The Hierophant opened one of his folders. “Do you suppose we will just give you the Cape? The whole compound? The king’s clothes and books? His precious metals?” Marvel’s face betrayed nothing. “Should we give you the king’s wife, as well?” He threw a long piece of paper onto the table—a map of the Cape and its surrounding marshes, with areas darkened and crossed out. “Our scouts have been all over your camp. We know where your men are, even the ones you believe we don’t know about. We have twice as many men as you, but we will kill you right now if that’s the easiest way to put this nonsense down.”
“You won’t defeat us,” Mr. Capulatio said.
“We will. We’ve done it before, with others. I shouldn’t have to remind you of the Unrest.” Marvel dusted his map off somewhat primly. “Michael is a descendant of the Astronauts. A direct descendant. If the Return is now, he will greet them gladly and tell them himself.” He met Mr. Capulatio’s eyes. “If this is the Return.”
All this time, Tygo had been scrutinizing Mr. Capulatio, looking at him in the most peculiar way. “I know what the lights are,” he said softly.
Everyone turned. John gaped at him. He seemed to John so foreign in that moment, a witless combination of assurance and naïveté—a man willing to climb on a box to speak before a disparaging crowd even after having done it before. “What?” Tygo stared at them. “I do. I know what they are.”
Mr. Capulatio nodded. “And who are you?”
“My servant,” John said sadly. “My assistant.”
Michael was thrilled. He looked back and forth at John and Marvel. “Tell us, then. Johnny, this man is a treasure. I have no idea who he is or why he’s here, but he is an utter treasure.”
Tygo patted his hair down over his ear-holes. “The lights in the sky are angels. They’re guiding the shuttles back to the earth. I know because I was in Kansas, and in Kansas I had a vision, and that vision revealed this to me.” He stared again at all of them. “It sounds insane, I know. But the truth is stranger than anything anyone can make up. Ask Lord Astronomer. He’s the one who freed me so I could help him ascertain the Return Date.”
John remained silent for a long moment. “I don’t know why I freed him. He is a madman.”
“The Return Date is now,” said Mr. Capulatio. He looked annoyed. “Angels? That’s some fairytale. It’s not got anything to do with our religion.”
“It does. That’s what they called themselves when they spoke to me—angels. And why not? They bring messages from above. And they speak their own language…” Here he trailed off helplessly, unable to explain. He blinked at John, nodding slightly. “I can’t understand much of it. But some words come through, maybe by the very force of their will that I should understand. They told me the word tellochvovin. Which I understood.” He turned about in his seat. “Which means ‘falling death.’”
The Hierophant fingered the unction in the bottle. He kept his eyes on the bulb of the small glass stopper. For the first time John wondered what he had intended to do with it. The liquid in the glass was very dark, almost black, but when the light hit it just so, it shone gold, but with weight, like mercury.
Mr. Capulatio, impatient, watched Marvel’s hands on the bottle as well. “I could be wrong, but my ears aren’t hearing an overwhelming agreement to our righteous proposition. Which is a shame. You have every opportunity to do the right thing. You haven’t even reviewed our scholarship. I would have thought you would at least do that, or have your man here”—he gestured to the Marvel—“do it. Where’s your curiosity? In your minds is there not a chance, even a slender chance, that Michael may just be a man, like any other, and that I might be the True King who will reign over the Age of Times?”
Michael’s smile had faltered slightly. He turned to the Hierophant, who gripped the unction tightly. “There is no chance.” Marvel spoke calmly.
“I am the True King. It has been me for all time. But it was only recently, in cosmological time, that I became aware of it.” He laughed again. His laughter was full of fearful anger. “I act out my Destiny. I can do nothing else in my life.”
His men were nodding. The two brothers and the blond stout one were fidgeting; John supposed glumly that they’d concealed weapons somewhere on their persons, and that now he would probably die. They would be mad to come unarmed like they’d promised. For the first time he wished he had a dagger of his own—not that he would have known how to use it, but having one seemed suddenly so obvious. He was such a fool. The guards stood with their pikes behind them all, but they would protect Michael first, then the Hierophant.
Tygo beside him had straightened. His voice was unafraid. “The angels told me something else.”
“Really, Sousa. Quiet your servant. He’s making this worse,” Marvel snapped.
John looked away.
“The True King was part of my vision. The whole reason I came here to begin with, before they picked me up for treason and threw me into
