Joseph ran through the streets of Ely, Minnesota, his feet carrying him almost effortlessly north, toward the temple. Always at the center of the city. Always. Just one of those bits of information that no one could spend any time at all in the priesthood not knowing.
So, even Monica thought that he was a crazy non-atheist. Maybe Zacharias was right.
You believe in something.
You'll go mad.
He was right, damn him, he was right. Joseph knew he was crazy; why else would he grieve for someone he didn't even like?
When you don't have anything, that's when you need something the most.
Joseph skidded to a halt in front of the huge doors to the temple. Well, I need something now. I need a miracle to pull this off.
He banged on the door, wincing with each blow, certain that his skin was bruising. "Open up!"
"No!" someone yelled from the other side. "The Church is a law unto itself! You can't control us!"
"Of course I bloody well can! This is my rebellion, and if you're going to war, I'm going with you!"
* * *
Roger woke up slowly, and soon wished he hadn't.
He couldn't stop a yell of pain bursting from his mouth, and then bit his lip and sat up, looking around wildly. He remembered grabbing a crossbow, and then someone had stolen his whip, and then...nothing but agony and darkness.
He soon tracked the pain to its source; one of his fingers was in a cast, which didn't seem to be helping much, and there was a thick bandage on his shoulder. "Haven't you heard of morphine?" he shrieked, having discerned at last that he was in a hospital room.
A nurse came in, looking harassed. "Ah, the mystery man's woken up." She whipped out a clipboard. "I'm going to need your name."
For some reason, the first thing Roger thought of was Joseph's story, and the way Zacharias had defeated the lie detector. "I'm - William Schwartz." Who on Earth was William Schwartz? He knew he'd heard the name before...
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
"Occupation?"
"Um...farmer?" That sounded good. When the nurse gave him a look, he endeavored to sit up straighter. "I'm from Michigan, if you must know, and I demand to know why I'm not on painkillers!" That sounded good. Act like you're not lying, and they won't suspect you are...
"You were. They must have worn off. Would you like some morphine before I continue asking questions?"
"Lord, yes! I've got a broken finger here!" He waved his wounded hand around, and gasped when this caused white-hot pain to lance through his arm.
"Not just that. You've got some nasty bruising all over your arm, and you took a crossbow bolt through the shoulder."
The nurse gave him an injection of morphine, which didn't help much. "Is there a girl here, nineteen, with red hair?" he asked, realizing that Ysranna probably wasn't using her real name - but then again, she'd done it before...
The nurse shrugged. "I don't recall seeing anyone with red hair, but I could check with the doctors, and the morgue."
"The morgue?"
"Two people died in the riot. You were lucky - a bit to the right, and you might've been the third..."
People had died in a fight that was a result of everything they'd been working toward. People had died for freedom that wasn't forthcoming. People had died...
People had died...
He swore as memory flooded back and attempted to get out of the bed, but the nurse restrained him. "No, I have to go, I have to tell my friends, I have to tell them what happened!"
"If they're in the city, they know about the riot!"
"Not that, the other thing!"
Blood and cold steel.
"I must insist that you stay here! I'll call security!"
"They have to know! They're in danger! You have to evacuate the city!"
"You're delirious, it's the morphine, I must have given you too much, sit down, sir..."
"I'm not delirious! I know what I saw!"
* * *
Aaron Zvers, age sixteen, also knew what he'd seen.
He hadn't meant to get involved in the riot, really. He was a devout Christian, and he'd hated what they were saying, he was just trying to get home, but then everything had gone wrong...
He'd seen them die.
The girl, trampled in the rush to get at the peacemen.
And the man, most definitely murdered.
Aaron had seen the wire around the man's throat, cutting deep. It was a horrible thing - a sharp steel wire, still caught in the gash, decapitating and strangling all at the same time.
There was a word for that - he'd learned it from the newspapers. It had been just a short article, and there hadn't been pictures, but it was the Pacific City killer's preferred method.
Garroting.
Because he was a scholar, studying literature, his teacher had made him look up the etymology of the word. In Spain, it was an iron band intended to break the neck of a condemned criminal.
Elsewhere, it was the word for strangling with intent to rob.
But in the past hundred years, the word's usage had changed as murder methods changed. Strangling, yes, but with wire. It left a characteristic mark - the cut all around the neck, deeper in front...
Someone had kicked him in the head, and he'd woken up in the hospital. He didn't trust doctors, so he checked out after a quick test of memory and reflexes, and walked rapidly toward his Guildhall. He had to tell someone, someone who would believe him, like his teacher -
He felt the garrote go around his neck.
* * *
Joseph, though he hadn't learned the Voice like Ysranna had, was still good at commanding attention. Thus it was that he got at least half the population of the temple to listen to him.
"If you're going up against the law, you need help!" he shouted. His voice was already going hoarse after only a few minutes of speaking. "They have crossbows and guns, and while I doubt there are siege weapons in the city, they'll get some from the military base in Minneapolis pretty quick! They'll have it here in just a week or two once it's clear that this is a real rebellion! You can't hold them off in the temple!"
"Then where are we going to hold them off?" someone yelled back.
"You've got to take the Justice Guildhall! It's actually built to withstand a siege - it's built to withstand nuclear warfare, for the sake of random fluctuations in the space-time continuum!" He'd decided to make one last go at utter atheism. "It won't be easy, but at least you'll be safe if you get it!"
"And how do you propose we do it?"
Joseph smirked. It's time to think like a spy.
"I need a thief to steal me some schedules of the peacemen's patrols...oh! And a blueprint of the Guildhall..."
* * *
It took awhile for Lasa and Shem to locate the hospital where the injured fighters had been taken. Once there, they discovered that no one named Roger or Ysranna Moran had been checked in, though some unknown people hadn't woken up yet, and it would be helpful if they could give a positive identification, especially of the poor people who had died...
At that moment, the doors burst open and a wild-eyed young man dashed in. "There's a - dead - Swing Street - blood everywhere..."
And he fainted dead away.
Lasa and Shem exchanged looks, and she immediately saw the sense of duty in her brother's eyes. "I'll keep looking," Lasa reassured him. "Blood's your department."
He nodded. While several doctors ran to minister to the fallen boy, Shem ran around them and into the night.
* * *
Quinn, meanwhile, was watching Alex and Monica pack.
"So we are definitely leaving in the morning, right?"
Monica started to fold a shirt, and paused. "Alex, are you sure this is yours?"
"Yeah."
"Your brother was wearing it the other day...why do you ask, Quinn?"
The little girl sighed and idly played with a keychain she had bought, shaped like a blueberry. "S'just, every time we set a deadline, we end up staying someplace for ages longer than necessary, you know?"
"It's Shem's fault," Alex said immediately. "Yeah, he borrowed it."
"Why would he want to? It has a duck on it."
"We happen to like ducks, okay? Jeez."
* * *
Shem had only taken a few steps before he realized that he had absolutely no idea where Swing Street was. So, in the end, he just followed the screams.
It was only a block away, which was why the boy had run to the hospital instead of the Justice Guildhall. There were already a few peacemen on the scene, but they hadn't yet managed to cut the victim down from the street light he had been hung from.
The boy had been right. There was blood everywhere.
"It's Aaron Zvers," someone said in a hushed, horrified voice. "He lives in the apartment below mine...poor kid..."
Poor kid, indeed.
Shem pushed his way to the front. "It's the serial killer, I recognize the M.O.," he cried. "You've got to catch him. Do it now!"
"That's not my job," one of the peacemen snapped. "We give him a trial when he's nicked, but we ain't risking our necks. That's for the spies to do."
Spies.
"Are they here, then?" Shem asked, trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably.
"One of 'em. He said that some chick will be here in a few days."
Some chick. Maybe that Jen character.
"I'll just be going now," Shem said, and ran back to the hospital.
* * *
It was a very lucky thing for Roger that Lasa heard him complaining; otherwise, he might never have gotten out of the hospital.
"I do know him, thanks," she told the suspicious nurse. As soon as the woman left, Lasa hissed, "Where is your sister?"
"You mean you don't know?"
"No! And what happened?"
Roger sighed heavily. "Some priests were preaching the freedom of religion speech. Izzy got involved, and then everyone started attacking the peacemen, and someone hit me on the head and broke my finger. I didn't see what happened to Izzy."
"Well, she's not in jail, and apparently not here. We could...check the morgue..."
"My sister," Roger said firmly, "is not dead. I would know."
"Oh, yeah? How?"
"I would just know. All right? It's a brother-sister...thing. I mean, you'd know if one of your brothers was dead, wouldn't you?"
Lasa considered this. "Maybe it doesn't work for girls. Anyway, isn't that supposed to be with twins?"
Shem burst into the room, gasping for breath. "We have to leave the city, the spies are coming to investigate the murders."
"What murders?" Lasa and Roger said together. They glanced at each other, and might have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious.
"It's that serial killer. He's here, right now, he's killed two people already - one during the riot, one just now."
Lasa looked at Roger again. "Isn't that, like, the third time he's been in the same city as us?"
Roger shrugged. "I think so."
"Is he following us?"
"Well, he was in California while we were in Indiana, so I'd say no. Besides, how would he find out? Even the spies don't know where we are."
"Of course they know," Shem scoffed. "They got Zacharias, didn't they?"
"Good point. Good point. We'll find Izzy and then make a break for Canada."
* * *
Erion and Lasa found their way to the temple at one in the morning. Before they knocked, someone called out, "We've got a peephole now! We know you're there! Go away, we don't want any visitors!"
"Do you have Ysranna Moran or Joseph Baker in there?" Lasa yelled back.
There was a pause, and hurried whispers. After a few minutes, Joseph opened the door and glanced quickly around. "You haven't brought the peacemen, have you?"
"No. The serial killer's here, the spies are coming, we have to - "
"Good. The sooner they get here, the sooner I can kill them."
This was quite a shocking statement, and it took a moment for Erion to process it; then he said, voice quavering, "You don't mean that..."
"Of course I do. This is war! I will avenge our fallen comrade! Incidentally, you wouldn't happen to know where Izzy is, would you? I could use her expertise. These idiots - " He glanced over his shoulder, apparently at a few of said idiots - "have no idea how to defend stuff. Izzy knows strategy, she read that war book for history last year..."
"Ysranna's missing," Lasa told him quietly. "But weren't you listening? We have to find her and go!"
Joseph stared at the ground. "I'm not going."
"You - what?"
"I'm staying here." When he looked up, there was a cold fire burning in his eyes. "This is war, Lasa. We started this. People died because of things I said. I'm not going to abandon these people the way I abandoned Zacharias. And what if we don't find Izzy? I'm definitely not going to abandon her."
"We won't leave her behind! Joseph, you cannot be serious. You'll be killed!"
Erion bit his lip. "Then...then I'll be killed too." He took a step forward and smiled shakily. "I wouldn't leave my best friend alone here."
Lasa stared at them, her heart plummeting into the region of her feet. "You can't - you can't desert me!"
Joseph raised his eyebrows. "Desert you? Excuse me, Lasa, but you've got a whole bunch of people with you. There's just the two of us. And I don't want to go to Canada."
"It's cold up there," Erion said.
Lasa felt tears welling up in her eyes and stared blankly at the door, despair clawing at her. "If you die," she choked out, "I will get some British technician to make clones of you and I will kill you."
* * *
No matter how hard they searched, they simply couldn't find Ysranna.
She wasn't in jail, she wasn't in any of the hospitals, and she wasn't in the morgue. Wherever she was, they didn't have time to wait.
The remaining members of Lasa's group rode out shortly after dawn, pausing to glance back at the sleeping city.
"Well, dear sister," Alex said at last, "you've brought war to our country for the first time in one hundred and fifty years. How does it feel?"
"I think I'm going to be sick," Lasa whispered.
Zacharias is dead, Ysranna is missing, and my best friends are going off to war. How did this happen?
She couldn't figure it out, but there was no help for it. They had to get to Canada.
She was vaguely aware that Shem had made up some sort of cheesmakers' anthem and was teaching it to the apprentices, but wasn't really listening.
It was a few hours before she was really awake enough to comprehend the lyrics, which turned out to have nothing to do with cheesemaking and everything to do with the reason she promptly pushed her brother off his horse.
Everyone watched the scuffle that ensued. Both Lasa and Shem were nearly trampled by the terrified horse, but managed to escape death - though for Shem, death looked increasingly likely.
"How can you sing that?" Lasa shrieked. "Do you have any idea what that song is about?"
"Of course I know! That's why - ow! ow! - that's why I was singing it!"
"The saints go marching one by one," Lasa sang mockingly. "Hurrah, hurrah. I hate you."
One of the apprentices, who was a bit slow and hadn't caught on to what was happening, continued, "The saints go marching one by one, the little one stops to load his gun, and they all go marching up, to the sky, to the sky so high..."
Luckily for the apprentice, Lasa ignored him. "It's a war song!" she yelled. "Do you think I need any more reminders of what's going to happen to them? Up to the sky, indeed."
"It's a perfectly legitimate hymn," Shem managed to say before she slapped him again. "Lasa, quit it, I'm telling Mom..."
"Maybe you've never lost anything! Maybe that's it! This is all a joke to you, isn't it? You saw that boy and you still treat it like it never happened! People are dying, Shem! People are dying because of what we say and do, and you don't care! You sing about saints marching to their deaths when that is exactly what my best friends are doing, because you don't believe they'll die! They're going to die, Shem! The priests cannot hold off the Justice Guild!"
After a moment in which no one spoke, Monica said softly, "You're right. The priests can't hold out."
"No," Alex said instantly. "No, no, and no. You cannot help them, Monica."
She gazed at her fiance sadly. "I helped Zacharias, didn't I? In the Education Guildhall?"
"I won't let you go."
"Then you're not the man who asked me to marry him, are you?"
Roger blinked slowly, then started to grin. "You mean we're going back?"
"Not all of us," Mr. X said, his eyes fixed on Lasa. "It's far too dangerous."
"I'm going," Monica announced. "Are you coming, Roger?"
Lasa stood up, ignoring the blood on her hands - blood from Shem's cut lip, which she wouldn't notice until later that day. "Don't leave me. Why is everyone leaving me?"
Roger opened and closed his mouth a few times, then hung his head. "I...can't do it. I can't go back."
Monica shrugged. "Alex?"
"You know I'll follow you if you go. Just - don't."
It was not much of a surprise when both of them pushed their horses into a gallop, back in the direction of Ely, leaving Quinn to stare after them from her seat on Dorian's horse, loss and fear in her eyes.
I've lost my best friends, my brother, and my...confusing entity, Lasa thought. All in less than a month.
* * *
Jen arrived in Ely on June 2, three days after the first two murders. By then, the trail was cold.
However, since a new corpse turned up only a few hours after her arrival, she was forced to conduct a crime scene investigation after all.
"We left everything as it was and roped off the entire block," one of the peacemen standing guard said helpfully.
"Well done. Someone give this man a cookie." Since no one else ever had any cookies, Jen did not wait for a reply, but reached into the pocket of her cloak and handed one of the peanut butter cookies to the man. "Are you allergic to peanuts?"
"No..."
"Damn."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat it, or I will strangle you with this garrote wire, understand?" She stood back to examine the horrid tableau the victim made - swinging in the breeze from an exposed pipe. She reached for her longbow and fitted an arrow to the string.
"Someone gonna catch him?"
Eventually, the peacemen managed to form up under the body, and with a well-placed arrow Jen cut the victim down. The peacemen caught the corpse, and quickly laid it on the ground.
Jen examined the wound and then decided that she was not cut out to be a medical examiner. She gagged and moved quickly away. "Remove it," she said hoarsely.
"Grossed out by blood, little girl?" someone mocked.
Jen immediately had an arrow nocked, pointed at the man's throat. "Know how to walk a grid?"
"Er...yes..."
"Walk it. I'll enjoy finding what you miss. And believe me...you'll miss. But if you don't start walking right now, I can assure you, I won't."
* * *
Erion had been on his way back from the Justice Guildhall, and was carrying yet another blueprint, when he saw the crime scene.
He saw Jen and knew immediately who she was. It all fit - the long, black cloak, the longbow leaned almost carelessly against a wall. She appeared to be pacing, intent on the ground. Several peacemen were watching silently.
Well, now they were doomed for sure.
He considered running back to the temple, but that might look suspicious.
Thus it was that he saw the girl handcuffed to one of the officers.
It was a stupid thing to do - he knew that before he did it - but he stuck the blueprints in his pockets and sauntered over to them. "Hey, that's my sister," he said, trying to sound like an authority on the matter. "What's she done, please?"
"Oh, yeah?" the peaceman snorted. "If she's your sister, tell us her name."
Erion glanced at the girl, who raised her free hand and spelled something out in sign language. While he waited for her to finish, he stammered something about them not having any rights, and finally put the letters together and said, "Clementine Argave." He'd learned sign language at the farm - one of the seamstresses who worked there was deaf, and everyone had learned within a few weeks of arrival.
"And why isn't she talking?"
The girl's hand flickered in a series of complicated motions.
"Vow of silence," Erion translated. "Because, um, she's a priestess." Clementine nodded approval, and emboldened, he continued, "I'm sorry if you thought it was suspicious that she wouldn't say anything, but she's not a criminal..."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Jen had looked up and was watching him. He tried to act normal.
"So, could you uncuff her and I'll take her back to the temple?"
Reluctantly, the peaceman got out the keys.
It's amazing what an authoritative tone of voice can get you.
* * *
Crime scenes are four-dimensional...
Jen had taken care of the first three dimensions: ground, sides, ceiling - or in this case, the roof of the building that held the pipe. Now all that remained was time.
The man had apparently died only a few hours before the body was found. Judging by the fact that that particular part of town was fairly empty, Jen decided that this gave her a wide time-frame in which the killer could have killed the man and strung him up.
Unfortunately, this also gave her a much wider area in which to look for the actual scene of the murder.
She required...help.
She tossed a small key idly from hand to hand. Well, luckily, she had help quite close at hand...
But would it cost her more than she could afford to give?
And what about that boy she'd seen? Probably just an innocent passer-by...
But who was really innocent? Especially in a city wracked by rebellion?
Help. Definitely help.
Didn't matter what she had to pay...she could afford almost anything.
* * *
Clementine smiled at Erion as soon as they were out of sight of the peacemen. -How did you know I was a priestess?- she signed.
"I didn't. I was making it up." He remembered then that she might be deaf, and quickly began to sign the message -
-I can hear you.-
"Oh, are you mute?"
She shook her head.
"Are you really under a vow of silence?"
-No. I just do not like to talk. Is this a problem?-
"No! Of course not." Erion thought about that. "So are you from around here?"
-No. Before you ask - I do not know if I trust you, so I will not tell you where I am from.-
"You can trust me," Erion said. "God knows everyone else does. Everyone tells me their secrets...I'm not sure why, though."
Clementine grinned. -You do not tell their secrets?-
"Never! Because, like I said, trustworthy. I didn't tell you my name, did I? It's Erion. Erion Flagstaff. Originally from Indiana, now from Minneapolis...ish."
Joseph opened the door only a fraction when they arrived at the temple. "Is she a spy?" he asked.
"No, she's Clementine Argave. A priestess."
"Bit young to be ordained."
-Senior Apprentice,- she signed, though Erion had to translate.
"I see." Joseph pulled the door further open and allowed them to step inside. "Argave, is it? I've heard that name somewhere..."
Before Joseph could frighten Clementine into leaving, Erion said quickly, "Jen's in town."
Joseph paled, then bit his lip. "You're sure it's her?"
"Longbow, cloak...pretty sure, yes."
"Right, then." Joseph drew himself up importantly. "This changes nothing. We're still attacking the Guildhall in two days."
-Independence Day?-
"Yes," Erion replied, "we figure most of the peacemen will be out making sure no one sets off illegal firecrackers. Just to be certain, we've got people stationed all over town to set off illegal firecrackers."
-That is brilliant.-
"It was Joseph's idea," Erion said modestly.
Joseph, who had only been able to follow one side of the conversation, blinked. "Right. Anyway, if you want to help in some respect - "
-Tell him I know where to get a large supply of firecrackers.-
Erion relayed this message, and couldn't keep from smiling.
Everything was falling into place...there was no way they could lose. On July 4, they would take the Guildhall, and from there they could hold off the world until Lasa did something about it.
July 4, 2235. A day no one would ever forget,least of all for the war cry: "For Freedom! Equality! The Pursuit of Happiness! And Whack-A-Mole!"