Shining Steel

Chapter Three

“Ye shall hear of wars, and rumors of wars."-Matthew 24:6

John sat at the desk he had appropriated, frowning. He would have preferred to wait for word from Matthew Crowned-with-Glory, the man in charge of the party he had sent to Little St. Peter, before committing himself to the campaign against the Chosen of the Holy Ghost, but that did not seem to be something he could do. The Elders back in New Nazareth would never accept it. They would not believe the testimony of Miriam Humble-Before-God, or any other heretical prisoner, without good reason. They would surely insist that the machine gun had been found somewhere, not bought-or at best, that the people of Little St. Peter had lied about where they got it. God had allowed the knowledge of such weapons to die, and would surely not now revive it only to turn it against His own people.

John was even willing to admit to himself that Miriam might have been yarning to try and distract her foes, but he could not be sure, and did not want to expend his people's resources in a long, bloody war with the Chosen if the People of Heaven were a more dangerous enemy.

True, the Chosen of the Holy Ghost were putting constant pressure on the trade routes of the People of the True Word and Flesh; they had publicly insulted and denounced the True Worders, and were vigorously proselytizing for their own false religion and its false prophet. Their conquests posed a growing threat to the security of even New Nazareth itself, and of course there was the great spiritual need to bring the light of the True Word to the darkness of the lands the Chosen held in thrall. Still, they were just another enemy, to be dealt with at any time; they were not manufacturing machine guns.

If the report of his scouting party were to prove that the so-called People of Heaven were, in fact, a greater and more immediate danger to the People of the True Word and Flesh than the evil empire of the Chosen, then he could send that report on to the Elders and postpone the inevitable conflict with the Chosen. He was not certain just what action he would take in such a situation; a consultation with the Elders would be needed. He was sure that they would defer to their commander regarding the need to re-think the situation, since it was he, not they, who was here in the field and in possession of the facts, but he was also sure that they would want to do the re-thinking.

The Elders would not, however, be willing to change their plans simply on the word of a captured woman; they would need some sort of convincing evidence. John had been hoping that Matthew would return quickly with that evidence.

He had not been idle since Matthew's departure; he would not have dared to be. His old main camp had been packed up and moved into the village, which was known to its inhabitants by the oddly secular name of Marshside. Some of the villagers were on their way to New Nazareth, under guard; others had been recruited as camp servants. Scouts had been sent out, not only Matthew and his men to Little St. Peter, but others to various points along the borders and even in the Chosen empire itself. The main force of infantry had arrived two days behind schedule, and getting the cavalry back into fighting trim after their post-battle debauch had taken time as well, so the campaign had been delayed already-but not seriously. Preparations had been made, the men were ready, the village's resources were strained-the time had come when the first real assault on the enemy should be made. The plan called for a march up around the marsh and across the Little New Jordan, taking the Chosen on their presumably undefended southeastern flank with a series of harassing raids on outlying settlements by the cavalry, while the infantry drove straight toward Spiritus Sancti.

The entire plan assumed that the Chosen had not discovered the True Worder troop movements in time to move their own main army; John had some doubts about that. He thought that he could win in any case, but knew that the victory would be very costly if the Chosen did, in fact, know that he and his men were coming. And if the People of Heaven were building machine guns, the People of the True Word and Flesh could not afford such a victory.

If the Chosen were truly as ignorant and their southeastern flank as undefended as the Elders believed them to be, then the entire war would be relatively quick and painless and would do little harm to either side-excluding, of course, those who persisted in their heresy-but John did not believe that the Chosen, who had built a respectable empire for themselves, could be that incompetent. He sighed. He did not mind fighting a protracted war; he had anticipated it all along, and accepted the Elders’ plan to come around through the southern badlands because it was as good a plan as any, even if the much-vaunted element of surprise was unlikely to amount to much. The People of Heaven worried him, though-perhaps more than they reasonably should. After all, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, the People of Heaven had no known quarrel with the People of the True Word and Flesh, unless they took amiss the seizure of Marshside. Still, John wished that Matthew had returned. With no word from Little St. Peter he would have to start the march north at dawn.

He was accustomed to operating without crucial knowledge; any military commander had to be. Misinformation about the enemy's forces, inaccurate maps, lying informants, all of those he was accustomed to dealing with, but the possibility of an enemy armed with the incredible super-weapons of legend attacking from behind while he fought someone else was unsettling. A machine gun in Marshside-what if somewhere else he were to run across the super-bombs that destroyed entire cities?

He pushed back his chair and arose, glancing one last time at the papers on the desk. Nothing there was really urgent, and he felt in need of distraction. He had been worrying about both the Heaveners and the Chosen for too long without a break. In the morning he would be moving again, leading his men around the marsh, and there would be plenty of minor problems to deal with, taking his mind off the major ones; why wait until then to let the burden be lightened? He was doing no good sitting at his desk and worrying. He had minor problems here in Marshside that he could attend to.

He walked out of the room without consciously choosing a destination, but knew immediately where he was going-up the stairs to the room across from his own, where Miriam Humble-Before-God was kept.

He threw back the bolt, swung open the door, and looked in, then immediately stepped back. She was not on her bed, which stood against the opposite wall. There was no other furniture in the room, nowhere else she would reasonably be-which meant that she was somewhere unreasonable.

He had not bothered to post a guard here, since there were two at the door of the house; he did not feel he could spare the manpower, and the bolt had seemed adequate. Even had she managed to open or break it, where could she have gone? She might have escaped through the window, if she could find a way safe to the ground and avoid being seen by the people in the street below, or broken through the ceiling into the attic, but again, where would she go?

It was possible that she had escaped, but he doubted it. He had had two weeks now to learn something of her personality, and guessed where she was. Almost amused, he flung out his arm and slammed the door back against the wall with his full strength.

As he had expected, instead of the bang of nearwood against plaster, he heard the thump of the door hitting flesh. He strode into the room and turned.

Miriam stood behind the door, clutching a long, jagged splinter she had pried from the bare boards of the floor; it would have served quite as well as a dagger had he simply walked in and allowed her to reach his back with it. He had not been that careless, and robbed of her victim she looked rather dazed and foolish.

“If you had killed me,” John pointed out, “my men would have hanged you."

“Only if they caught me,” she spat back. She flung the splinter aside.

“They'd catch you,” John replied as he stooped to pick up the fragment. “Where could you run?"

“Little St. Peter, maybe-they wouldn't follow me there."

“You don't know where it is.” After a final glance at the crystalline edge he tossed the splinter out the window.

“It's three days afoot east of here-and your man's been gone two weeks now, hasn't he, and on horseback? Looks like something happened to him, I'd reckon."

“He's taking his time to look around, I'd say-I told him to."

“You told him to be back in ten days!"

“You heard that? Or did someone tell you? No, doesn't matter, don't say anything. Even if I said that-and I'm not saying I did-he might have had some trouble; could have been taken sick, maybe. We'll see."

“No, we won't; you're leaving tomorrow."

“So are you; I'm taking you north with me."

“What?” Her mouth fell open for an instant; she snapped it closed. “What are you talking about?"

“I'm taking you with me."

“Why, in God's name?"

“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” he reproved her.

“Why are you taking me with you?"

“Because I choose to do so."

“But why? Why don't you just rape me here and have done, get it over with?"

“I don't intend to rape you."

“You don't?” She was plainly startled. “Why not? Your men did; I thought you were just waiting for the right moment. What makes you different?"

“I prefer not to, that's all."

“Are you queer, then? I've heard that some warriors are-that must be it.” Her mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Leviticus, Chapter Twenty, Verse Thirteen,” she said.

“First Corinthians, Chapter Seven, Verse Thirty-Seven,” he replied.

“Oh, so now you're holier than the rest of us?"

“Holier than you, heretic."

She spat in his face.

He grabbed her arm with his left hand and backhanded her across the cheek with his right. “You're coming with me because I don't trust you out of my sight; is that reason enough for you? You're the only person in this stinking village with brains enough to worry me."

She glared at him silently.

He released his grip on her arm; she pulled away fiercely.

“I came up here to see if you were ready to be reasonable, and to see if you would tell me anything else about the Chosen, or Marshside, or Little St. Peter, or that machine gun-and to tell you that you're coming north with me, too,” he said. “Well, I've told you, and it doesn't look like you're feeling reasonable, so I've done what I came to do.” He turned and marched out the door.

She slammed it hard behind him, as he had known she would; he turned back and threw the bolt, then went on down the stairs. He hesitated at the foot, then walked on out into the street, leaving the papers and plans on his desk for later.

The guards at the door saluted, and he paused on the step between them to survey the scene.

Marshside was jammed; his men were sleeping four to a room, the villagers themselves relegated to doorsteps and kitchens for the most part. The street was full of men and boys and horses-and a few women, both villagers and camp-following harlots. It was a safe assumption that these villagers, too, could now be called harlots-the women determined to remain respectable would stay inside until the main body of troops had moved on. John recognized several of the men; his own elite cavalry-what was left of it-had been kept close to his headquarters, with the vast horde of infantry filling the rest of the town.

One face suddenly stood out, a man waving to him; John shouted, “Ho, there!"

Faces all over the street turned to look at him; he pointed at the man he wanted. “Come up here!"

The man obeyed, the crowd parting before him. He saluted as he neared his commander, and then stood at attention a yard away.

“You're Timothy Gates-of-the-City. I sent you to Little St. Peter with Matthew Crowned-with-Glory,” John said.

“Yes, sir,” the soldier agreed.

“When did you get back?"

“Ah… about an hour ago, sir; I was on my way to report.” The man tried unsuccessfully to hide his embarrassment.

“An hour ago?"

“Yes, sir,” he said unhappily. “I was tired and hungry, sir, and I got a meal and took a bath. I rode here without stopping, sir, almost killed my horse."

“Well, darn it, soldier, next time, report to me first; another five minutes wouldn't kill you.” John glared at the man.

“Yes, sir."

“You're here now, anyway. Come inside and report."

“Yes, sir.” Timothy relaxed slightly; he knew he was still in trouble, but the captain was apparently not going to hang him on the spot. He followed his commander into the headquarters building and on to his office.

Timothy stood before the cluttered desk while John seated himself comfortably behind it. When he was settled, John demanded, “Report!"

“Yes, sir; we made good time at first, sir, but Little St. Peter is further east than we had been told, sir. We reached it on March twenty-fourth, and found an inn, but it was late, so we just ate supper and went to bed there."

“Did you talk to any of the locals?"

“No, sir; there weren't any there but the innkeeper. Everyone was at home-they said it was Easter there!” Timothy made a show of astonishment.

John shrugged. “Heretics,” he said. “Go on."

“Well, the next day was April first, and we didn't know if they kept Fool's Day, so Matthew wanted to be extra careful; he sent Barney-Barnabas Righteous-in-Wrath-out, while the rest of us stayed in the inn and talked to people there.” He hesitated. “Ah… we heard a lot of things, sir."

“Skip that for now.” John was becoming impatient. “I'll hear the rest of the details later. For now you can answer some questions."

“Yes, sir."

“Did you see any more machine guns?"

“Yes, sir-there were machine guns mounted on the village walls, five or six of them at least. Big ones, bigger than the one they had here."

“Any others?"

“I didn't see any, sir."

“Did anyone talk about them?"

“Yes, sir-we asked. It seemed a natural thing for traders to ask about, so we did. They bought them from the People of Heaven-everyone agreed on that, sir."

John nodded. Miriam had told the truth, as he had believed all along; much as she obviously hated him and his men, he had not seriously doubted what she had said-including her motive for speaking. Five or six machine guns, bigger than the one in Marshside-an open attack on Little St. Peter would be a bloodbath. Her big mistake had been in assuming that John would be stupid enough to make such an attack.

There were other ways of dealing with enemies than frontal assault.

“Did you meet any of the People of Heaven, talk to them? Were there any of their traders or soldiers there?"

“I didn't talk to them, sir, but I think some of the others did. There were some of them in town, all right-very strange people they were. Tall, all of them, and there was something funny about their clothes, though I couldn't say just what it was. They talked funny, too-didn't pronounce things quite right."

“You think some of the others talked to them? Where are the others?"

“I… I don't know, sir."

“What?"

Obviously miserable, Timothy repeated, “I don't know, sir. I told you, Matt send Barney out that first morning; well, he never came back. So the next day-Tuesday the second-Matt himself and Joey, Joseph Mother-of-Mercy, went out together. Matt didn't come back; Joey came back with a message, said that Matt was going on to the Citadel-that's the homeplace for the People of Heaven-and that we should stay at the inn and wait for him. The next day Joey and Mark Blessed-of-Heaven went out and never came back. I waited at that inn for them, sat around for days; I went out looking a few times, but never found any of them. I'll tell you, sir, I got scared after awhile. Finally I decided that I'd better come back, that they were all four gone for good, and here I am."

John sat silently for a moment, then asked, “What's Little St. Peter like?"

“Rich, sir-very rich. It's sinful, it seems to me. Every bed in the inn had a mattress as thick as my arm. Clocks everywhere, people wearing watches, the women dressed up as bright as flowers. The food's good, and the beer the best you ever tasted; a cushion on every chair! And guns, sir-there were men walking the streets with pistols on their belts. And other things that seemed like magic-you wouldn't believe me if I told you about them."

“I'll want to see for myself.” He leaned back. “I think the Elders better hear about all this. Our war with the Chosen of the Holy Ghost will have to wait. I think we have something more important to worry about."

“What, sir?"

“The People of Heaven. I don't know who or what they are-not for sure, anyway-but I intend to find out."

“Devil-worshippers, maybe?"

John nodded. “That's a possibility-or maybe they're people from Earth, come to destroy us after all these years."

“Devil-worshippers all the same, sir, whether from here or from Earth."

“True enough,” John agreed. “True enough."