After that the Wolf had dredged his brain for every mossy old chestnut he could remember from his early teens to barracks life. Finally, in keeping with his nautical disguise, he taught the Duke of Rush all the lines he could remember of 'The Good Ship Venus."

"The cabin boy, the cabin boy, the dirty little nipper I Put ground gla.s.s inside his a.s.s and circ.u.mcised the skipper," the Duke sang with him, giggling at the end of each verse.

Eva Stepanicz rested in the arms of the other Quisling, there more to keep an eye on Valentine per the captain's orders than to enjoy herself. A small tower of empties stood next to her, begun when she returned to the bar to find out what had transpired during the Kurian visit. She possessed an almost magical power over liquor, making her the choice for this particular a.s.signment. She pushed the man's face away from her, directing his beer- fumed breath toward the floor.

The bartender returned from dumping the merchant marine, escorting First Mate Silvertongue.

"Okay, Tiny, on your feet. Day's breaking, and the captain wants you and Stepanicz back."

Stepanicz climbed to her feet with a relieved sigh.

Valentine looked up at the first mate from beneath his red Bunker T-shirt, worn pharaoh- style on his head. "C'mon, Silver. No reason she can't wait another hour or two. Shove off,"

he slurred, more from fatigue than alcohol.

"Stepanicz, let's get him up," Silvertongue ordered. The two women each took an arm and pulled Valentine to his feet. Valentine winked at Silvertongue.

"I said shove off!" he shouted, startling the Quislings from their slumber. Valentine grabbed a head of hair in each hand and seemingly knocked their heads together. He arranged it so his hands absorbed most of the impact.

And so began a semidrunken three-way brawl that brought even the pa.s.sed-out Denise from her toilet-seat nap. The men roared approval every time Valentine knocked one of the women on her a.s.s, and the two females ringside cheered whenever Stepanicz or Silvertongue landed a punch. The bare-breasted barhop had placed her pinkies in her mouth and produced a piercing whistle when Stepanicz brought the fight to a close with a powerful, accurate, and all-too-realistic kick in the proper place. Valentine folded like the Quisling's b.u.t.terfly knife and dropped to the ground.

The Duke of Rush staggered to his feet, absently brushing sawdust from his garish uniform.

He knelt next to Valentine and helped his groin-gripping drinking buddy sit up.

"Better get back to your ship, Tiny. Guess they weren't tiny enough, heh?"

Valentine managed a pained smile.

"Look, next time you port in Chicago, look me up. I'm pretty much in charge of R and R, that's rest and relaxation, you know, for those wise enough to join up with the Kurians. My place is above a group of bars called the Clubs Flush. On Rush Street, it's easy to find 'cause it's the part of the city lit up at night, unless you count the Zoo. I cater to the creme de la creme of Chicago society, you understand. Following orders from these b.i.t.c.hes every day, I bet you and that other guy are about dying to get laid. I'll get you some on the house, okay?"

"Thanks, Duke," Valentine said, adjusting his trousers.

"You're my kind of people, Davy. And," he added, more softly in Valentine's ear, "if you can tie up to the big pier with another load of the white stuff as good as this, I'll see to it that even if you dock a swabbie, you'll sail out a captain, you know what I mean? Just stop in and see me first, at the Clubs Flush, like I said. I'll treat you right."

Valentine ma.s.saged his aching groin. "Thanks for the tip, sir."

With Silvertongue on one side and Stepanicz on the other, Valentine marched back to the ship, exhausted.

"What was all that about, Valentine?" Silvertongue asked as they climbed back on board.

"Why were you toadying up to that ring-carrying clown?"

"He's a powerful man where he comes from. Sometimes just knowing the name of someone with that kind of influence can come in handy."

Later that morning, the White Lightning landed Harper and Valentine on a deserted stretch of beach north of where they first rendezvoused.

"Sorry for the kick," Stepanicz said, shaking Valentine's hand. "No hard feelings?"

"No, 't don't think it'll be feeling, hard for a while," Valentine answered. "But thanks for asking."

The captain presented them each with a fifth of rum brought all the way from Jamaica.

"And the Lakes Flotilla is always willing to help you out," she said, handing them each a card with her name written on it in elegant calligraphy. "You can always tell a Flotilla ship because the word white is in the name somehow. Or a foreign version of white: blanc, weiss, something like that. Just give them this card, and tell them I owe you a favor."

"Thanks, Captain Doss," Harper said.

"Your servant, ma'am," Valentine added.

Each Wolf shouldered a bag of dispatches addressed to Southern Command. As they hopped out of the dinghy, again wetting their feet in the waters of Lake Michigan, the weight of their rifles brought home the seriousness of the journey back.

"Should we tell Gonzo about all this?" Harper asked.

"Why?" Valentine said, responding with a twinkle in his eye. "He just missed a boring evening with some sailors. And what he doesn't know won't p.i.s.s him off. But I'll make it up to him. He can have my Bunker souvenir T-shirt."

Ten

Central Wisconsin, September of the forty-third year of the Kurian Order: North of the road and rail arc connecting Milwaukee with the Twin Cities, Wisconsin under the Kurians has lain fallow. Dense forests of pine and oak shelter deer, moose, and feral pigs.

Four-legged wolves prey on both, and occasionally have to give up their kills to prowling bears and wolverines. A few logging camps dot the area around Oshkosh and Green Bay, taking oak and cedar for use in the south. Menominee trappers and hunters also traverse the woods and lakes, traveling down the Wisconsin River to the Dells Country to trade pelts.

The Kurian Order begins at the traveled belt linking Milwaukee, Madison, Eau Claire, and St. Paul, Minnesota. Rich corn and dairy farms still fill the southern half of the state.

Three Kurian Lords, known as the Madison Triumvirate, control the farms, mines, and lines of communication from the outskirts of Milwaukee to LaCrosse. Within the gloom of their dominant hilltop dome in the old Wisconsin State Capitol building, they command Reapers from Fond du Lac to Platte-ville, Eau Claire to Beloit.

The humans under the teeth of the Kurians endure the New Order, living in the gray area between doing the minimum required for survival and full Quislinghood. Their family farms are self-controlled, very different from the brutal plantations of the south or the mechanized collectives of Nebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma. But recently, a new shadow has fallen over the region. Rumors spread by milk-truck drivers and road crews tell of a new Kurian Lord turning the picturesque village of New Glarus into a hilltop fortress. To the fearful smallholders and townspeople of the area, this means thirteen more thirsty Reapers taking their human toll by night.

They camped on some hills above the Wisconsin River near Spring Green. The Wolves could see miles of river valley in either direction. A few electrified farms burned porch lights, but the prominence Valentine guessed to be Tower Hill seemed shunned by the residents, for no active farm lay at its feet, or indeed within miles.

They camped a little below the hill, in the ruins of what was apparently an outdoor stage in the middle of nowhere. Valentine had explored the warped and overgrown little wooden theater nestled in a kettle in the hillside. It reminded him of a fancy version of the simple outdoor platform at one end of the public tent in the Boundary Waters, where Bobby Royce had received a prize shotgun what felt like several lifetimes ago.

He paced the footboards in thought. Were the people in the Freeholds the ones who were crazy? All the loss, all the suffering caused by the never-ending battles. A life, of sorts, was possible under the Kurians. Perhaps they should weather the storm, turn it to their advantage by bargaining for some measure of independence, rather than fighting for it. He marveled at the adaptability of his race: the Lakes Flotilla, for example. They worked at the edges of the Kurian Order, sowing seeds of destruction while turning a profit. Then there was Steiner and his enclave, trying to build something new rather than keep alive the old.

Or the determination of the outnumbered and outgunned Southern Command, standing in their hilly fastness and daring the Kurians to try to enter even as they carried the fight to the Lost Lands. Even the little cl.u.s.ters of hidden civilizations like the Boundary Waters contributed to the fight by simply surviving.

A tingle interrupted his ruminations upon the stage. With the frozen terror of a rabbit under an eagle's shadow, he sensed a Reaper. He stepped off the stage and padded downhill to the little cl.u.s.ter of cabins below. The Reaper seemed to be moving up Tower Hill, bringing silence to the nighted woods. Even the crickets ceased their chirping.

Valentine entered the Wolves' overnight home. It was a two-room house with small windows that made the absence of gla.s.s less of an inconvenience. The Wolves had stabled the horses in the larger room. He placed the fingers of one hand to his lips while making the pinkie-and-forefinger hand signal to his comrades that meant Reaper. Gonzalez and Harper unsheathed their rifles and checked their parangs.

All three concentrated on lowering lifesign, sitting back to back in a little cross-legged circle.

The horses would give off no more lifesign than a group of deer; there was enough wildlife in the woods to confuse it even if it pa.s.sed close, as long as they were able to mask their minds properly. As he quieted his mind and centered his breathing, Valentine found he could feel the Reaper atop the hill to the west. Minutes pa.s.sed, then an hour, and the Reaper moved off to the west as clammy sweat trickled down Valentine's back.

"That was a little too close," Valentine said to his fellow Wolves. "Anyone want to move camp, just in case it circles around the hill?"

"Fine idea," Harper agreed. "I could walk all night anyway after that."

They decided to move south, treating the Reaper as a tornado that you can best dodge by moving at right angles to its path. As Harper readied the horses and Gonzalez hid evidence of their camp, Valentine cautiously walked up Tower Hill, rifle at the ready. He read the trail left by heavy bootprints. The Reaper had paused for an hour on the overlook.

Valentine wondered why. After a word to Harper, he found an un.o.bstructed knoll above the stage and scanned what parts of the horizon he could.

Two or three miles to the southeast, flame lit the clouded night. A pair of buildings seemed to be ablaze behind a screen of trees; he could make out a small grain silo lit by the red- yellow glow. Perhaps the Hood had a better view from the western crown of Tower Hill, but it was unlike a Reaper to just stand and watch a fire for the drama of it. And the blaze seemed unnaturally bright. Valentine wished the winds were favorable enough for him to smell the smoke.

He rejoined Gonzalez and Harper.

"There's a good-size fire," Valentine explained. "I think a barn or a house is going up. You want to check it out? It's on this side of the river, so we can get to it easy."

"Do we want to be there?" Harper asked. "If it's someone's house, neighbors will be coming from all over. It would be just like a Hood to pick someone off in the confusion."

"I thought we were headed south," Gonzalez said.

"Yes, eventually. But I think this Reaper watched what was going on there for a while, for whatever reason. It's not like them to just look at something for the sake of the view. I think it's worth checking out."

Harper shrugged. "It's your party. I don't mind watching a building burn. But I don't like the idea of making a decision 'cause of a prediction about a Reaper's behavior. Sounds like a good way to end up drained."

"It'll be okay, as long as the lieutenant's radar is working," Gonzalez suggested.

"Hope so," Harper said. "Let's get there before the patrols wake up."

They moved through the night, leading their horses. Gonzalez walked out ahead, picking the path, followed by Valentine and Harper, each taking two horses.

As they drew close to the fire, Valentine decided the burning buildings were just another abandoned farm in a region where two out of three homesteads were empty. New forests stood in fields that had once belonged to cows.

The Wolves tied up the horses near a shallow seasonal streambed, and the horses drank from runoff puddles scattered among the rocks. They could see the flames flickering through the thin-skinned trunks of scrub beech and young oaks. They crept up to within fifty feet of the dying fire. What was left of four buildings, one obviously a barn, had already collapsed into burning debris. Without the daily rains of the past week, the conflagration would have turned into a forest fire.Harper spat cotton. "Okay, Lieutenant, here's your fire. What now?"

"No family, no neighbors," Valentine observed. "Must have been empty. These fields sure don't look used. I haven't seen anything but a few old fence posts around with the wire stripped off. So why's it burning?"

"Maybe a patrol came through, livened up a quiet night with a little arson," Harper mused.

"That east-west road we crossed yesterday by the river's got to be up there somewhere."

"Could be," Valentine agreed. "If so, they used a lot of starter. You can smell it from here, kind of like gasoline."

Gonzalez and Harper sniffed. "Reminds me a little of napalm," Harper said. "The Grogs used it at Cedar Creek. They had an old fire truck filled with it. Doused some of the buildings our guys were holed up in and then lit it."

"I'd like to take another look around in daylight," Valentine said. "We can wait a few more hours before moving on. Let's get the horses and find a safe spot to sleep."

Valentine could tell from Harper's expression that he thought getting some rest was the first sensible plan out of his superior's mouth all evening.

Daylight inspection of the ruins told the end of the story but not the beginning. While Gonzalez squatted in cover along the road, ready to run like a jackrabbit back to the fire scene at the first sign of a patrol, only a livestock-laden tractor-trailer pa.s.sed along the old highway, crawling east at a safe fifteen miles an hour along the potholed road.

"This makes no sense," Valentine said to a disinterested Harper. "We've got four burning buildings, or three buildings and a shed, I guess. But what are those other three burned spots?"

Valentine indicated the blackened brush, circles of fire twelve to thirty feet in diameter, scattered around the buildings on what had once been lawn and garden.

"Weird thing number two. Look how the house is wrecked. The frame's been scattered all to h.e.l.l, but only westward. Like a bunch of dynamite was set off on the east side of it."

Harper shrugged. "Maybe the Quislings were training with demolitions or something."

"Then where's the crater? And the foundation is in good shape; those cinder blocks would be gone if someone put a charge there. And look at those two saplings. They're both broken off three feet up, but the tops are lying toward the house. An explosion wouldn't do that.

Weird thing number three. That hole dug in the ground by the barn."

The men walked over to the ruins of the old barn, next to the blackened column of the still- standing silo. A triangular furrow, three feet long and almost two feet deep, was gouged into the ground; a dug-up divot of earth and gra.s.s lay nine feet away, in the direction of the barn. "What did this?" asked Valentine. "The patrols brought out a backhoe? This was dug out in one clean scoop."

"You got me, Sherlock," Harper said with a shrug.

"And finally, there's no tracks. Unless that's why they burned out those patches of the scrub-to cover their tracks, or the marks of the weapons that did this."

Valentine kneeled and sniffed at the charred wood. It still retained a faint petroleum or medicinal smell, like camphor."Somebody's coming," Harper called, moving swiftly behind the silo, rifle already at his shoulder. Valentine threw himself to the ground, hearing footsteps from the forest. The person was not making any effort to keep quiet, whoever it was.

A middle-aged man in faded blue pants and a striped mattress-ticking shirt emerged from the forest. He surveyed the wreckage, not looking particularly surprised. He removed his baseball cap and wiped his face and neck with a yellow handkerchief. What was left of his hair, balding front and back, was a uniform gray.

"Whoever you are," the man called, "you're sure up early. Come out and show yourselves. I ain't armed."

Valentine hand-signaled Harper to stay concealed. Gonzalez had vanished, perhaps into the overgrown drainage ditch next to the road. He stood up, half fearing a sniper's bullet.

"Good morning to you, too," Valentine responded. "I'm just pa.s.sing through."

"You mean 'we're pa.s.sing through," stranger," the unknown rustic chided. "I saw your buddy behind the silo. Since you're not from around here, I'll ask your name, son."

"David, sir. I'm down from Minnesota. Visiting friends, you might say."

The man smiled. "If that's the case, I'd keep that repeating rifle hid. I don't know how it is in Minnesota, but around here the vampires'll kill you for carrying a gun. Among other things."

"Thanks for the tip. We're trying to pa.s.s through without attracting attention. Do you live around here, sir?"

"All my life. My name's Gustafsen. I'm a widower now, and my kids are gone. I farm a little place up the road. Saw the sky lit up and figured it was the old Bauer farm. Don't have much business of my own to mind, so you might say I mind other people's, just to have something to do."

That could be good or bad for us, Valentine thought. "Did anyone live here?"

"No, not since they took over. The Bauers all died of the Raving Madness. No one's wanted to live here since: it's five miles from nowhere."

"I wonder what started the fire? There's been a lot of rain, but no lightning."

Gustafsen chuckled. "I wonder myself. I hear from some of the teamsters, there's been a few mysterious fires this summer. Started right around the time the new Big Boss showed up in Glarus. And things have gone from bad to worse for a lot of folks around here since then. There's been disappearances in almost every town, and I'm sure you know what that means."

"I'm surprised you ask questions, Mr. Gustafsen. Most places that's frowned upon."

"My curiosity is all I've got left, David." Gustafsen thrust his hands in his pockets, speaking to Valentine while standing side by side with him as was the custom in that part of the country. They looked over the wrecked barn and house. "I've lived a full life, considering the circ.u.mstances. After my Annie got took, I quit looking for anything else from this life, and I'm settin' my heart on the next."