with me. My back is killing me.' The two of them sat down on a bench in the hallway. Mr. Rawls took a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his glasses. He looked tired, all covered in soot. Many of the other people in the hallway were also covered in ashes, so they fit right in.
Francis saw an older doctor pass them at a quick walk. 'Excuse me, sir, do you have a Healer available?'
The doctor paused long enough to give an exasperated laugh. 'Young man, don't be absurd. You couldn't afford a Healer.'
Francis's face turned red. 'I'll have you know I'm Francis Cornelius Stuyvesant the Second! I could write a check and buy this hospital!'
The doctor took in Francis's bedraggled condition, snorted, and spun on his heel. 'That's a new one, usually people around here insist they're a Hearst,' he called over his shoulder as he hurried along to more pressing business.
Francis's hands curled into fists and he went after the doctor, still demanding to be heard. 'When I buy this place, the first thing I'll do is fire you!' He disappeared into the mob.
Faye sighed. It had been a very tiring day. Mr. Rawls patted her gently on the knee. Harkeness had sulked away as soon as there was a crowd. 'Your friend isn't very nice,' Faye said.
'Kristopher is having a difficult time, I'm afraid. The loss of his granddaughter is weighing on him greatly. We have no idea which way they went and they have a long head start on us.'
She could understand. She couldn't bear to think of what that bully Mr. Madi would do to poor delicate Jane. 'Mr. Harkeness said he's something like a Healer, but he couldn't help Mr. Browning or Mr. Garrett. What good is he?'
'He has some minor Power where he can stop the spread of disease. He kept their wounds from becoming infected. There are degrees of Healers, and in that family, I'm afraid that his descendents inherited far more Power than he has,' he sighed.
'You sound really tired, Mr. Rawls.'
'I am, dear. The elders sent me to secure the Geo-Tel'-he gestured around the dazed and ashen crowd.-'and none of you know about it, so I've failed. Pershing took it to his grave, but I think he underestimated the Chairman. He will find it unless we can destroy it. You see this, Faye? Imagine this a thousand times worse. Why, a single firing of the Geo-Tel could destroy all of California. America would fall, Europe would fall, and the whole world would surrender to the Imperium's horrible ways.'
'That's terrible.' Her heart ached at the sight of the people suffering. A little boy was crying, tears cutting paths through the dirt on his cheeks, and it reminded her of how her brothers had looked, tears tracking mud through the dust that had caked onto their faces when the soil had gotten all dry and the wind had blown it all away. Only this time it wouldn't be big clouds of dirt covering the sky, it would be ashes from all the beautiful cities burning. 'I promised to kill the Chairman.'
He shook his head. 'Poor child. You don't realize, but we've tried, many times. He simply will not die. We've burned him, shot him, stabbed him, blown him up with bombs on many occasions. The Grimnoir have sent men to poison him, but he doesn't need to eat or drink, we've tried to capture him in his sleep, but he doesn't sleep. We once had a Torch scorch his flesh away in a pillar of fire, and he walked out, his clothes burned off, but he was fine. A Grimnoir knight once blew up a bridge while a train he was riding in was passing over it. The whole thing fell five hundred feet into a ravine and the Chairman walked out without so much as a scratch.'
'But there has to be a way!' Faye insisted. 'I could Travel right next to him.'
'Others have tried. Basically you can't get close unless he lets you and that only happens while he's killing you. He has a strange Power that lets him pull all the knowledge and life right out of someone, just by laying his hands on them. The elders discussed how to destroy him with our smartest Cogs. Perhaps a direct hit with a Tesla weapon could do it, but other than that…' Isaiah shrugged.
So if you can't kill him, that's why the Grimnoir put so much effort into messing up his plans… She had promised General Pershing not to share his memories with anyone else, but Mr. Rawls was right. The Chairman was too smart. He'd find the piece on his own, just like he'd somehow tracked down Grandpa. She'd barely known the General. Maybe his sickness had made it so he wasn't making the best decisions… and she felt like she could trust Mr. Rawls. He wasn't just Grimnoir, he was like a boss Grimnoir, and if she couldn't trust them, then she'd never be a proper knight like her Grandpa had been.
Faye looked around to make sure no one was listening in. She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, 'I know where it is.'
Mr. Rawls smiled. Mar Pacifica, California The Tempest made excellent time and he was in California before the smoke had even settled. Cornelius had commandeered one of the UBF Weathermen stationed at the Empire State Building and put him to work making sure that they'd had the wind at their back the entire way. It had left the Active exhausted, and it would probably cause erratic weather patterns across the entire nation in their wake, but it was a small price to pay.
They'd flown over the impact area and he couldn't believe his eyes. His son had insisted on building an estate on the rocky finger of land that had jutted into the ocean because it was so green and beautiful. Now it was wiped bare, under ash as thick as Michigan snow. The mansion was simply gone, timber and brick burned or hurled into the sea.
His hopes had been dashed. Nobody could have lived through that. Not even a Stuyvesant, and they had a talent for surviving anything. His once favorite heir was surely dead.
Oh, the way they'd fought. The boy had always been a rascal. While Cornelius could barely stand most of his heirs, brownnosers and sycophants the lot of them, young Francis had not been afraid to say what was on his mind, and he'd loved him for it. He was as much a contrarian at heart as the eldest Stuyvesant, and it did Cornelius proud to see that Stuyvesant fire in another generation.
Francis's father, Cornelius's least disliked son, had been a congressman and then ambassador to Japan. It was during that time that he had met John Pershing, and young Francis had taken a liking to the soldier. His father was too busy womanizing and collecting bribes to have given the boy a proper upbringing, so of course Francis had gravitated toward the manly activities of horsemanship and shooting. Cornelius had approved at first.
It wasn't until after they got back to Japan that he realized how much nonsense Pershing had put into his grandson's head. Francis was preoccupied with frivolous things, like right and wrong. Apparently he'd seen some atrocity or another at an Imperium school and that had soured his outlook on profiting from the Chairman's wild spending. His son had no such qualms, and had arranged many lucrative deals, but Francis would have none of it.
Then his son had died. It had been right after an argument with Francis, where the young man had stormed out, vowing to have nothing to do with his family. They said that it was a suicide, but Cornelius knew that was a filthy lie. No Stuyvesant would ever lower himself to such a fate. He knew that it had to be the work of that vile Pershing. No, it wasn't enough to turn his favorite heir, the boy who was his spitting image of his own youthful vigor, against him. Pershing and his mysterious Society had surely killed his son as well.
So he'd sought out a Pale Horse. With Pershing's foul influence gone then surely Francis would see reason and come back to the family, but as he looked out the windows at the wreckage, he knew in his heart that he'd been wrong, terribly wrong, and he could never take it back.
There was a polite cough behind him, and he turned to see a surgical mask. It took him a moment to remember why everyone was wearing masks. 'What? Can't you see I'm mourning, idiot?'
'Sir, we have received a message. There were some survivors. Someone claiming to be a Stuyvesant is at a hospital north of here.'
He looked back at the house. Impossible. But it was hard to keep a Stuyvesant down. Could it be? 'What are you waiting for? Fire up the engines!' he shouted. 'Full speed ahead!'
Chapter 20
Gott in Himmel. Lassen Sie uns bitte sterben.
Translated: God in Heaven, please let us die.
