The old man scrutinized the list, murmuring or nodding in agreement when he chanced upon a name which he particularly favored. “Yes, this will do for a start. How do you communicate with them?”
“I had planned to hold our meetings and teleconferences right here in the secret training facility you constructed for Mr. Bowdeen. No one has been using it since he went overseas to provide the European communities with weapons instruction.”
Abraham nodded again approvingly. “Yes, this would be a good place to stage your operation. Speaking of Mr. Bowdeen, I wish you to follow him.”
Joshua drew a blank. “I don’t understand, sir. You want me to spy on him for you?”
“Of course not! Don’t be an idiot,” Metcalf retorted impatiently. “I mean I want you to follow in his footsteps. You are to set up an intelligence network at each of the European compounds once he has finished his training. At the moment, he’s in Germany. He’ll know who the best marksmen are and can guide you in deciding which of them might also make good candidates for the Order of Argus.”
“So, you wish me to take charge of the order globally?” Joshua realized he’d just been promoted.
“That’s right,” Abraham agreed curtly. “Use your best judgment in sorting out the details.”
“Father, I’m honored that you think so highly of my abilities.” Joshua tried to make his voice sound suitably modest.
The diviner’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “This has nothing to do with your abilities. It’s a simple matter of efficiency. I prefer a single point of contact. You will be my sole connection to the Order and will bear the brunt of my anger should anything go wrong.”
That thought sobered Joshua immediately. “Of course, sir.”
“I am writing out the information you will need to arrange your trip to Europe.” Abraham took up a pen and bent over a sheet of paper on the desk.
Joshua waited silently for him to finish scribbling his instructions. The young man speculated how this new international responsibility might serve his aims. Despite the downside of being Abraham’s scapegoat, Joshua couldn’t help thinking that this job would still elevate him in the hierarchy. Perhaps soon he would achieve the same rank as his brother Daniel.
Daniel! He felt a surge of contempt at the name. How they could be related at all, much less share both a father and a mother, was beyond his understanding. Despite his brother’s spineless nature, the diviner favored him. For what? His ability to bury his nose in a book and read dead languages? Daniel had been named scion—Abraham’s chosen successor to lead the Blessed Nephilim after the time of his passing into the celestial kingdoms.
Joshua studied his father through lowered lids. The old man’s shoulders were hunched, and his hand trembled slightly as he held his pen. His passing might be approaching faster than anyone expected. Perhaps in the time remaining, he could have a change of heart about his successor. Joshua intended to help him rethink his decision about who the next diviner ought to be.
Chapter 20—Nativity Seen
In the dead of night, Abraham shuffled aimlessly around his quarters. He was alone. It had been months since he had allowed any of his wives to sleep in his chamber. Routine marital visits ended shortly after Hannah’s disappearance. Each encounter with a different wife was a bitter reminder of the conjugal pleasures he could no longer enjoy with his favorite. Since none of the rest could take her place, he had petulantly dismissed them all. In his present state, he realized the wisdom of that decision. Better that his wives shouldn’t have the opportunity to observe his weakness at close range. The gossip that followed would be impossible to quell.
He glanced at the alarm clock. It was one o’clock in the morning and sleep still danced just out of reach. Abraham walked into the bathroom and took a small blue bottle from the medicine cabinet. He contemplated it sourly. His chronic insomnia had taken such a toll that he had finally decided to do something about it. Generally, the Blessed Nephilim regarded the healing arts with suspicion. If it was God’s will that one should be stricken with disease, then that suffering was merited. If one died in childbirth or of a terminal illness, then that was God’s will too. However, since at least a few of the recruits to the brotherhood possessed some medical training, it was foolish not to take advantage of their knowledge if circumstances were extreme enough to warrant it.
Earlier that day, Abraham had consulted an elderly brother who had spent his years among the Fallen as an herbalist. The brother prescribed a tincture which Abraham was to take each night—the very concoction which the diviner now held in his hand. Opening the stopper, he looked skeptically at the brown liquid suspended in a glass eye dropper. It smelled like dirt. He doubted the taste would be an improvement over the smell, but he measured out thirty drops into a glass of water and drank it down. After five minutes he felt no different, still irritable and alert. He took thirty more drops and idled away another five minutes. Abraham sensed the tiniest bit of lethargy creeping through his limbs. Still not enough. He took thirty more drops before returning to bed. There he waited for sleep to overtake him.
***
He was walking through a desert. Although Abraham had never been to a desert, he could feel the sand underfoot. He could see many bright stars overhead, so he knew it was night. Off in the distance was a small wooden structure. He could hear sheep bleating somewhere out in the darkness. Perhaps the building was meant to offer them protection from the
