“But would I qualify?”
“I suppose. That case sounds rather ambiguous. A little too close to suicide, don’t you think?”
“How would arranging your own assassination be any different?”
“Well, that’s the thing. We don’t arrange anything. That’s all up to your Mentor. They don’t tell you who or how or exactly when. But when the time comes, they move you out beyond the influence of the Core. There’s a station up the valley at the foot of the glaciers. The extra thousand feet of elevation seems to do the trick.”
“Sounds like such a bother,” said Bern.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t stay a Hemi forever. We all have to move on someday.” She touched a finger to a chin. “You know, it’s too bad we couldn’t arrange some sort of mutual murder society and assist each other with the transition.”
Bern’s eyes bugged out at her. “And how would we manage that, seeing as you’re in a permanent coma, I’m stuck in a maximum security prison and bloody James here is locked in a fooking dungeon? What kind of nonsense are you spouting? Did they meddle with your brain when they were smoothing out your wrinkles?”
“Bern! Be nice. It was just wishful thinking. Just … who better to ease one’s way to the great beyond than … friends? Alec tells me they have people who provide such services. Hemisouls who act as volunteer assassins. No quid pro quo. I’m not sure I like that idea, though of course, for me it would a simple thing, really. Someone just needs to walk into my room and pull my plug.”
“So what happens to those who die under the influence of the Core?” said Bern.
“I’m not sure anyone knows,” said Lille. “But why worry our heads about the unknown when we have such a clear path to the known? We all should be striving for—the Inner Sanctuary.”
“Where?”
“The city on the other side of the wall. Where the Freesouls stay. It’s like something out of a dream, a self-made Heaven, really. The ancients who built it had a spell craft that could modify fungi and primitive flora. They grew their own dwellings. It needs a bit of sprucing up. It was abandoned for a long time, and the Dusters have mucked it up with their raids. But the reconstruction is well underway.”
A Frelsian woman appeared at the head of an entourage. She looked quite striking, with waist-length chestnut hair done up in springy coils. Her long dress swirled with each determined stride displaying pleats of alternating umber and gold. With her long, flowing sleeves, she looked like a butterfly.
A bodyguard walked close behind her wielding a club. He looked big enough to play defensive end in the NFL. Three women in drab clothing struggled to keep up with them, two bearing massive bundles of reeds on their backs, one clutching a large basket of cut flowers.
The rhythm of her gait hypnotized me and stirred something in my gut. My reaction puzzled me at first, but then I realized that she reminded me of a young Darlene—my mom—the way she had looked in the old snapshots I kept on my nightstand back at the farm. Those pictures had been taken back in Ohio, when she used to wear her hair long, before the gray crept in, and before the chemo made it drop.
Could it be her? From fifty yards away, it was hard to tell for sure, but my heart was hammering. I shot up from my stool. “I’ll be right back.”
Lille squinted at me. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m just … I’ve gotta check something out.”
Chapter 24: Arrangements
After a quick but scalding shower, Karla and pulled on the slightly loose pair of jeans she had borrowed from Jessica, along with her own tank top and cardigan. A chill still lingered in the cottage from another frosty night.
The other girls had already gone back to work at the cheese house, pressing curds into forms. Karla fully intended to join them once she felt human again. The strong pot of coffee Jessica had left behind was certainly helping that cause.
Anxiety crept through her bones like some insidious parasite. It disturbed her to think of James frittering away in some clammy basement. She could sense the pain in his eyes, even though she knew he couldn’t feel it in Root.
And she was having severe reservations about sending Jessica up north alone. People who entered Edmund Raeth’s orbit had a habit of disappearing. It had begun in Rome with a boy who had lived next door to them. And then it happened to the young woman who delivered flowers to the rectory of their parish. But it took the disappearance of Father Carlo to make the police finally take notice.
Her mother was already gone by then, not disappeared, but marriage annulled, wasting away in a psychiatric hospital in her home town of Napoli. Carlo was an enlightened young priest who had the misfortune to be assigned to the SSPX-dominated parish in which Edmund had served as an extraordinarily influential deacon. He and Edmund butted heads until one Friday when Father Carlo failed to show up for vespers.
The police sent a pair of detectives to interview Papa. For hours they sat with him in the paneled dining room while Karla prayed they would take him into custody. But they had not.
Instead, Edmund had proposed to her stepmother-to-be, a convent dropout named Emma McCourty, and they were packing for a permanent move. Karla had tried to run away, but Edmund’s people had tracked her down at the apartment of her boyfriend’s grandmother. Medicated into passivity, she had descended into a life even more severe than what she had endured in Rome.
No traces of the neighbor boy, flower girl or Father Carlo were ever found. Not a smear of blood or shred of fingernail. Karla feared the same might happen to James and to Jessica if she let her go north on her own.
She burst outside and rushed across the farmyard. The day had warmed up nicely from a chilly start. She almost didn’t need the sweater.
She pushed open the door of the barn and five heads turned her way, including a young man Karla didn’t recognize. His leg was in a cast that went up to his knee. No one was working at the tables and vats. They were all clustered around Isobel.
“Karla? I’d like you to meet Harry,” said Jessica. “He’s just back from the hospital.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Harry. “It’s been great having James here on the farm, I tell you. Helps counterbalance the sea of estrogen.”
“Oh yeah, Harry?” said Jessica. “And what would you know about testosterone?”
“You see what I have to put up with?”
“What happened to your leg?” said Karla.
“Oh, just a bad twist and a break in the old ankle. They had to pop a few screws in there to keep it all in place.” He looked up at Jessica and glared. “And no comments from the peanut gallery, please!”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” said Jessica, smirking at Helen.
Karla took Jessica by the elbow. “Did you talk to Renfrew yet?”
Jessica looked uncomfortable.
“There’s … a problem,” she said. “Izzie kind of beat me to it, and he … sort of blew up.”
“Izzie! What did you say to him?”
“No details, La. Honest, just—”
Renfrew ducked his head out of his office. “I need a word with you ladies. All of you except Helen. In my office. Now!”
“What about the curds?” said Jessica.
“Never you mind the curds,” said Renfrew. “Let Harry and Helen attend to it. The rest of you, get your butts in here.”
He waited at the door until everyone had filed in. Isobel promptly claimed Renfrew’s tattered but well-cushioned chair.
“Izzie no!” said Karla. Her sister got up and sat on the boxed-in radiator.
Renfrew slammed the door.
“What’s all this about James being in trouble? What did the bastard do? Did he wreck my motorcycle?”
“No.”
“Then what the bloody hell happened? Is he in the slammer? Does he need bail? What the hell’s going on? Your little sis would only talk to me in riddles.”
Karla decided to be frank. “James had been kidnapped. Some bad people are holdi
ng him against his will.”
“What do you mean ‘bad people’? What kind of people?”
“He’s our Papa,” said Isobel.
“But why would your father…? Does this have something to do with his drug running?”
“No, but … how do you know about that? Did he tell you?”
Jessica blushed and looked away.
“We are runaways, Ren,” said Karla. “My father is looking for us. We think James blundered into him and is being held hostage.”
“How do you know? Have you spoken to James?”
“We have … contacts,” said Karla, not willing to venture into the weeds of having to explain the Liminality to yet another person.
“But why would your dad do such a thing?”
“He doesn’t like boys,” said Isobel.
“Well, neither do I,” said Renfrew. “I think they’re all bloody wankers. Doesn’t mean I go and kidnap ‘em.”
“Papa is a Fundamental Catholic of the most extreme sort,” said Karla. “He is a Sedevacantist on the farthest fringes. They believe in the old rites, and I do not mean just pre-Vatican II. He is into ancient stuff, things the mainstream church no longer believes.”
Renfrew still looked confused. “Why haven’t you called the police? Is James wanted by the law?”
“No,” said Karla, sighing. “It is because I have lost faith in them. They have let me down too many times. And it doesn’t help that our local police chief belongs to Papa’s sect.”
Renfrew puffed air through his whiskers. He yanked a picture frame off his desk. It had a photo of Sturgis and older man. Sturgis looked about sixteen, with a crew cut of his current mop, and not a trace of facial hair.
“Any chance my nephew is tied up in any of this?” said Renfrew.
“I hope not,” said Karla. “But yes, it is possible. He is my friend. Papa doesn’t know of him, but I’m sure there are ways he could find this out.”
Renfrew squinted. “How did you come to know Sturgie? He’s not exactly a churchgoer, that one.”
“Night classes,” said Karla. “Papa often spent his evenings at the church. He would leave us home, locked in our bedroom. Sometimes, I would sneak out the window, go to the college and read in the library or sit in on lectures. I met Sturgie in a history of music class.”
“Ah, had a little romance, did you?” Renfrew leered. “The little bugger.”
“Not really,” said Karla. “We just … got along well. We would have tea and chat during breaks. But I always had to run off to get home before Papa.”
“And this one never tattled?” He pointed at Isobel. “What a good sister!”
“Actually, we traded off,” said Karla. “Sometimes Izzie would go off to see her friend. Unfortunately, that’s how we got caught. Papa came home early one night and saw she was not in the room with me. That was the end. He nailed our window shut, even soldered the latch.”
“Bloody hell. Your Papa’s a freaking maniac.”
“Maybe you should call Sturgie,” said Jessica. “Make sure he’s okay?”
“How? That little bastard won’t even talk to me. Won’t pick up when I ring him. I think he’s got that caller ID.”
“I’ll call him on my phone, then,” said Jessica. “Give me the number.”
“Linval, too,” said Isobel. “They’re best of buds.”
“Do you know Linnie’s number, Iz?” said Karla.
“No, but Gwen must,” said Isobel. “I used Linnie’s phone to text her.”
“That means we need to worry about her safety as well,” said Karla, shooting her sister a stern look. Worry flashed across Isobel’s face.
Renfrew scratched his beard. “So where exactly do you think James is being held?”
“I am not sure,” said Karla. “It is a Sedevacantist church, no doubt, of which there are few, but I don’t know which one. Glasgow or Inverness, most likely.”
Renfrew looked flabbergasted. “So what were you planning to do Jess? Tour the whole of Scotland until you found him?”
“It was just the two places, really,” said Jessica. “And Glasgow is on the way.”
“And once you located him, what then? Did you plan to charm his captors with your Cymric beauty?”
“I was … going to pose as a Catholic.”
“And what do you know about Catholicism, not to mention extreme Catholicism? Have you no idea how these people think? A young woman does not go about un-chaperoned.”
“That is true,” said Karla. “I was actually worried about that.”
“Easily solved,” said Renfrew. “I’ll be your chaperone.”
“What? You?”
“Sure. We just tell ‘em I’m your dad or uncle or something. We find the right church, get inside by going to services. I’ll strap a crow bar to me wooden leg and stick a sidearm in my pocket. That should suffice to bust him out. And don’t worry darlings, I’ll try not to hurt your dear old dad too badly.”
“Actually, I don’t mind if you do,” said Karla.
“I don’t care if you kill him,” said Isobel.
Renfrew thrust back his chair in shock. “My Lord! You two are either very bad girls, or this is a very bad man we’re talking about. And from what I know of you, I suspect it’s the latter.”
“He is the bad one, I guarantee,” said Karla. “You cannot even imagine.”
Renfrew’s face went serious. His eyes homed in on Karla. He unlocked his drawer and removed a very old, black pistol, two magazines and a box of bullets. He plunked them down atop his desk calendar.
“How about it, Jess? You bad girl, you. Ready to give confession?”
***
Renfrew and Jessica went off to pack, and when they returned with their suitcases, Karla and Isobel gave them a crash course in the ways of the Sedevacantists. When and where to make the sign of the cross. When to kneel, stand and walk during mass. The proper and improper acceptance of the host.
“And never mention that you own a telly,” said Isobel. “That is a sin.”
“Watching football is a sin? Bugger that!”
“It’s not the football they don’t like,” said Karla. “It’s the other stuff that might taint and tempt.”
“Not to mention the vice of sloth,” said Isobel. “Papa is big on the vice of sloth.”
“So never talk about shows you’ve seen on the telly.”
“Linny has a television,” said Isobel, her eyes sparkling. “It’s glorious!”
“Open your suitcase,” said Karla to Jessica. “I want to see what clothes you brought.”
Jessica unzipped and opened her tweed bag. She pulled out a green shift and held it up over her jeans.
“Oh no!” said Karla, aghast. “That will never do.”
“Why not?”
“It would show your knees, as well as a bit of thigh, I would imagine.”
“So what? It’s bloody 2012.”
“Now, now, Jess,” said Renfrew. “Be a team player.”
“I’ve got some longer ones in there as well,” said Jessica. She folded her shift and placed it back in the suitcase. “I’m bringing it anyway, just in case. It’s my favorite.”
“Let me see that blouse,” said Karla.
“What? This one?”
She handed Karla a blue on white floral print top with balloon sleeves. Karla held it up and bit her lip.
“The neck line’s way too low. I’m sorry, but this won’t do, either.”
“This is about as modest as my wardrobe gets. You should see what I left behind.”
“No thank you,” said Karla. “You just have to remember not to show too much skin. Otherwise they will mark you as a Jezebel and then you’re sunk.”
“Wear this instead,” said Isobel, crouching down beside Jessica’s suitcase. She pulled out a rather masculine Oxford shirt that could be buttoned right up to the throat. “This is perfect.”
“Those are my bloody pajamas. Really guys? Do I need a bleeping burkha?”
> “Actually,” said Karla. “For ordinary services, I would recommend wearing a head scarf. A veil is needed only for special masses.”
“A veil? Really?” said Jessica. “What about him?” She sneered at Renfrew. “Are they going to let him near the church in his corduroys and flannel?”
“He is a man,” said Karla. “No one cares what he wears. As long as there are not so many stains or holes.”
“I’ll have you know I’m bringing my grey wool slacks, a white shirt and a clip-on tie,” said Renfrew. “Even packed my nose hair trimmer.”
“Too much information, Ren,” said Jessica.
“Got a question,” said Renfrew. “These second vacant—or whatever—blokes, do they use all that Latin mumbo jumbo?”
“Good point,” said Karla. “I should warn you that you will find no missals in the pews. Everyone is expected to know the rites. I would suggest you try to mimic everyone else, but keep your voice down. Kneel and stand when they do. Go up when they take Communion. Take the host directly in your mouth, never in the hand.”
“Always say Amen afterwards,” said Isobel. “And never chew! Your teeth can’t even touch it!”
“Bloody Christ! You mean we’ve got to do that fooking Communion thing?”
“Aaagh! You can’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” said Isobel, kicking him.
“No expletives!” said Karla. “Nice words, only.”
“Nice words!” said Helen, looking on from the vats. She gave a hearty laugh. “Do you really expect Ren to string two sentences together without a ‘fuck’ or a ‘bugger’ or a ‘Jesus Christ’? You’re better off having him pretend he’s deaf and dumb.”
“Oh, shaddup, you hairy Wiccan. I can keep clean for a good cause. And springing James is as good a cause as I’ve been involved with since the Falklands.”
“At least tomorrow’s not a Sunday,” said Jessica.
“It does not matter,” said Karla. “There are masses every day, three times a day at least. Our congregations are small, but someone will always be there. Those people practically live in the church.”
“Alrighty then. You ready Jess? We’re taking the little Ford.” He buckled his valise and slapped on his porkpie hat. “Remember, when you’re walking with me, you’ve got to keep two steps behind.”
“He’s joking, isn’t he?” said Jessica.
“Actually, that would not be a bad idea,” said Karla. “It shows deference.”