He quickly dismissed her from his thoughts as unimportant, however, and concentrated on his plans to organize a guerilla resistance against the Heaveners.

He remembered James Redeemed-from-Sin at St. Peter's Inn, who had spoken so strongly on the Heaveners’ behalf; that, he decided, would be a very bad place to start. Accordingly, when the wagon dropped him in the market square, he asked a few questions and found himself a room at a small boarding house, owned and run by the widow Worthy-of-Heaven.

In four days he found only one man who was willing to fight the Heaveners. Jonas Dust-to-Dust was perhaps not the most desirable recruit he had ever seen-fifty years old, but as bent and wrinkled as a man of eighty, not very bright and apparently ready to hate just about anybody, particularly if there were money or food to be had by doing so.

He was, however, a start, and he did happen to make one very useful remark.

“Seems to me,” he said when John had explained the situation, “that if you want to put together an army you should go where there's already some soldiers. All we got here in Little Pete is those fool guards on the walls, that work those big guns, and they ain't really soldiers at all."

John accepted the truth of this immediately. While it was true that he would have preferred to turn the people of the protectorate against their masters, it would be far faster and easier to find soldiers elsewhere. He had had no trouble recruiting allies for his disastrous first attack; surely he would be able to find ready allies for a guerilla war. The Chosen had seen what happened to their hated enemies; they might now be frightened enough to help. With Jonas in tow, he spent most of his remaining reparation money on three horses and set out for Spiritus Sancti.

No one in the protectorate paid much attention to them, but within an hour of crossing the border into the territory of the Chosen of the Holy Ghost they were surrounded by armed men, taken prisoner, and herded onward toward Spiritus Sancti.

John did not resist this treatment; he simply announced, over and over, that he carried an important message for the Anointed.

Jonas was less cooperative; despite John's example he put up a fight, knocking two men to the ground before someone broke his jaw with a rifle butt. He was bound and flung across his horse's back. John was permitted to ride upright, though the soldiers did confiscate the long knife he had bought in Little St. Peter, as a replacement for his own sword, which had somehow never been returned to him after his hospitalization.

To John's disappointment, they were not taken directly to the capital; instead, they turned off the main road and found themselves in a military outpost. Here, after delays that John struggled to take calmly, he was dragged before a harried-looking captain, leaving Jonas to wait his turn.

“Name?” the captain asked wearily, without looking up from his desk.

“John Mercy-of-Christ, former captain in the army of the People of the True Word and Flesh,” John replied. “I have a message for the Anointed."

The captain looked up. He stared at John for a moment, then commented, “You're not in uniform."

“I said former captain, sir; I was relieved of my command."

The captain sat back, folding his hands behind his head. “Mr. Mercy, I sure hope you know what you're doing. It's traditional to use ‘retired’ or ‘discharged’ officers as spies; you could be hanged for espionage if you're not careful."

“I'm not a spy, sir; I have a message for the Anointed. I came into your territory openly, I haven't done or said anything out of line; what else am I supposed to do? I was relieved of my command, for leading my men into a massacre; should I lie about it, or wear a uniform I'm not entitled to? Besides, I haven't got a uniform; it was burned. They took my sword, too."

The captain leaned forward again. Even if he had not recognized John's name, he had certainly heard of the massacre the True Worders walked into.

“What's this message?” he asked. “Who's it from?"

“It's for the Anointed, from a group who want to keep the protectorate run by the People of Heaven from getting any bigger than it already is; I can't tell you the details, but we're hoping for some help."

“You didn't do very well with your first try-that is, if you were really in command of that attack."

“I was, sir-and that's why I won't try a frontal assault again. There are other ways, though."

The captain stared at him. “How many of you are there? The True Worders are too scared to fight; you must be an independent operation, right?"

“Well, sir, we aren't connected with the traitors in the True Worder government who sold out to the Heaveners, that's true. As for how many of us there are, even if I told you, would you believe what I said?"

“Probably not,” the captain admitted. He thought for a moment, still staring at John.

“All right,” he said at length, “if your buddy bears out your story, I'll send you to Spiritus Sancti with a recommendation that you be given a chance to talk to the Anointed. And if you are what you say you are, Mr. Mercy-of-Christ, I hope you get what you're after and wipe those bastards off Godsworld.” He motioned, and the two guards led John away.

Jonas apparently managed not to ruin John's story; the following morning the pair was on the road again, this time accompanied by four heavily-armed Chosen soldiers.

The Anointed heard John out politely.

“I take it,” he said after a thoughtful pause, “that you're the military commander of your little group."

John nodded.

“Your record against the Heaveners isn't very inspiring."

“That was the first time any army I led was ever defeated in battle-I didn't think they'd have any weapons that powerful. Now I know better."

“Even so, you'll understand that I'm not about to name you as my commander-in-chief and give you free rein. What I will do is offer my men a chance to volunteer. And I think we can sell you guns and bullets cheap-maybe even make it a loan. I don't think I like these Heaveners either, you know. And with the True Worders gone, I don't need my whole army here, sitting around eating and getting fat and lazy. Ah… answer me truthfully, now; how many men have you got so far? I know it isn't many, or I'd have heard about it."

“I can't say, exactly,” John said. “They come and go-men volunteer, others decide they made a mistake and go home. Not many, though, I'll admit that."

“Fewer than a dozen?"

Reluctantly, John said, “Yes."

“I thought so.” The Anointed leaned back with a contented smile on his face. “That's all right, though; you know the enemy better than we do. I'll call for volunteers and send them along. You'll have to wait just across the border-can't have any hostile acts on Chosen land. The Heaveners might be watching, with those airships of theirs."

“I suppose they might,” John agreed calmly. He forced himself to smile back.