"I'm not asking you to agree with me. Just hear me out and go home and think about it. And do one more thing. Think about how you can give that extra five percent. I know you all work hard. But I bet each of you can do what I did: figure out some way to do another five percent. You'll feel better about yourself, and your life will be more secure. Like me, you'll find you've got a bra.s.s ring in your pocket and not even need it because you're going the extra mile. How many of you slaughter your best milker for steaks? None, right? The Kurians are the same way. They're here, they're staying, and we've got to make the best of it.

"You've heard my story. You know I wasn't born special. No great brain, not much drive.

Not even good-looking. But I've got a beautiful house-I've got pictures if any of you want to see it afterwards-a real gasoline car, and a nice house picked out down south for when I retire. So I guess that bra.s.s ring is worth something after all. Napoleon used to say that every private of his carried a marshal's baton in his knapsack. Each of you should carry a bra.s.s ring in your pocket.

You can do it. Any of you out there spend ten hours a day shoveling s.h.i.t? No? Then you've all got the jump on me. You're already way ahead of where I was when I decided to give that extra five percent. Whether you're sixteen or sixty, you can do what I did, believe me.

Give the extra five, and it'll happen to you, too.

"Now, before I leave for the flatlands, as you call my home, I gotta do the usual recruitment drive. We're looking for young men and women, seventeen to thirty, who want to take some responsibility for public order and safety. I won't give the usual gung-ho speech or list all the perks: You know them better than I do. I will guarantee that you won't be mounted on a bicycle with no rubber on the tires. And don't forget, even if you go to boot camp and flunk out, you still get your one-year bond, no matter what. So who's going to be the first to come up on stage and get the bond? Okay, moms and dads, aunts and uncles, now's your chance to tell those kids to come up and get the bond."

Valentine listened to the forced applause as a few youths took to the main stage, then joined in. It seemed safest to do what everyone else was doing. He wondered how many in the audience believed the story, and how many were just going along to get along.

Touchet shook hands with the bishop who'd introduced him. The bishop patted his back and said something in his ear. Touchet returned to the microphone.

"Before you leave, I have a couple of announcements. The Triumvirate has changed your quotas, or reckoning, I mean. They'll be discussed individually with you by your local commissary officials."

The audience knew better than to groan at the news, but they did quiet down and stop filing out of the aisles.

"On the good news side, there's an exciting announcement from the New Universal Church and the Madison Triumvirate. Any couple that produces ten or more children in their lifetime automatically wins the bra.s.s ring."

Valentine and Molly Carlson exchanged a significant look, and she tweaked up the corner of her mouth at him.

"The New Order recognizes the importance of motherhood and family life," the snake oil salesman continued, "and wants to get the northern part of the state repopulated. Any children already born to the family count, so you big families with five or six children are already well on your way to the bra.s.s ring."

Some more applause broke out, probably from the bigger families.

"And finally, we've had some problems with insurgents and spies recently. The standard reward of a two-year bond has been upped to a ten-year bond in exchange for information leading to the capture of any undoc.u.mented trespa.s.sers in the Triumvirate's lands. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Molly whispered. "Now go home and start making babies. G.o.d knows what you're going to feed them, since they are upping the reckoning."

"Now, Molly," Mr. Carlson said quietly. The tent was emptying fast, save for a few people with questions for either the bishop or Touchet. Valentine escorted Molly to the exit, following her parents, and paused to look back at the podium. Touchet was looking at him and speaking to the bishop. The Wolf smelled trouble at that look. He hurried out of the tent, racking his brain as he tried to remember if he'd ever seen the lllinoisan's face before.

What was there about him that would draw the golden touch?

* * *Back at the wagon and buggy, the Carlsons ate a quick dinner out of their baskets. Flanagan joined them, helping himself to a choice meat pie.

"He left a few things out, you know, Gwen," Flanagan said, treating them all to a view of half-chewed food. "In his lecture to the patrols, he elaborated a bit about how he got out of the jam after he was caught helping those folks hide animals from the commissary. While he was sitting in the depot, they offered him his life back if he would turn in each and every farmer who withheld so much as an egg or a stick of b.u.t.ter from the commissary. Turned out he had a real good memory," Flanagan chuckled.

"It was all part of the talk he gave on duty this morning. Oh, and the bra.s.s ring he threw out into the audience is a phony. But don't tell anyone I told you. Don't hurt nothing to have those folks believing they got it made, as long as they stay in our good graces."

"Duty, Mike?" Mrs. Carlson said. "I bet you could tell Mr. Midas there a thing or two about devotion to duty. Like putting it before family. You're an expert at that."

"Don't start, Gwen. That's in the past. I've done plenty for you since, even a few things that would get me on the next train to Chicago. Oh, s.h.i.t, it's starting to rain again," Major Flanagan grumbled, looking at the sky. "Bye, kids. Stay out of trouble. Glad to see you showed up for the meeting, Saint Croix. Maybe you're smarter than you look."

On the ride back, Molly drove the buggy. Valentine was unsure of himself on the rain-wet surface, and they decided a pair of experienced hands on the reins would be best. Valentine and Molly sat together under the tarp again, but he couldn't recapture the half-excited, half-scared mood of the trip down when he first felt her close to him.

"You didn't fall for any of that baloney, did you?" Molly asked.

"No, but he did know how to tell a good story. He had me spellbound for a while."

"Yes, he's one of the best I can remember hearing. That's what you'd expect right before they increase the reckoning." She paused for a moment. "You seem a million miles away."

"I didn't like the way he looked at me. At the end, when he was talking to the bishop.

Almost like he was asking about me.Funny, because I've never seen him before in my life."

"Well, according to Uncle Mike, he really is from Illinois. You ever been there?"

"I pa.s.sed through it on the way here, but we stayed in the uninhabited part. Or mostly uninhabited, that is. Sorry if I seem preoccupied. You sure pegged the baby thing. How did you know?"

She smiled at him. "Just because I'm eighteen and hardly been more than twenty miles from home, you think I'm ignorant. There's a fresh batch of vampires up in New Glarus.

n.o.body knows when they came in with their Master exactly, but it seems like they're here to stay. That's more hungry mouths. How often do they need feeding, anyway?"

"That is one of the many things we don't know about the Reapers. According to the theories out of this group that studies them down in Arkansas, how much they need "to eat depends on how active they and their Master are. We think a lot of times the Kurians have about half their Hoods shut down. This is just guesswork, but the fewer Reapers a Kurian has to control, the better he can control them. Sometimes when he's trying to work all thirteen at once, they just turn into eating machines and do stupid stuff like forget to get in out of the daylight. But the Kurian can't control too few, either. He takes a risk when he does that. If the link for feeding vital auras to the Kurian Lord gets shut down, like say if he's got only one Reaper left and it gets killed, we think the Kurian dies with it." Molly rewrapped the thick reins in her hand. "That's interesting. It's funny to just be able to talk about them with somebody. Discussing the Kurians is a taboo subject here. Too easy to say the wrong thing. So a Reaper can be killed?"

"Yes," Valentine said, "but you need to put that at the top of your 'easier said than done'

list. I've seen six trained men pump rifle bullets into one at a range of about ten feet, and all it did was slow it down. Of course, those robes they wear protect them a lot. If they're hurt, you can behead them. A lot of times we're satisfied just to blow them up or cripple them so they can't move around much and they're easier to finish off. But again, even catching one where you can gang up on it is hard. They're usually active only at night, and they see better than us, hear better than us, and so on."

"So how do you do it?"

"It's a long story. Kind of hard to believe, too, unless it's happened to you. Now I know I've told you there are also people like the Kurians, but they're on our side."

"Yes, the... Lifeweavers."

"Good, yes, you have it. Long time ago, I think we worshiped them, and made them out to be G.o.ds. But they have the ability to awaken latent... I don't know, I guess you'd call them powers... within a human. About four thousand years ago, they made it very totemistic so the people would accept what these G.o.ds or wizards or whatever were doing. "The spirit of a wolf is in you.""

"Can they do it with anyone?"

"I don't know. The Lifeweavers select you for it, I know that much. Down in the Ozark Free Territory, they have three kinds of warriors they create, each named for an animal.

Maybe they use different animals elsewhere, like lions in Africa maybe. We're called the Hunters. We all carry a blade of some kind to finish off the Reapers. In the Wolves we just use a short, broad-bladed knife. It's a very handy tool in the woods, too. The Wolves are like the cavalry. We move fast from place to place, scout out the enemy troops, and fight guerrilla actions, mostly. There's lots of Wolves. Those Cats are spies, a.s.sa.s.sins, and saboteurs. I don't know about the Cat training, seems like they're just really, really good Wolves who prefer to work alone. I've known only one Cat. They go into the Kurian areas and mess with the Reapers. Maybe there's one around here somewhere. But if there is, he or she probably doesn't know I'm around. As I told you, I was just running the mail up to Lake Michigan. Then there are the Bears. They're the meanest bunch of bad-a.s.ses in the Southern Command, I can say for certain. I don't know what the Life weavers do to the Bears to make them the way they are, but I've heard of a single Bear taking on three Reapers and killing them all. They're like human tanks. We Wolves always make room for them at the bar when they come in."

They listened to the clip-clop of hoofbeats. Luckily it was an asphalt road, with only a few gravel stretches. The Morgan trotted steadily behind at the end of his lead, enjoying his exercise. Molly slowed the buggy to a walk and let the horse breathe, to give the rest of the family a chance to catch up a little in the plodding wagon.

"Do you win often?" Molly asked. "I mean, actually go out and beat the Reapers?"

"Sometimes. The Ozarks are still free, aren't they? But it costs people. Good people,"

Valentine said, remembering.

"Don't think about that too much," she suggested. It makes you look all old and tired.

You're what, twenty?" "I feel older. Maybe it's all the miles."

Now it was Molly's turn to be lost in thought. "You beat them," she ruminated. "We've always been told you just hide out up in the mountains. Starving to death in winter, stuff like that. Even the lodges, our organization for getting people out of the Triumvirate's reach, discourage anyone from going down there."

"It's a long trip," Valentine agreed. "Long and dangerous."

"You must really trust us, David. I could turn you in and get a bra.s.s ring for sure. A Wolf, an officer even, they'd love that. Uncle Mike would s.h.i.t himself to death if he knew. He even gave you a work card." She giggled.

"At first I didn't have much of a choice except to trust you. Seemed like we were going to get caught anyway. Gonzalez wanted me to leave him, but I couldn't do that. Now I'm glad I gambled."

She c.o.c.ked her head and smiled. "Why?"

Valentine shook his head and averted his eyes. That smile was irresistible. "Father Max used to say, "Women and six-year-olds never run out of questions.""

"Only because men and four-year-olds never have the right answers," she countered.

"Listen to you," Valentine laughed.

"C'mon, I mean it, David, why are you glad? Do you like this little charade we're playing, the courtship thing?"

At the word charade, Valentine felt a gla.s.s splinter pierce his heart. He forcibly brightened his voice. "It's been fun, sure. I've enjoyed talking to you, being around your family. I haven't had a family since I was little."

Molly started the horse again at a slow walk. "I've had fun, too, David. Sometimes I can't tell if it's a role that I'm playing or not. I'm almost sorry it has to end. Not that I want to bring a baseball team of your kids into the world to win a bra.s.s ring, of course."

"Of course," Valentine agreed. I'm sorry it has to end, too, he added mentally.

Back at the Carlsons' home that night, Valentine and Gonzalez talked in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Valentine told him about the pep talk that took place at the tent and the funny look he received from the speaker.

"I don't know, Val. All the more reason to get out of town soon. You don't think it's going to look suspicious if we just disappear?"

"No, I already talked about that with Mr. Carlson. He's going to say Molly and I didn't get along, and we took off for parts unknown after a big argument. How's that arm-can you ride yet?"

Gonzalez removed it from the sling. His fingers were curved, and the skin looked dry and unhealthy, like an octogenarian's arthritic hand. "It's bad, Lieutenant. I think the nerve is gone. It kind of burns and itches sometimes. I can still ride, but it'll be one-handed."

"You can't shoot one-handed. Looks like you're heading for a well-deserved retirement"

"I'll use a pistol." "That's for Captain LeHavre to say. Speaking of which, I haven't had a good dressing-down in weeks. I'm ready to go home and get yelled at again. How about you?"

"Say the word."

"I want to wait another day or two. You still look kind of pale, Senor Gonzalez. I want to cook us some biscuits and see to the horses' shoes. Anyway, how was your day holding the fort with Frat?"

"He's a tough kid. We could use him in the Wolves."

Valentine was intrigued. He could not remember the last tune Gonzalez had called anyone tough. "What do you mean?"

"We got talking while you were away. I told him where I come from, and he told me about Chicago. When he was little, he got put in the worst part of town with his mom and dad. In the center of the city, inside the river, there's this place called the Loop. It's got a river to the north and west, and the lake to the east. A bunch of those frog-Grogs live in the shallows. In the lake, you know? Then to the south, there's a big wall made out of an old expressway.

"According to Frat, trains still run people in, but no one can come out. The buildings are so tall, it's like being at the bottom of a canyon. No lights. The people there live on rats, birds, garbage that gets dumped in the river. He said they eat each other, too."

"You sure he wasn't just making it up?" Valentine said.

"Tf he is, he's good at it," Gonzalez argued. "The only people that go in are the Reapers. All the bridges are down, but they use a tunnel system under the city to get in and out. That whole Loop area is like the happy hunting ground for the Chicago Reapers. They just leave the bodies for the rats or those frog-Grogs."

"That's how the kid got out. Through the tunnels. Can you believe it, crawling in the dark through a tunnel the Hoods use? I couldn't do it, that's for sure."

Valentine shuddered at the thought. A pitch-black tunnel, Reapers maybe at either end. Of course, maybe the kid's bravado came from ignorance of how easily the Reapers could spot him.

Engine sounds from outside the house penetrated their refuge. Valentine's heightened hearing detected a vehicle slowing as it approached.

"Hey, sir..." Gonzalez said, startled.

"Shh, I hear it, too." Valentine identified a car engine with a bad m.u.f.fler. It pulled into the Carlsons' yard, and he heard two car doors open and shut. m.u.f.fled voices came from upstairs.

Valentine gestured toward the hidden room. Gonzalez kept watch at the stairs, and Valentine worked the pine knot that allowed him to pull open the door. The secret room was a little more s.p.a.cious with their cots out in Frat's part of the bas.e.m.e.nt. Their packs and weapons were still concealed within.

The ventilation duct let him hear the voices in the living room loud and clear. Mr. and Mrs.

Carlson received Major Flanagan and his a.s.sistant Virgil in the main room. Even the squeaks of the old chairs could be heard through the air vent.

"What brings you out tonight, Major?" Carlson asked. "It can't be a second helping of meat pie," Mrs. Carlson added. "I'm all out, and with the rain, there's no rabbits in the traps today. I can roast you a potato, if you want."

"It's a social call, Alan," Flanagan said. "Well, fifty-fifty. It's about the meeting at the tent today."

"What, did we miss an encore?" Mrs. Carlson asked. "Pull himself up by his bootstraps so hard he flew out of the tent?"

"Gwen, your sense of humor needs a good curb bit," Flanagan growled. "But it does have to do with Jim Touchet. He saw someone in your family who really intrigued him. Wants a personal interview, you might say."

Valentine reached for his rifle. It felt comforting in his hand.

"Who, Saint Croix? I'm not sure he's even going to be in the family yet, Mike."

"No, Alan," Flanagan said with a sardonic laugh. "It was Molly. He wants your daughter."

There was a silent pause in the room above. After a full ten seconds, Mr. Carlson's voice echoed forcefully down the vent. "f.u.c.k you, Mike."

Valentine smiled with approval. He had never heard Mr. Carlson say anything stronger than heck before, but the occasion deserved it.

"Are you going to take-7" Virgil's voice demanded.

"f.u.c.k you, too, Virgil."

"Now just wait-"

Flanagan interrupted his lieutenant. "Okay, before we get into a p.i.s.sing contest, which you'd lose and you know it, Alan, just think this deal through. Listen to what I have to say.

Not only would you be doing me a big favor, and I think you owe me one after all these years, but you'd be helping your family, too. They're offering the whole family a two-year bond. Actually it's a five-year bond; they said I could go up to five if I had to. Don't look at me that way, Virgil, she's my niece and they ought to get everything they can out of it.

"Alan, I'll be honest with you. The next five years are going to be tough. You know there are new Reapers in Glarus. I've already got orders to make up lists of who is going to make the cut and who isn't. Your farm is doing good now, but what if you have a bad year? What if the cows catch something? You'd be d.a.m.n glad you had that bond if something like that happens. And even if you're not on the list, maybe a vampire is pa.s.sing through and happens to get hungry by your place. You know it happens as well as I do. The lists don't mean s.h.i.t when they're prowling, but bonds do."

After a moment to let the threats, spoken and unspoken, sink in, the major continued. "It ain't like she'd be gone permanent. I have that from the bishop himself. Touchet is giving talks in Platteville, Richland Center, and Reedsburg, then going back through Madison.