A Book Of Tongues (15 page)

Located several miles past the very outermost edge of the Bisti
Badlands, Sheriff Mesach Love’s stronghold was the sort of place
Rook’s gang would normally ride through at top speed, not looking
’round while they did, then never think of again. Its folks were
almost universally the sort who’d probably call themselves “poor
but honest” — more poor
than
honest, by Rook’s reckoning — and
hadn’t even put up much in the way of a Main Street, thus far. But
maybe they were just waiting ’til Love got his church built.

“This place really is the asshole of the world,” Chess observed,
idly.

“You truly do
despise
simple people, don’t you, Chess?” Rook
asked. “Why is that, I wonder?”

Chess shrugged. “Just don’t think too much on them, that’s all.”

“And I’m sure they’d be happy to keep it that way, too, they knew
you like I do.”

But all that would change, and soon enough, if things went
according to the plan they’d roughed out back a mile or so, squatted
in the shadow of a startling green cliff, surrounded by a wild
moonscape of sandstone and shale.

“They’ll beat on you, I reckon, once they catch you,” Rook said,
to which Chess gave that same shrug again, since they both knew he
was only stating the obvious.

“Reckon so. But given they already eat a steady diet of Love’s holy
horse-crap down there, I’ll bet I’ve had worse.”

“Holy horse-crap?”

“Aw, Ash, you know — ‘for God so loved the world,’ et cetera.”
Chess’s glare turned vicious. “Like any God worth his salt wouldn’t
know what a bag of filth he’d shit out on top of every one of us, and
make himself sick laughin’ over it.”

“Sheriff Love believes in a good God, no doubt.” Chess didn’t
answer. “Okay, then how’s this: I find I might still believe in the Lord
myself, Chess, down deep. Hate to disappoint.”

Did
he, though? The Lord, yes. but a
good
God? A
forgiving
one?

God is always good, Brother Rook,
the old preacher in his home
town had once told him, so long ago.
And He always wants to forgive.
It’s just that we so seldom allow Him that opportunity.

Rook felt a vague knot form in his chest, right where his heart
should be. Didn’t want to think too hard on that, though, so he
looked over at Chess, instead, smiling at the thought of his pocket-sized Satan ever begging forgiveness — and the knot swelled up even
higher, bruising his lungs, making his stomach clench.
“As for God,” Chess said, “you choose t’believe in him, that’s all
well ’n’ good, I s’pose. Does
he
believe in
you
, though? My personal
bet would be — not like
I
do.”

But to that, of course, there was nothing to say.

They laid in their heels, and galloped down in opposite directions.

It was Joseph in
Genesis
which gave Rook the words to lay a
misdirective glamour over their camp, just as the sun finally sank
beneath the horizon: “
And the keeper of the prison committed to
Joseph’s hand all the prisoners that were in the prison. and
whatsoever they did there, he was the doer of it,
” he murmured,
back to the town, while Hosteen and the others watched uneasily,
and red light fell bloody on the pages. “
Because the LORD was
with him, and that which he did, the LORD made it to prosper.
”

The verses thrummed in his mouth, as yet another heat-shimmer
distortion washed over the camp, and all of them vanished at once.

Walking into town took an hour. By that time, the “streets” were
lit with lantern overspill and pit-bound cook-fires here and there
between the tents. There was a rising ruckus already to be heard,
even from a distance — gunshots, hoof beats, shouts and blows:
Chess, doing his job.

Truly amazing, the amount of trouble one small man can cause,
Rook
thought.
Especially if he really puts his mind to it.

Watch the dust,
he’d told the rest,
and keep your weapons handy.
Remember, they won’t be able to see you, not ’til I’m done . . . so make
your own way and look out for yourself, ’cause any man’s dumb enough to
wander off, he’s gonna find himself stranded in the desert. And we’re not
stoppin’ to pick up any damn strays, afterwards.

And now, he could hear somebody yelling, from ’round the next
“corner” — an alleyway down the side of that half-raised frame
where the church was eventually set to plant itself.

“Rook! We know you’re out there, blasphemer. . . . ”

“Best come collect your catamite, ‘Reverend’! ’Course, he ain’t too
good-lookin’, anymore; had to dirty him up a touch. Hope ya don’t
mind.”

Yelled a third voice: “Oh, he’s plenty good with a gun, I’ll give you
that. Get hold of him in close quarters, though, and the bitch fights
like a damn bar-room gal!”

Close enough to make out features, now. There was a variety of
scuffle and tug going on, somewhat obscure — ’til all at once, Rook
figured it out. They were hauling Chess out through the crowd’s
heart, running him down a vicious little gauntlet of slaps, punches
and kicks as they did. One particular thick-set roughneck reached
back into the thick of it to grab Chess by whatever ear came handiest
and threw him bodily forward into the dust, where he landed
doubled up, gasping out a curse.

“Just shut the fuck up, faggot,” the man said, and kicked him in
the side. “Might as well keep your mouth free for other things, while
you still got most’ve your teeth.”

Now,
Rook thought, hands curling into claws.

But a calm voice from further to one side was already warning —
“That will be quite enough of
that
, gentlemen.”

The crowd swung ’round as one, Rook following, as a figure
almost as tall as Rook’s half-stooped to step out through a backlit
tent flap. Straightening up, this resolved into what couldn’t fail to be
Sheriff Mesach Love himself: a far younger man than his reputation
suggested — one-and-thirty at most, forming an almost-exact mid-point between Rook and Chess — and a touch gangly, his classic
preacher’s broad-brimmed hat jammed down over a mop of brown
hair tied back in two uneven, little-girl pigtails.

“We’ve been waitin’ on you quite the spell, Mister Rook,” Love
said, lifting haughty zealot’s eyes to address what must look to
everyone else as nothing more than empty air.

“Fine choice of words,” Rook answered — and let himself blink
back into being all at once, a blown-out candle flame blooming high
in reverse. Chess’s tormentors all took an unconscious step back at
the sight, while Chess looked up and grinned, revealing the extent
of the damage.

“Well, hell,” he remarked, to the general company. “Now you’re
really
gonna see some fun.”

Rook stared. “What the Christ’d they
do
to you, Chess?”

“Nothin’ I didn’t expect. Now help me up.”

He did, automatically — yet still found himself horrified, and
downright furious. Chess’s face was all bruises, nose mashed flat
and eyes blacked like a ’coon’s, the left one puffed ’til just a thin
green slit peered out. And the more Rook saw, the more his rage
began to whip sand up around them in a tightening funnel, without
him even thinking to quote the Bible beforehand.

“Aw, shit-fire!” The same tree-trunk fucker as before yelled out,
throwing his hands up to guard his eyes and roaring at how fast
his knuckles got skinned bone-deep, for his trouble — only to freeze
silent, when Love turned those prayer-burnt eyes his way.

“You hush up on that profanity, Meester,” Love snapped. “There’s
womenfolk present.”

“Sorry, Sheriff.”

Rook took this opportunity to rein himself in, and huffed out a
laugh. “Got them well-trained, I see. Which means I guess I must
have
you
to thank for — all
this
.” A nod here at Chess, now wavering
slightly by his side, angrily wiping away blood.

Love shook his head. “Mister Pargeter’s the one’s at fault here.
You sent him in scoutin’, he killed five of my men.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

He threw this last over to Chess, as a compliment. But Love
simply nodded.

“Yes — that being his calling, or so I hear. And you . . .” Love gave
Rook an appraising look, as though he aspired to rifle his soul’s
pages. “You once proceeded from the Wesleyan tradition, Reverend,
like myself. Which means you know that though depravity is total
and grace resistible, atonement
is
intended for all.”

“For all that wants it, yes. Must admit, though, I hadn’t thought
you were chasin’ me down to debate finer points of theology.”

“You’re the one came to
me
, Mister Rook,” Love pointed out.

Like you knew I would, obviously,
Rook realized. For oh, this
was
a
clever young man stood in front of him indeed, with all his War-time
honours no doubt well-merited. Yet Lucifer-arrogant all the same;
this stand-off alone proved that, with the two of them squared off
in the middle of the street like veritable duellos, so Love’s cohort
and congregationalists (the latter even now starting to peep their
heads out shyly, prairie-dog style) could admire his fortitude in the
face of impending wizardish mayhem.

“True enough,” Rook allowed. “What’s your sermon’s subject,
then, Sheriff Love? Assuming you think I merit one.”

From the crowd’s back ranks: “He don’t!”

“Don’t deserve nothin’ but a short rope and a long drop, for all
he’s done!”

“Naw, do his kept boy
first
, for them Anniston twins, an’ Meester’s
cousin. An’ make Rook watch!”

Love ignored these hecklers, keeping his gaze on Rook. “On the
proposition a man’s best-known by the company he keeps, perhaps.
And since yours is that of a she-he
thing
who flaunts his unnatural
proclivities as a martial banner . . .”

Chess spat once more, bloodying the toe of Love’s boot. “She-he?
You give me back my guns, Bible-thumper, we’ll see who wears the
damn skirts — ”

Rook didn’t bother looking ’round. “Hush up now, Chess, the
Sheriff’s preachin’. Been a long time since I confabbed with a fellow
Scripture student, and I mean to enjoy it.”

“You’re going down Satan’s path,” Love said. “That much is clear.”

“Uh huh. By robbin’ trains and boosting Railway payloads, or by
letting Private Pargeter ride my dick?”

Far
too blunt for comfort, given circumstances. Rook saw Love
purple right to his ear-tips, then avoid looking over to where a
statuesque blonde woman with a beauty mark set just off-centre on
her high, smooth forehead was suddenly all caught up fussing over
her swaddled baby, which already had a hint of Love’s nose, along
with the very beginnings of his wayward hair.

“I’ll thank you to stay civil, if we’re going to settle this dispute
like gentlemen,” Love said, at last, savagely quiet.

Rook just smiled. “So you put my behaviour down to influence,”
he said, “rather than free will; frankly, I don’t know whether to be
flattered, or insulted. Layin’ my liaison with Chess aside, though —
you told the papers what you objected to most was me quotin’ God’s
word for the Devil’s purposes. But we both know no Christian
performing miracles through gospel does it by Satan’s power. Jesus
said,
‘Do not stop him, for no one who does a mighty work in my name will
be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. For the one who is not against
us is for us.’
”

“
Mark
nine,
thirty-eight
to
forty — which
makes
you
a
Continuationalist, Mister Rook? Tongues and prophecy will only
cease when Jesus returns?” Leaning closer, at Rook’s nod: “Yet
‘
Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but
inwardly are as ravening wolves . . . A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit,
nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit.’
And
‘Every tree that does not bear
good fruit is to be cut down and thrown into the fire.’
”

“
Matthew
seven, fifteen to ninteen. A fine counter-argument,
from the Cessationalist view — and son, that’s equal-fine load of
pride you’re carryin’ there, even without the Good Book to back it
up. Hell, it’s sorta like lookin’ in a mirror, give or take the sodomy.”

Again, cries rose up — and again, the wind Rook could barely
recall summoning whipped up along with it, cutting Love, Rook
and Chess out in a wedge from the rest of Bewelcome’s herd, then
circling tightly ’round them, on endless patrol. Love’s woman ducked
under Tree-trunk’s arm, wrapping her baby closer, while those few
congregationalists who tried pulling their pastor free of his dimly
rotating cocoon got their fingers well-sanded, for their troubles.

“Where’re the rest of your men, Mister Rook?” Love asked him,
the noise alone enough to render their conversation extra-intimate.

“Not too far. One or two might already have beads on that wife
of yours.”

“Then this
should
probably be kept between you and me, wouldn’t
you say?”

“As ‘gentlemen’?” Rook gave out a true belly-laugh, at the idea.
“Sheriff, you don’t have one touch of hexation in you, or I’d’ve
smelled it by now. We tangle, I’ll crush you like an egg.”

“You’re forgetting — these folk are in my charge, as minister for
this town, which makes it up to me to defend them. ’Sides which . . .
I have the Lord, on
my
side.”

“Uh huh. Well, you’re young still — but in matters of answered
prayers, I think you’ll find God most often has nothin’ much of
import to say back, savin’ the occasional ‘I told you so.’”

Love studied Rook, almost sympathetically.

“He does to me,” was all he said.

Rook sighed. To Chess: “Step back, darlin’.”

Chess looked mutinous, but did it.

“At least throw me your guns,” he complained. “Ain’t like
you
need ’em!”