The Six Messiahs

do. The men they'd traveled with were elsewhere in the house attending to their wounded comrade, struck by a stray bullet as the last of the posse was going down. They'd ridden hard nearly two hours straight after that, all the way to The New City. Dante was still reeling from all he'd taken in since they arrived.

Through lace curtains, he could look down on Main Street; its clean white simplicity reminded him so much of the home he'd always wanted that he hoped he would never leave. He had nearly given up dreaming that such a nice friendly place could even exist. But this was the House of Hope, wasn't it?

He could smell pies baking in the house, apple and cherry both, his favorites. He wondered if they would give him vanilla ice cream with his pie; yes, probably so. He wondered when they would let him have one of the uncommonly attractive women he had seen in the street. The Voices in his head had never sounded so happy.

We want to eat everything, everything, everything.

He was startled out of his dreamy mood by angry voices coming from the office; the man he had heard them call the Reverend was yelling at Frederick, something about a book that Frederick had brought with them.

'Useless! This is useless!'

The book they'd brought with them came flying through the doorway; its spine cracked as it hit the far wall.

'How could you be so blind? How can I finish my Work without the real book? What do you expect me to use in its place?'

Dante couldn't make out Frederick's response, only the more reasonable tone of his voice.

'Oh, really? Left a trail of crumbs, have you? And how can you be so bloody certain they'll bring the real one with them?' said the Reverend. 'How can you be sure they'll even follow you?'

Another smooth reply from Frederick.

'NO!' the Reverend screamed. 'You'll not collect one penny until that book is in my hands.'

Again Frederick replied in the same soothing manner; over some minutes the Reverend's anger subsided and his voice calmed to Frederick's level. Dante felt relieved; he didn't like the idea of anyone being so angry at Frederick; it made his new world feel as brittle as a hard-boiled egg.

Moments later the door opened; Frederick smiling, waving him inside. Dante entered the office.

The Reverend Day stood in front of his desk, smiling too, anger gone, holding his arms out to welcome Dante.

Frederick walked him across the room, gripped Dante by the hands, rolled up his left sleeve, and showed his brand to the Reverend, who nodded in kind approval.

'Why don't you show the Reverend your new tools, Mr. Scruggs?' Frederick whispered in his ear.

Dante opened his briefcase; he felt a twinge of embarrassment when he realized he hadn't had time to clean off all the blades after they'd finished with the posse. Halfway through, he realized he didn't like working on men nearly as much, remembering with a thrill the chubby blond girl from the train—in a jar in his suitcase he'd saved two choice pieces of her that he hadn't even had time to appreciate yet—but he guessed it was still better than dumb animals or insects. Men were better than nothing.

Somehow when Dante looked into the Reverend's eyes, he felt all of his secrets were understood. No need to explain himself or feel ashamed. This was the man in charge, their general, and he was more bighearted than any soldier could ever hope for. Just as Frederick had said he would be.

And the Voices liked this man even more than they'd liked Frederick.

'You know, it's so interesting, I believe we have a first,' said the Reverend to Frederick, still gazing at Dante.

'What is that, sir?' asked Frederick.

'This one doesn't even need to be Baptized,' said Reverend Day, reaching out and lightly stroking Dante's fuzzy cheek.

'We agreed you were not to work your 'sacraments' on any of my men,' said Frederick tensely. 'That was our arrangement.'

'Don't work yourself into a state, Frederick,' said Reverend Day, his eyes caressing Dante. 'When the boy's already been so touched by grace it would only be gilding the lily.'

Their train pulled into Flagstaff, Arizona, ten minutes ahead of schedule; when Doyle, Innes, Presto, and Lionel hurried onto the platform, they found two officials of the Santa Fe line waiting to escort them three tracks over to their chartered express; an engine and tender pulling a single passenger car, bound for Prescott.

Walks Alone held on to Jack's arm, lagging behind the others. They were the last to step down from the train. She had not left his compartment once since Doyle and Innes had burst in on them the night before. None of the others exchanged a word with either of them, and even now, transferring to the other train, neither of them met anyone else's eye.

Blistering heat from the noonday sun. Jack looked pale and depleted, hardly enough strength to put one foot in front of the other, all his energy directed inward. She appeared to be equally exhausted and her focus centered solely on moving luck to the second train.

If she followed the procedure she described to me, then she's invited his illness into her body, thought Doyle as he watched her. If that was true, he shuddered to think what she was fighting against now. He noticed she still carried the stick topped by the eagle feather in her hand.

What if she's failed? What if they're both incapacitated? What do I do then? I can't slay another man's dragons.

'Not the most advantageous time for romance, wouldn't you say?' whispered Presto to Doyle.

'Good God, man, what makes you say that?'

'She was in his compartment all night. At one point I thought I heard a ... cry of amour.'

'You did hear a cry. Amour had nothing to do with it,' said Doyle.

Love, maybe, but not passion. And the indescribable way in which he had seen that power being employed was not something he felt willing to share with anyone.

Innes broke in to hand Doyle another wire confirming all the supplies he had requisitioned would be waiting when they arrived in Prescott. After supervising the storing of their luggage, Innes climbed on last in time to see Jack and Walks Alone disappear into one of the car's closed compartments.

'Hasn't pulled any more strawberry shortcakes out of his ribs today, has she?' he asked Doyle quietly.

'Let's hope the one was sufficient,' whispered Doyle, raising his finger to his lips again.

Five minutes later their train was steaming its way south.

Two hours to Prescott.

'I don't like the idea of you going there alone,' said Eileen.

'I tend to agree, my dear, but it didn't sound like an invitation I could reasonably turn down,' said Jacob.

'You're not well; you should be resting.'

'Now you're sounding like my late wife: Jacob, come to bed, you'll ruin your eyes reading in that light.'

'You probably didn't listen to her, either.'

Jacob stopped by the door in the lobby and took her by the | hand.

'I always listened. So far I've outlived her six years.'

'Don't go,' she said quietly.

'This is what I've come for. I should make such an effort only to turn back at the threshold?'

'Then let me come with you.'

'But my dearest Eileen, you weren't invited.'

'I'm sure the Reverend won't mind.'

'No. I mean, by the dream.'

She looked into his eyes, saw the joy and determination shining through; no trace of fear. A tear formed in her own eye.

'Please. Don't die,' she whispered.

He smiled, gently kissed her hand, turned, and pushed out ] onto the street through the swinging doors.