Eyes open, Bendigo died, suspended limply in the air. The audience rose to their feet, applause growing steadily to a thundering crescendo.
'Bravo! BRAVO!' shouted Reverend Day.
The audience amplified the mocking tribute.
Reverend Day twirled his hand; Bendigo's body revolved and bowed low in each direction, dumb acknowledgement of the only standing ovation offered to him in a long and mediocre career.
Eileen stumbled blindly to the rear wall. A lantern burned on a hook near the door. She plucked it off and hurled it at the fallen curtain; the lantern shattered, the oil spread, ignited by the wick, and began to burn.
As the flames licked up the arch, she turned and ran out the back door of the theater.
Dante had never seen a play before. Frederick and he walked in late, after the show had started, settling into seats behind Reverend Day in a box above the stage. He guessed the actors were telling some kind of story down there, but he didn't feel much interest in trying to work it out. He liked the colorful pictures of the mountains and the pieces of a castle that rolled on and off the stage, and the uniforms on the soldiers were fun to look at, too; bright red with lots of shiny buttons.
But most of all he liked that girl with the black hair and her titties pushing out the top of her low-cut dress. He slipped a hand inside his briefcase and rubbed a thumb along the edge of a knife, daydreaming about how nice it would be to use it on her. The Reverend and Frederick had made him feel so free about his work that anything seemed possible. When it was over, he might even ask them to let him have that girl to play with.
Everything started to go wrong when that big fella Cornelius rushed into the box; he said shots were being fired and some guards had been killed; and when the Reverend stood up and started screaming, Dante could see a big, red cloud come off him like a barrel of black powder exploding.
Whatever the Reverend yelled at those people below made them real scared, even Frederick went a little pale, but as far as Dante was concerned, it felt like the real fun was about to begin. Then that fat actor floated right up into the air in front of them and began to cut himself, and Dante knew that he'd been right; this was better than freaks at a sideshow.
When the fire started, Reverend Day screamed at the people in the white shirts again, 'TO YOUR PLACE, GO, GO! WAIT FOR THE SIGNAL!'
Whatever had been holding up the actor's body let go, and it plopped down onto the seats like a loose hank of rope. The people in white shirts were so busy rushing to the doors, shouting and screaming, that they started stepping all over each other; couple of 'em got crushed in the stampede. Dante leaned over the balcony and watched from his seat, rocking back and forth, laughing; this was a hell of a lot funnier than anything those dumb actors had been doing.
Reverend Day whirled round on the men in the box.
'Call out the Brigade,' he said to Cornelius. 'Everyone knows their responsibilities; follow the Plan.'
'Yes, sir,' said Cornelius, and he ran out of there.
'How many of your men are left to me?' he asked Frederick.
'Nearly sixty,' said Frederick.
'Assemble them at the church for the Holy Work. Then you come alone to the chapel and bring me that book as soon as our visitors arrive. You have one hour before the Work begins.'
'What about the fire?' asked Frederick, nodding toward the flames shooting up the curtains.
'Let it burn. Let it all burn.'
Frederick gestured for Dante to follow him and started out; the Reverend clamped a hand on Dante's arm.
'No,' said the Reverend. 'He stays with me.'
Dante could see Frederick's jaw working; he was mad. He clicked his heels, nodded sharply, and left the booth. Reverend Day held out a hand to Dante; he giggled and snuggled up under his sheltering arm as they walked out of the box and down the mezzanine hall. Smoke rolled in around them filling the air, temperature rising from the spreading flames, but they never hurried their pace.
'How do you feel, Mr. Scruggs?'
'I feel good, sir. I feel real good.'
'That's fine, boy. That's just fine,' said Reverend Day, holding him closer as they started down the stairs. 'It's going to be a glorious night.'
chapter 16
When Frank mentioned the stolen rifles, Kanazuchi told him about the machine guns and it occurred to both of them that the warehouse would be a good place to start. A wind had come up, swirling dust, thickening the air. Bells were still ringing in the church tower, and as they slowly crept back toward the main street, small patrols of white shirts occasionally ran by carrying torches and weapons, heading for the center of town.
A red glow lit up the sky above that area, and they realized a fire had started to burn.
'Looks like the theater,' said Frank, seeing white shirts pouring out into the street. 'Eileen's in there.'
'She will move away.'
'To where? It spreads to those shanties, the whole town'll go up like kindling.' Jacob missing, Eileen on the loose; shit, his whole plan was collapsing. Frank looked over and saw Kanazuchi studying him. 'What?'
'May I offer words of advice?'
'I guess we know each other well enough.'
'Events move in a flow. Picture water in a stream.'
'Okay.' What the hell was this, a lecture on nature appreciation?
'More water means greater force. Harder to resist.'
'Like a current.'
'Like a flood. Takes away everything in its path. Now; here: We are in the flood.'
Frank saw a massive number of armed men assembling near the House of Hope—the same militia outfit he'd seen running around in the dark last night. He could make out Cornelius Moncrief striding around waving a rifle and shouting orders.
'So once you got your feet wet, it's better to jump in, is what you're saying,' said Frank.
'Once started, it is better not to worry. The river will carry you. Trust in a positive outcome.'
'Okay.'
Over Kanazuchi's shoulder, Frank caught a glimpse of a white shirt sneaking up the alley behind them. Frank stood casually and swung the butt of his rifle like a baseball bat around the corner, smashing the man against the wall. He fell and lay still.
'Damn; it's working already,' said Frank.
No more waiting for the right moment to cross; Main Street was crowded now. White shirts heading for the church at the end of town; a hundred torches burned there already, lighting up its dark face. The brigade of militia marched down the street toward their position, platoons peeling off to search every side street.
Searching for us, both men realized.
They lowered their weapons, waited for a rush of shirts to congest the street, then walked calmly across through the mix. No one took a run at them; the militia was still a quarter mile away and the eyes of the people passing were all focused on the church.
Reaching the alley, they broke into a run; Kanazuchi drew his sword as he took the lead. At the next intersection, a white shirt patrol turned the corner ahead of them; Kanazuchi ran right through the four men, the sword in his hands a blur, and before any of them could fire a shot, parts of three bodies hit the ground. Frank killed
