Mathilda shaped a soundless whistle. Rudi was impressed himself. Not nearly as many inhabitants as great Iowa, but it was still as many as the PPA had, and half what the United States of Boise or the Cutters could boast; seven or eight times as many as the Clan Mackenzie. And Richland wasn?t even the only such bossmandom in what had been Wisconsin; there was Ellsworth, to the north, and a spattering of independent little villages and counties farther northeast. ?And it seems this land breeds many strong young men,? Rudi said thoughtfully.?No doubt it?s formidable they would be, should foemen or reivers come this way.? ?Right!? Mark said, his chest puffing out slightly.?We Readstowners can muster a battalion of three hundred now for the Free Republic?s National Guard.?
Or should their Sheriff have a quarrel with the neighbors, Rudi thought. From what Ingolf says there was a fair bit of that, at least in his father?s time, before things found their balance here.
Mark went on:?A quarter of them are cavalry. A lot of our guys fought in the Sioux War, or in the trouble we had with Ellsworth, or against outlaws and stuff. Our team won third place in the Guard muster competition at Richland Center this June.?
The tables were set up now, and covered with checked cloths; a group with drums and instruments-he recognized a tuba and an accordion-began playing cheerful music with an oom-pah, oom-pah beat for a minute or two. That was apparently a signal for everyone to seek their seats; the farm workers and laborers at the lower tables had a guest or two to each family group, and Mark and those of his siblings old enough led Rudi and his immediate followers to the master?s table.
The hall was filled with chatter and smiles; even the Southsiders were only mildly nervous despite the strangeness of place, folk and even food-many of them still thought of buttered bread as an exotic treat. The Mackenzie judged the Readstown folk were showing the pleasure to be expected at a break in routine, plus anticipation of the feast and the happiness anyone who lived close to the land felt when the main harvest was in and safely stored.
And local pride that they can afford to guest so many strangers so well, he thought.
Which was pardonable. It did show that this was a prosperous community and well run. ?I?m glad it?s not Samhain itself,? Edain murmured to him as they took their chairs.
Those seemed to be something of a luxury; most of the seating lower down was benches. More benches ran around the outer walls. On them were hollowed pumpkins with candlelight flickering through carved gap-toothed faces, between cooling rows of pies, some pumpkin, others apple, peach, cherry or rhubarb, all grouped around bowls of thick whipped cream sweetened with maple sugar or honey.
A Clan dun might show exactly the same jack-o?-lantern display around this mark on the Wheel of the Year… but they both suspected that Readstown didn?t take them nearly as seriously as their own folk. ?So am I also glad it?s not quite Samhain yet,? Rudi said dryly. ?Inauspicious it would be, sure and it would.?
Every Mackenzie household set an empty place at the Samhain feasts, but that was a symbol of the welcome they extended to the beloved dead who might visit on the day when the Veil was thinnest. The problem was that other things might stray into the world of men on such a day; if someone actually came through the door and seated himself he had to be fed and entertained with everything of the best, but matters could get very tense indeed. Such an outsider might be anything-or possessed of such. The world held many beings who were not of humankind, some friendly, some playful in ways heedless of men and their lives and loves and needs, some not friendly at all.
Ingolf Vogeler had come into Sutterdown as just such a stranger on Samhain eve, and deeds bloody and terrible had followed; they were here now because of them.
The head table held the Sheriff and his immediate family, and his chief officers and their families-they included the head of his deputies, the field boss and stock boss who managed the Sheriff?s own farmland and beasts, the old Ojibwa Indian-Pierre Walks Quiet-who was chief forester and game warden, the fair-haired woman named Samantha who was housekeeper under the Sheriff?s wife, and a few others. Wanda Vogeler hung her apron over the back of her chair and wiped her hands on it before she sat down and beamed at them. ?Everything ready-at last!? she said.?Und Jenny sleeping-at last. Woof! Children! No wonder people get old!? ?There?s nothing you ever enjoyed more than laying on a big feed, Wanda,? Ingolf said teasingly.?Unless you?ve changed more than I think.? ?Nothing I enjoy more except eating it myself,? she said.?And talking while I eat. And dancing afterwards. Both with people who aren?t the same ones I see every day, and I know everything they?re going to say before they say it.?
Her husband cleared his throat and rose. The noise in the hall fell off and then vanished; faces turned towards them, some already chewing on rolls or pieces of cheese from the rounds and blocks and wedges that were set out on cutting boards down the tables, alternating with tubs of butter and jugs of milk, beer and cider. ?Well, folks, you all know my brother Ingolf is back for a visit.?
There was a cheer and a ripple of raised mugs; Edward Vogeler looked surprised, and so did Ingolf. ?We all heard how well Ingolf did in the Sioux War,? Ed went on. ?How the Bossman of Marshall gave him that medal and offered to make him a general.?
Rudi and his party looked at Ingolf in surprise; the only tales he?d told them about his part in that conflict had been things comical or tragic, mostly reflecting badly on himself. ?And how his salvage team got all the way to the East Coast after that, chosen by the Bossman of Iowa because he was the best. First people from the Midwest to do dat since the Change!?
Family pride rang in his voice as the folk of the steading cheered again. Then he went on: ?With him is his intended and her brother Rudi Mackenzie, the guy he?s ramrod for now, who comes all the way from the west coast-that?s a first, too! They?re our guests here, and so are their people. Let?s show them hospitality, and how the Free Republic of Richland, and we Readstowners, treat guests. They?ve got a priest with them, good Father Ignatius, and I?d like him to lead us in saying grace.?
He bowed his head, and Ignatius rose: ?O Christ our God, bless?-he signed himself-?the food and drink of Your servants for You are holy always, now and ever, and forever. As Jacob greeted Esau his brother, may we all be as brothers to one another, in Your love. Amen.?
There was a murmur of Amen from up and down the tables. Rudi and the others of the Old Religion waited in respectful silence with their heads bowed-courtesy, and also duty to their host-and then signed their plates with the Invoking Pentagram and quietly murmured: ?Harvest Lord who dies for the ripened corn Corn Mother who births the fertile field Blessed be those who share this bounty;
And Blessed the mortals who toiled with You
Their hands helping Earth to bring forth life.?
He didn?t think Edward Vogeler noticed what they were about, or perhaps he very thoroughly chose not to. Several others-the housekeeper among them-did, he thought.
A girl carried around a tureen of the soup; Wanda Vogeler wielded the ladle for the table, and Rudi accepted his gratefully. Baskets held half a dozen types of bread-fine white loaves with a crackling glaze, black rye, rich coarse-textured pumpernickel, round rolls with crosses cut in their surface, squares of slightly sweet cornbread. He cut a slice of the rye because it was rare at home and wielded the spoon with gratitude. The soup had a deep savory smoky richness that was just what you needed after a day?s hard work in brisk fall weather.
The bratwurst were sizzling on the grills, and a team split crusty rolls, buttered them and set out mustard and sauerkraut and sauteed onions to go with them. Rudi took several when they were borne around. His brows went up a little as others pulled back the cloths on tubs of honey-glazed chicken breasts and steaks kissed with garlic, pork chops, racks of ribs and skewers of venison and lamb and onions ready to go on the coals, and it became apparent that the brats were merely the introduction.
My Southsiders will be happy, he thought; they had a carnivore?s idea of food.
Then the vegetable dishes came in, on wheel
ed trolleys. ?Yah hey, scalloped potatoes with bacon,? Ingolf said, rubbing his hands as a heavy ceramic pot was lifted to the table and plopped on an oakwood coaster; it bubbled under its brown-gold topping of grated cheddar.?My favorite!? ?Topped with cheese,? Mary Havel said.?It?s good cheese, all of it… but… don?t you ever get tired of cheese here??
Ingolf grinned at her.?Tired of food?? he said.
Edward Vogeler called this his study. They seated themselves in big comfortable chairs around a table of polished dark wood; a desk stood in the shadows of a corner, and books lined the walls. Rudi had a chance for a quick glance at them. You could tell a good deal about a man by what he chose to read. These seemed mainly practical-tomes on agriculture and stockbreeding, war and building and metalworking, along with rows of account books.
A few were recent titles, their printing and binding less machine-perfect-one read Salvaging Gears For Millwork, and another Modern Body Armor.
And up in a corner were a few tales he recognized, well read but looking dusty and neglected now: Joris of the Rock, one of Mathilda?s favorites and her mother?s before her, and Sir Guillame, by Donan Coyle, one of his own beloved since boyhood that he?d been given by Sir Nigel. He suspected those had been Ingolf?s, along with the Tarzan and the Wizard of Oz series.
Wanda bustled in behind them and set out a tray with a pot of hot comfrey-chicory so-called coffee and oatmeal cookies rich with walnuts and raisins. Then, a little to Rudi?s surprise, she seated herself near her husband, taking up a half-finished sweater from a basket and setting to work. A white-bibbed black cat took up station beneath her chair, occasionally darting a paw at the skein of wool as it jerked upward to the click of the knitting needles. ?Drink?? the Sheriff asked.?We do a good applejack, if I say so myself. Und I do.?
Rudi accepted his with a murmur of thanks. It was a comfortable room, smelling of polish, old tobacco smoke and leather and lit by good alcohol lanterns, with a couple of comely if worn rugs on the floor. A brick fireplace held a pleasant crackle of burning oak. On the mantelpiece above it were two black-bordered photographs: one of a thin hard-faced woman in late middle age, and another of a man who looked enough like the Vogeler brothers to be their father and probably was. Unlike the woman?s it was a pre-Change piece, with sharp edges and bright colors; he wore dark glasses, a khaki shirt and an odd peaked cap, with a metal star on his breast that Rudi recognized.
The master of Readstown stuffed a briar pipe as his guests settled in, and Ingolf did likewise. They grew tobacco here and were proud of the product.
A habit I do not admire, Rudi thought, coughing a little.
Smoking was rare in the far west, and he wasn?t sorry for it; he?d never used the weed himself, save as an aid to ceremony among folk to whom it was sacred. But it would be tactless to protest a man?s diversions under his own roof, and impious as well. After all, every home was a little world in itself, with its own customs and guardian spirits, whether it was a crofter?s cot or a manor like this.
Instead he sipped at the excellent apple brandy and tried not to feel too bloated. Those had been the best sausages he?d ever eaten, but even an hour of vigorous square dancing and polkas afterwards hadn?t worked most of the feast off.
The others here to talk business were Father Ignatius and Mathilda. Rudi thought the Sheriff had been a little surprised when they?d automatically included her.
And I am somewhat surprised that the Sheriff brought Pierre Walks Quiet in on things right away, he mused, nodding to the old Indian. Even if he does manage the Sheriffry?s forests and game, the which is a position of importance and honor. ?They aren?t kidding when they say Princess, Ed,? Ingolf said, with an inclination of his head towards Mathilda.?Her family runs half the country out there beyond the Rockies-most of what used to be Washington and part of Oregon too. She stands to inherit it. Only child.?
Mathilda nodded with regal courtesy.?And parts of British Columbia, my l-Sheriff. None of it?s nearly as densely populated as your country here in the Midwest, of course.? ?And Rudi?s relatives run most of the rest, one way or another.?
The older Vogeler nodded.?I?ve heard a little,? he said.?That there was a bunch of King Arthur stuff out there, at least.? ?That would be Rudi,? Mathilda said; her smile was half rueful and all charming.?His… other… name is Artos. It?s quite famous, in the west.? ?Yah. News travels so slow these days, und it gets twisted. All sorts of wild stories.? ?And Fred?s the son of the President of Boise.? ?The black kid?? Ed asked, surprise in his tone. ?Yah, yah. Though his elder brother is running it now. They?re.. . not friends. He?s OK. The brother isn?t.?
Ed?s face twisted a little for an instant, and Ingolf cleared his throat and explained the others, starting with Virginia and the twins. His brother?s eyebrows went up, turning his high forehead into a mass of corrugations. ?You?ve gotten quite a collection together, Mr. Mackenzie,? he said.?And you?re all heading east?? he said.
Rudi nodded.?To Nantucket itself. Ingolf has been there-?
The Sheriff?s eyes went wide and he stared at his brother with the pipe halfway to his mouth for a full fifteen seconds, before puffing it to a moment?s glow and then trickling smoke out his nose. ?I always thought you were crazy as much as you were brave,? he said bluntly.?I knew you?d gotten to the Atlantic, to Boston… but Nantucket? That?s where the Change started. Remember? Dad was watching TV right then and I was with him. That TV, right there.?
He pointed the stem of the pipe at a glass-fronted box; Rudi blinked at it, recognizing it from ones he?d seen, though mostly in abandoned ruins. He shook his head a little; his host had seemed so at home that it was a bit of a shock to realize he?d been a man grown at the Change, or nearly. Enough so that he kept this bit of junk around. ?Nah, I was asleep, remember?? Ingolf said. ?You came down crying.? ?I did?? Ingolf asked, shaking his head.?Damn, you know, that?s completely gone. But Nantucket… yah, I remember that damn well. Even if I was off my head a lot while I was there. Spookiest damn place I?ve ever seen, and that includes Corwin.?
The elder Vogeler brother crossed himself.?God might not like people sticking their noses in there. You know… like poking around Noah?s Ark.? ?My son,? Father Ignatius said,?God works through human beings. Even miracles only open possibilities to us, to act as human beings in this world. We have excellent evidence that something of overwhelming importance awaits us on Nantucket. Holy Mother Church has given Her blessing to this expedition. And the Cutter cult-the Church Universal and Triumphant-?
Ed crossed himself again.?Yah, I know about them, a little,? he said.?We?ve had a few of them through, these last couple of years, preaching. I always told them to keep moving, with a boot to the butt when I had to.?
Pierre Walks Quiet spoke.?More of them north of here; I hear stuff from my relatives. They?re bad news, bad manitou. Wendigo.?
Rudi bit back an exclamation that was mostly sheer irritation.
Is there anyplace they?re not making themselves a nuisance, to be sure? he thought.
Beneath the annoyance came a small cold crawling sensation down his spine at the word the old man used. His blood-father Mike Havel had been a quarter Anishinabe-his mother?s mother had been of the Ojibwa people-and Rudi had heard more than one tale of those sprits of cold and eternal hunger, and how they could possess a man. He remembered dead hands squeezing his throat, and eyes that were like a window into nothingness. ?Yes,? he said softly.?Yes, Wendigo would be as good a name as any for them. For their adepts, at least, and for the things with which they traffic.?
Ignatius continued to the Sheriff:?Then you will know how they are heretics and misleaders of innocent folk. Far worse, we have substantial evidence that they, their inner circle, are diabolists as well. Actual agents of the Adversary.?
Ed Vogeler grunted and crossed himself again.?Yah, from what Pete tells me, I?m not completely surprised. He?s got a steady head, Pete. Richland gave me a rap on the knuckles… hell, young Bill Clements had the nerve to give me a lecture on religious toleration, the damn pup.? ?I heard Bill was Bo
ssman now,? Ingolf said. ?Yah hey, by the time everyone stopped talking after Al Clements died, it was a done deal. I?ve got no objection; that seems to be the way things are done nowadays and you have to keep up with progress. He?s a smart guy even if he really likes to hear himself talk.? ?So did Al,? Ingolf said.?I remember what he had to say about that stump.?
Edward Vogeler grinned for a second.?So do I. Why do you think I kept it around??
Then he sobered and continued:?It?s not that he likes these Cutter types-nobody much does, in the Free Republic, no Farmers or Sheriffs at least, nobody who counts. But he doesn?t realize… Hell, they?re not a religion, they?re a disease. I put up with all kinds here, we got some strange people settling in after the Change, but not them, and if the Bossman doesn?t like it he can come up from Richland Center and kiss my hairy Readstown ass. I?ve got plenty of other Sheriffs would back me up, on general principle. This isn?t goddamned Iowa where you need a permit from the Bossman?s clerks to visit the outhouse on your own land.?
Walks Quiet rolled himself a cigarette and added its tendrils to the haze beneath the rafters. ?Lots of people up north turned Wendigo in the bad time,? he said quietly; his eyes looked through the smoke as if he was peering through the veil of years.
Ingolf leaned over under the guise of reaching for a cookie and murmured in Rudi?s ear:?That?s how Pete lost his family. And why he headed south.?
The Indian continued:?Not everyone-there were plenty of people who knew how to hunt, fish, find wild rice, grow stuff like spuds-but plenty, yeah. The land couldn?t carry all the people there with nothing coming in,?specially after we got us some refugees turning up looking for a meal. It?s not like down here in the warm places where there was lots of grain and cattle once you got far enough from the cities.?
So there were Eaters, Rudi thought. But not quite so mad and desperate, and with plenty of what my Southsiders would call clean settlements in the same territory. That was sparsely peopled land even before the Change, but it?s bleak, from what I?ve read and heard, and what little Mike Havel told.
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