He squirmed, uncomfortable, but did not reply.
“Michael, if Lillith Van Zandt wanted to horn in on the opal meerschaum trade, why another wholesaler? Why not deal direct?”
He squirmed again. “Well, we couldn’t, really. And anyway, like I said, I didn’t know—”
“Didn’t know what? Didn’t know something that, by the sound of it, at least half the children on this planet know? Oh, please, Michael. That’s not like you at all.”
He bridled. “Now look here, Asach, I’ve been completely frank with you. I don’t know—”
“Frank, yes, but completely? I think not. There’s more. Isn’t there Michael? More? Something more that Lillith Van Zandt wants to know.”
“Well, the source, of course. She wants the source.”
“Why? Why would she bother? Sounds like it gets trotted right up to her front door. Well, your front door, anyway.”
“I don’t know.” He was really whinging now. Asach hated it when he whinged. There wasn’t much to Michael but charm, and when that evaporated, what remained got under the skin. “She just said I had to. Had to deal with Orcutt. Had to follow Orcutt to the source.”
“The source of what?”
“Well, I just thought the meerschaum. Why not? I mean, there’s a market for it. I just thought she wanted to corner the market.”
“Oh good grief, Michael. Whatever for? Can you honestly see your mother bothering to corner the market in etched pipes and fireplace screens?”
But, again, just: “I don’t know.”
Exasperated, Zia interrupted. “Well, maybe Collie Orcutt knows.”
Michael looked blank. Asach looked interested. Nejme looked up. Mena froze. Lena began to speak, but Mena waved her down.
“Who?”
“Collie Orcutt? The previous owner? Went bust, oh, eight, ten years ago? TCM took his paper?”
“His paper?”
“His paper. His claim.”
Nejme filled in: “The mining rights to his land.”
“Oh, more than that, in his case. He was way, way in. Had a vision? Had a vision, of a united Church, here in Bonneville? But thought he was beyond the tithe. Way out there, in The Barrens, where they never go. Thought wrong. Borrowed from the wrong people, at the wrong time, at the wrong rates. True Church Militant got it all. Well, most of it. Mining, minerals, water: left him with a chunk of barrens and a solar well. Took in haulpaks and chewed up a couple of mountains. Made a fortune. That’s about when I was hired, clerking in the Bonneville warehouses. Then they dumped it all. Some consortium bought the claim. It’s still filed in Saint George and Pitchfork River. TCM still uses the warehouses, though. I’ve never met the current owners.”
“Yes,” said Lena, glaring at the ceiling, “Collie Orcutt got the wrong end of the Stick, as we say around here.”
“Not too loud, I hope,” said Ollie, dismally.
The night cold fell upon the courtyard. The House was quiet. All but Mena and Asach slept. A low fire burned in a ceramic stove, pulled close to the table, radiating warmth. Mena spoke softly.
“No, they won’t harm you. But you have to be prepared. That’s all Himmist country, out there, in The Barrens. They keep to themselves.”
“But you worship Him, yes?” Asach looked thoughtfully on the Eye above the doorway.
“Yes, of course. He sees us everywhere.”
Asach waited, patiently. Mena shook her head. “But you must understand. We look on you as an ally, a guest. We truly believe, as it is said: ‘In His Gaze, we are all pilgrims, we are all Seers, and all islands are One.’ But the backlanders?” She shook her head again. “They won’t harm you, but they won’t help you.”
“Why not?”
Mena sat a moment, finding the right words. “It’s hard for them, you know? They may help. But more likely, they will see you as a threat. They see everyone as a threat, and who is to blame them?” She shook her head sadly. “It is the history of our church: congregations smashed, driven into exile—first from New Scotland to New Ireland, then from New Ireland to Maxroy’s Purchase, then from the Purchase to Saint George, then out of Saint George to Bonneville—until there was nowhere left to go. Except The Barrens.”
“But you are still here in Bonneville.”
Mena nodded. “Yes. It’s the MP converts who fare the worst. Most of them were Mormons, you see. Sixer LDS, not True Church. People like us—direct descendents of the New Scotland Church of Him—” she waved her hand to indicate the household— “who were never Mormon to begin with, we’re all right. As long as we pay the tithe. But the former Sixers?” She shrugged her shoulders. “They are considered the descendants of heretics. Shunned. Cast out into The Barrens.”
“How is anyone to know?”
“You mean the Church?” she countered, aghast, then lowered her voice. “The True Church? Not know who an immigrant is descended from? Of course they know. That was one of the tenets of the schism. The primacy of reconstructing the genealogy of everyone, all the way back to Adam and Eve. The Sixers didn’t care so much about that any more. Didn’t think it was possible, anyway.”
Asach smiled. “I take your point. So, The Barrens Himmists won’t help anyone—because?”
Mena sighed. “Well, they cite scripture, of course. But really? I think it’s sort of tit for tat. Payback for exile.”
“Scripture?”
“ ‘May we turn our Gaze from those who refuse to See, praying fervently that they may not remain blind.’ They are pacifists, and open to evangelizing, but they feel no obligation to help nonbelievers. The most extreme fundamentalists won’t even look at a non-believer. If you head out there, you’re on your own.”
Asach nodded. “What else do I really need to know?”
Mena walked her through the catechism. Fundamentalist Himmists believed, really believed, that the Coal Sack, with its bright red sun called Murchison’s Eye, was actually the face of God. That once, during the Secession Wars, the eye had opened, awaking Howard Grote Littlemead, founder of the religion. That His Face represented the fourth arm of the Cross, which had nothing to do with crucifixion, but represented a quadrine, or quadripartite, God: Father, Son, Holy Spirit, and His Face, or Eye, with which he saw all. That, appalled by the sins of those who waged war in His presence, refusing to believe, he closed his Eye on them once and for all. That Himmists on New Utah could not really see that face directly in the heavens, being far from New Scotland where the phenomenon was most visible. Himmists in The Barrens felt closer to “His Earthly Eye” and Gathered once every score years to visit it. About that, Mena would say no more. She handed Asach a tract, entitled “The Catechism of the Great Weep,” and said only, “Read it. It’s what every child should know.”
Asach thanked her, pocketed the tract, looked tenderly at this sensible, helpful woman. “Mena?”
“Yes?”
“Do you believe? I mean truly believe? Do you believe in the Face of God, with Howard Grote Littlemead as His prophet?”
Mena smiled, and took Asach’s hand in her own, patting it gently. “Littlemead? I don’t know. I think Littlemead was one small man, in the vastness of space, who despaired of his lot on earth and looked for God in the heavenly lights. Who among us has not? Who among us has not, in the secret vaults of the heart, prayed for salvation in the dark of night?”
“Indeed,” said Asach. “Indeed. Don’t we all. Mena?”
“Yes?”
“What’s a Seer?”
She shook her head. “Read the Catechism, first.”