing,” said Julian.

“Well, sir, I have sworn affidavits from a Dominion Officer, a Major Lampret, who was attached to your unit during the Saguenay Campaign, and he testifies to that charge.”

“It’s a charge , is it? But I don’t think you ought to take Major Lampret so seriously. He did a lamentable job of discharging his duties in battle.”

“Perhaps he did; or perhaps he was defamed by jealous officers. What I’m telling you, sir, is that your faith has been impugned in some circles, and it might be a good idea to publicly demonstrate your confidence and trust in the Dominion.”

“And if I do that, if I make some fawning statement to the press, will Mrs. Calyxa Hazzard be redeemed from her Ecclesiastical Writ?”

“That remains to be seen. I believe the chances are good.”

“But the Writ remains in effect until I make such a gesture?”

Deacon Hollingshead was wise enough not to affirm a positive threat. “Mrs. Hazzard can remain on the Palace grounds, as far as we’re concerned, until her child is brought to term and a trial can be arranged.”

“You insist on a trial!”

“The evidence against her is substantial—it warrants an airing.”

“A trial , and then what? Do you really propose to imprison her?”

“According to the records we’ve obtained,” Hollingshead said, “it wouldn’t be the woman’s first time in prison.”

The rest of the session was a blank to me—all I could think about was Calyxa, and it took a profound exercise of personal will to restrain myself from leaping at the Deacon and taking his throat in my hands. Hollingshead was a large man, and I might not have succeeded in choking him to death; but it would have been very satisfying to make the attempt, and I gave it much thought.

Julian cut the meeting short and asked a Republican Guard to escort Deacon Hollingshead and his man off the grounds. Then he told me to take a deep breath, or else I might explode like a diving Tipman.