The Scourge of God

The Bossman's retainer went on:

"I am Captain Edgar Denson of the Iowa State Police, Department of Public Safety, and I am going to tell you the rules. You want to live here, you have to work and pay your way, and this is a damned expensive place to live; no matter what Mom and Dad told you, the streets aren't paved with gold-just horseshit, like anywhere else. You don't have a Farmer to pick you up and kiss it better if you stub a toe. You can get rich here-or you can end up starving. It's up to you. Begging is forbidden within city limits. Vagrancy is punished by six months at hard labor. Theft is punished by six years ' hard labor. Armed robbery and murder are punished by life at really hard labor-but life's only a couple of years, in the mines. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" the would-be townsmen chorused raggedly.

"Now get going. That building over there is the hiring hall-you can pick up some day-labor there. Move! Not you lot," he added.

Rudi sighed. He hadn't expected to slip in entirely u

"You're foreigners from out of state, right?" Captain Denson said.

"Yes, sir," Ingolf replied; they'd agreed that he'd be the one to speak, having both more experience and a less conspicuous accent.

"And those are weapons, right?" the state trooper said, jerking his helmeted head at their suspiciously elongated bundles.

"Yes, sir. Nobody told us they were illegal."

Denson gri

"They aren't. Wearing them in the streets is illegal. Using them except in self-defense is illegal. And remember we don't have capital punishment here. Being dead doesn't hurt. You pla

"We've been out West. We do have enough money to keep us for a while."

"Spend it wisely."

"Here's the money," Tancredo said. "See, not a pe

"You have the most interesting friends, sweetie," Mary observed, as he studied it.

Ingolf winced slightly and bent more closely over the paper. Rudi hid a quick smile. On the one hand, his half sister and the man from Wisconsin seemed genuinely fond of each other. But…

But if we didn't have the same blood-father, I still wouldn't want her or Ritva for a lover. The Maiden knows they're fair women, and smart and fu

The man who called himself Tancredo shrugged and spread his hands.

"I've thought of it as more of a business relationship," he said dryly.

Ingolf picked up his pipe and puffed a cloud, possibly as camouflage. That habit was much more popular here than in the Far West, and about a quarter of the people in this riverside dive were puffing away at pipes, or cigarettes, or rather vile little twisted black stogies; a blue haze hung under the rafters, and the sparse gaslights glowed through it as through fog. From the smell, not all of it was tobacco by any means. The harsh smoke and spilled beer and-from the alley out back-stale piss were the predominant odors, with frying food a close competitor. The plates of catfish in corn batter and fried chicken and fried potatoes had been surprisingly edible.

Ingolf's…

Acquaintance, Rudi thought

… had brown skin, about the same shade as Fred Thurston; that and the tight curls of their black hair were the only things they had in common. Tancredo was in his early thirties, shortish, slender, with an easy smile that seldom reached the upper part of his face, and restless hands that tended to make short abortive moves towards his knives, of which Rudi had spotted three, besides the one worn openly on a belt covered in steel plates. He wore a crisp cotton shirt and a sleeveless leather jerkin, and denim pants and good boots; he also had a gold ring in one ear, and several more on his fingers.

"Ingolf was big in the salvage trade for a while," Tancredo said. "A salvager needs… unofficial contacts… if all the profits aren't going to go on 'fees' and graft. I'm as unofficial as it gets. Hell, my daddy was unofficial too-didn't think it was a good idea to get shipped out of town after the Change and spend the rest of his life hoeing corn for some hick and stealing watermelons and eating fried chicken, sho' 'nuff."

"You don't like fried chicken?" Fred said curiously; he had a plate of bones in front of him.

"Classical reference," the man replied. "Anyway, Ingolf, old buddy, what you want?"

Ingolf flicked his eyes to Rudi. The Mackenzie spoke:

"We're heading for the East Coast; indeed we've an urgent errand there, which has waited too long."

The image of the Sword floated before the eyes of his mind, like an itch he could not scratch.

More haste, less speed, he told himself. Impatience makes mistakes. His voice was calm and friendly as he went on:

"The fastest way to do it would be by water, up the Ohio. Something big enough to handle ten people and their horses, but no more, as far as the head of navigation."

Tancredo nodded, elaborately unimpressed by the fact that they were heading so deep into the death zones.

"You want that done officially? Or unofficially? Because that," he added, "would be very expensive."

"We hope it can be done officially," Rudi said. "We have friends at court, and they're trying to get us permission, or at least an audience."

Tancredo smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Ingolf didn't get a great fat wonderful hairy deal from his official friends the last time. Anyone relies on the Bossman deserves what he gets."

"It wasn't the Bossman who finked on me," Ingolf said quietly. "It was Kuttner. And Kuttner wasn't working for Anthony Heasleroad, whatever Tony thought."

"But we agree with your basic point," Rudi said. "I'd be saying that this was insurance, so to speak. If we get the official permissions we wish, then you've gained a legitimate, official profit as a respectable businessman. And if we don't, sure, and you'll be getting a much bigger unofficial one."

Tancredo's left eyebrow went up; then he gri

They did, though most of the party stayed quiet; Father Ignatius was off talking with the local archbishop. Rudi finally agreed on a figure with a slight wince; they'd started out with a good deal of money, but this was a major chunk.

But to be sure, once we're east of the Mississippi, money becomes moot. It'll be what we can find or take, there.

"Man, you're talking a ship here," Tancredo said after the bargaining had gone around in the usual circles for a while. "That's a capital asset. And you'll be taking it places where it very possibly ain't coming back, and do you think I could get insurance? No, I could not."

Rudi sighed and reached over the table to shake the local's hand and seal the bargain-he refrained from spitting on his palm first, that not being a rite used much in these lands. The Iowan stretched out his own hand and shook.

And Garbh looked up from where she sat at Edain's feet, growling slightly and looking at the door. It burst open. A draft of cooler air came with it, into the fug of the big room.

"Freeze!" a voice bellowed; one Rudi recognized. "Iowa State Police!"

Captain Denson stood in the doorway, a bristle of billhooks behind him. "Rudi Mackenzie, Ingolf Vogeler, you and your companions are under arrest in the name of Bossman Heasleroad!"

There was a moment's silence, then a murmur of mingled anger and fright. That grew to a roar as Tancredo stood and signaled before turning and walking quickly away; that took just long enough to block Rudi in the booth's i