I got to see that. It came all the way from Europe! And I met Mary. That was better than right. Hmmm. Unless meeting the one woman you want to settle down with just makes this worse? Giving you more to regret, you betcha.
He?d set up an exercise program when they put him in this cell, which for a wonder he had to himself-except for the miniature inmates in the cornshuck mattress. The sit-ups and chin-ups and push-ups and running in place ought to have left him tired enough to sleep easily, but the stinks and snores from the other cells kept him wakeful.
Now he lay on his back with his hands behind his head, a tall powerfully built man just short of thirty, with a pleasant battered face and a nose that had healed a little crooked long ago after an encounter with the blunt end of a Sioux tomahawk, brown hair and short-cropped beard, and dark blue eyes now half closed. He was barefoot, and his trousers and undershirt were getting a little gamy, but he?d known worse conditions-as a hired soldier in a free company, and then as a salvager leading a gang working the dead cities.
Memories drifted through his mind on the verge of sleep. His home, Readstown, the day he?d left with the volunteers who were going to fight the short glorious war against the Sioux, turning to watch petals from the blossoming apple orchards blowing like frothing white mist down towards the river. Mountain-tall towers in Chicago, scorched and leaning against each other like drunken giants long asleep, with their feet in swirls of lake water running in whitecaps through rivers that had once been streets. Dawn breaking up like thunder out of the Atlantic-he?d been one of the few men from the civilized lands to see that, since the Change. That weird little village on Nantucket, and the even weirder… place… that shared the island with those refugees out of time. Mary?s one bright blue eye laughing at him, as she reached for him with long-fingered slender hands.
Mountains rearing above the half-built bulk of the Temple in Corwin…
He awoke with a shudder; he?d been back there for a moment. His chest heaved under a film of sweat, and he called up something they?d taught him in the Valley of the Sun this last winter, in the Monastery of Chenrezi-a mandala, and a chant. The patterned figure began to turn, drawing his mind into its depths, and heart and breath slowed.
Heels beat a staccato on the concrete, hobnails grating. A bright Cole-man lantern showed, and then the man carrying it as he turned the corner. None of the other occupants complained, even if they felt inclined; the man wore the harness and uniform of the State Police, not the turnkeys. They were the Bossman?s personal retainers, and widely-and justly-feared. And this one had Captain?s bars on the shoulders of his plain mail shirt; he carried a cloth-wrapped bundle as well.
Edgar Denson, by God! Ingolf thought, with a sudden prickle. Come to kill me in person? Possibly. Though he?d probably have brought a crossbow if he had that in mind.
The State Policeman kicked a three-legged stool over and sat, one foot sweeping the scabbard of his shete aside as he did. The distance was close enough for easy conversation-but just beyond reach if Ingolf lunged against the bars. He was bigger than the policeman, and at least ten years younger, since Denson had to be with a couple of years either side of forty.
He?s a tough son of a bitch, but I could take him one on one. Somehow I don?t think that?s going to happen. ?You know, you?re a pain in the ass,? Denson said conversationally, leaning forward with his palms on his knees. ?Ordinarily I?d think you should have been?killed while resisting arrest.? Or?while trying to escape.??
Urrrk! Ingolf thought.
That was not what you wanted to hear from a high officer of the all-powerful secret police and general Brute Squad. ?Anthony Heasleroad would have been sort of annoyed if you?d killed me before anyone asked questions,? Ingolf pointed out, his voice carefully neutral.?He wanted to find out what happened to four wagons full of salvaged artwork.?
There was a flicker of respect in the other man?s cold gray eyes, and he ran a hand over his close-cropped graying blond hair. ?Yeah, there is that… especially since he really believes you about his man Kuttner being a spy and finking you out to the Cutters.? ?He does?? Ingolf said, keeping his voice from squeaking by an effort of will. ?Yeah. You know, a lot of people think Tony is just a stupid, crazy spoiled brat. They?re only about half right, and only about half the time.? ?If he believes Kuttner was a spy and ratted me and my Villains out, why am I here?? Ingolf ground out, clutching at the bars to burn the rage out of his muscles.?Why aren?t the Cutters in here??
Denson grinned, a remarkably evil expression.?I didn?t say he wasn?t crazy. I didn?t say he wasn?t a spoiled brat. I just said he wasn?t stupid… when he bothers to think.? ?What would he say if he heard you voicing that opinion?? Ingolf asked, forcing calm on himself.
Because it might be the sort of confidence you get killed for hearing. ?He?d laugh, like he did when I told him to his face. He thinks it?s funny. It is, when you look at it right. I need him just as much as he needs me, and the way I need him means I do all the work and he gets all the fun. I?ve told him that, too.? ?Must be a refreshing change, someone telling him what they really think.? ?Hell, he?s had people lying to him to get stuff all his life, and like I said, he?s not stupid. He?s gotten pretty good sensing it. And then there are all the people who swear they think he?s a devil of a good fellow, and he knows better than to believe that… So he realized Kuttner was stringing him; he just didn?t realize it was more than the usual get-on-the-gravy-train stuff.?
A slight wince.?And it makes me and the Staties look bad; we didn?t figure him for a plant, either.?
For a moment Ingolf wondered what it must be like to be Bossman Anthony Heasleroad, Governor and President Pro Tem, the wealthiest and most powerful man on the North American continent. He felt one corner of his mouth quirk up involuntarily in an emotion uncomfortably hanging somewhere between pity and schadenfreude. ?Yah, he must be about the loneliest man on earth,? he mused.
Denson shrugged.?Kate actually loves the fat, ugly bastard, poor girl. God knows why. Oh, yeah, and his son loves him too, but Tommie?s only eighteen months old. And old Bossman Tom doted on him. Apart from that… you said it, Sheriff Vogeler.? ?Captain Vogeler, if you have to use something besides my name. I earned that. My dad was a Sheriff, but my elder brother inherited the title. The pompous asshole.?
Another chuckle.?Vogeler, I?m not surprised you made your hometown too hot to hold you, and your friends are just as bad. That priest who was with you was seen going into the Catholic Cardinal?s palace-and it wouldn?t be good politics to try to muscle in there, even though I suspect he gets in and out without our noticing, somehow. The other four, the black kid and the three women, haven?t been found, and I don?t think they?re just waiting for you to get the chop. That sensitive spot between my shoulderblades starts getting an arrow-itch every time I go outdoors. And the two we did catch are the Bossman?s pets now. They?re giving him ideas.? ?I thought you State Police were the Bossman?s loyal muscle. What do you care what ideas he gets?? ?We are,? Denson said, and pulled a pipe out of a case at his belt.?And don?t play dumb with me.?
To Ingolf?s surprise he pulled out the wanderer?s battered briar as well and filled and lighted it, before handing it to him through the bars. ?Your two friends in the playing-card costumes are telling the Bossman he should be a King with everyone swearing homage on bended knee. And telling Kate Heasleroad that she should be Queen. He likes the idea. So does she, though I think it?s mostly the thought of having a crown and a fancy dress like that Princess…? ?Princess Mathilda.? ?Yeah, Mathilda Arminger… has. I said Kate loved Tony. That?s pretty good evidence she?s not too bright, hey?? ?Tony is King, near as no matter, Denson,? Ingolf pointed out. ?That?s the way they think out west, anyway-Mathilda?s and Odard?s bunch of them, at least. They?re nuts for that knights-and-castles stuff. Some of the castles are pretty damned impressive, too; not as big as Des Moines, but high. And you wouldn?t want to meet their heavy cavalry in a bad mood, believe you me.? ?No shit. Actually it all sounds pretty workable. Not all that different from the way we do things, but more… polished. More regularized, you know, sort of as if a lot of the kinks and rough spots had been worked out.?