St. Zev's.
Joe liked the sound of that.
GREGOR . . .
"I was wrong, wasn't I!" Olivia raged, waving her arms and she stormed back and forth across the main floor of the Post office. Her get-guards flanked her, watching the windows, trying to cover her as she moved. Gregor's guards clustered near him, warily watching the others. "Yesterday, when I heard that more than one of your serfs had been killed in a single night, I thought it couldn't get any worse. But now this! This!"
Gregor, still too numb with shock, said nothing.
He and his guards had been on the other side of town, roaming the streets, hunting the vigilantes, when he'd heard the news. He'd rushed back to the church, not believing it could be true. But it was. He'd found St. Anthony's aflame with searing light, too bright to look at. Crosses blazed from every window and door, the corpses of his cowboys and his get lay in a tangled pile on the front steps, and from within ... the voices of the cattle raised in hymns.
Olivia stopped her pacing and glared at him. "You allowed this to happen, didn't you, Gregor. You're trying to humiliate me, aren't you."
That did it.
"You bitch!" Gregor shouted.
He raised his fist and took a step toward her. Her guards reacted by reaching for their machetes, and Gregor's guards followed suit. As much as he wanted his hands around her throat, crushing it, twisting until her head ripped free, this was not the time or place for a pointless melee. Gregor opened his fist and stabbed a finger at Olivia.
"You conniving, self-centered bitch! Humiliate you? I'm the one whose local get has been virtually wiped out! If anyone's pride has been damaged tonight it is mine!"
"And you've nobody to blame but yourself," she snarled. "Your serfs and your get failed you, failed all of us. They deserved what they got. I see only one solution. I will have to bring in my own serfs and get to clean up your mess."
"This is what you've wanted all along, isn't it. For all I know you engineered this yourself!"
"Don't talk like a fool! I—" She stopped, held up a hand, and closed her eyes. "Wait. Wait." She opened her eyes and stared at him. "Do you see what is happening? A few of the cattle make a move against us and what do we do? We turn on each other. This is not the way."
Realizing she was right, Gregor stepped back. But he said nothing. The sting of her words remained. His get had not deserved to die.
"We have a situation," Olivia said. "One that must be kept quiet and crushed immediately. If word of what happened here tonight gets around, insurrections like this could spread like wildfire."
Gregor watched her. He didn't trust this suddenly reasonable Olivia.
"The thing to do is retake the church," he said. "Immediately."
"But we can't, Gregor. The slow attrition of your serfs to these vigilantes over the past weeks plus their wholesale slaughter tonight leaves us short of manpower. Of the ones we have left, half are ready to bolt. We'd better hope these vigilantes are so happy to have their church back that they'll stay there tomorrow, because we now have barely enough serfs to guard us during the sunlit hours. If these vigilantes should decide to put together a hunting party..."
Gregor suppressed a shudder. "They won't. They're not the vigilantes."
"You so dearly wish. Then the blame would not be on you for allowing them to roam free for so long. In fact, as I remember, you were supposed to solve the vigilante problem before this coming sunrise."
Did she have to bring that up? He'd been searching since sundown.
"It seems we've had a slight, unanticipated distraction."
She waved her hand, brushing him off. "Unlike you, I am not going to sit on my hands. I've already contacted Franco."
The word bitch rose to Gregor's lips again but he bit it back. Pointless to call names now.
"I'm sure you gave him a scrupulously evenhanded account of the night's events."
She offered him a tight smile. "Certainly. I requested a detachment of ferals and a group of tough, seasoned serfs. The plan is simple: tomorrow night they will firebomb the church and let the parishioners run out into the arms of the ferals."
Gregor had to admit it was a good plan: simple, direct. It would work.
"And what did Franco say?"
Her smile faltered. "He said he'd take it under consideration."
Gregor's mind reeled in shock. Franco is hanging me out to dry! Is this what I get for my loyalty, my efforts?
"Is he telling us to clean up our own mess?"
Olivia's eyebrows shot up. "Our mess?"
"Yes, Olivia. You were here when it happened. No matter how you spin it to Franco, he's still going to see it as our mess."
Gregor didn't know if that was true, but it didn't hurt to make Olivia squirm, get her working with him instead of against him.
"The vigilantes were your problem long before I arrived."
"And I'm telling you these are not the same people."
"A very self-serving theory."
"Their methods are different. I've been gathering information since it happened. One of my cowboys—serfs—walked in on them in the church earlier today. They didn't kill him, just pushed him around and sent him on his way. If it had been the vigilantes they would have slit his throat and hung him from a pole just like all the others."
"Maybe they've changed tactics."
Gregor shook his head. "The church problem was started by a priest and a rabbi."
"Working together? Maybe this is more of a problem than I thought."
"It is. But these two are not the vigilantes. They're worse. They're visible, and they've provided a base of operations, a rallying point for the cattle. They're doing everything the vigilantes did not do."
"This will not get you off the hook, Gregor."
"Will you listen to me? I'm trying to tell you there are two groups to deal with now, separate and distinct. And if they should band together we will be in even bigger danger."
"As I said, Gregor: theory. A theory needs proof. If you're so convinced the vigilantes are not in that church, then prove it by finding them and bringing them in. I hope you succeed."
"I find that hard to believe."
"I'm quite serious. Your serfs are becoming afraid to move about in the day. They sense a foundering ship and, like the rats they are, they're ready to jump. We can't have that. We need them to hold the day. If these people take back the day, then we might lose the night as well."
That will never happen, Gregor thought. I will not allow it.
"I will bring in these vigilantes as promised. And when I do, I'll bleed them—just enough to weaken them. Then I'll give them to the cowboys to finish. I'll let them take as long as they like to exact their revenge. And then they'll see that we take care of our helpers. And the rest of the cattle will see that resistance is futile."
He had to succeed, had to prove that the vigilantes were not connected with the church rebels, otherwise the blame for the fall of the church would rest on his shoulders. His whole future depended on finding those damn vigilantes.
"Let's hope so," Olivia said. "Meanwhile, I won't be idle while waiting to hear from Franco. I'm going to have that church watched closely in case this priest or rabbi or anyone else from inside steps out." Her eyes blazed. "I want one of them."
"For what?" Gregor asked.
"For answers. For leverage. For.. . fun." Olivia smiled. "I can be very inventive."
- 5 -
JOE . . .
Father Joe gave the dirt on Zev's grave a final pat with his shovel, then turned away. He didn't know any of the Jewish prayers for the dead, so he'd made up a prayer of his own to send his old friend on his way.