It was evident to Goring that John meant to use this wide and long lake for his stand. It would give him plenty of room for maneuvering. He didn't think it would be wise to mention this at this time.
John began cursing out Clemens as a lying, traitorous, bloodthirsty, rapacious monster. He was a hellbent criminal, and John was his innocent victim.
Goring wasn't fooled. Having known both Clemens and John, he was sure that John was the liar, the traitor, and the rapacious. He wondered how those who'd been in on the hijacking had managed to keep the truth from those who joined the crew afterward.
Goring said, "Your Majesty, it's been a very long, arduous, and dangerous voyage. Your casualty rate must have been high. How many of your original crew are left?"
John narrowed his eyes. "That's a strange question. Why do you ask it?"
Goring shrugged and said, "It's not important. It's just that I was curious. There are so many savage peoples on The River, and I'm sure that many have tried to take the boat away from you. After all, it..."
"Is a treasure worth far more than its weight in diamonds?" John said, smiling. "Yes. It is. By God's backside, I could tell you tales of the mighty battles we've had to keep the Rex from falling into enemy hands. The truth is that, of the fifty who left Parolando, only two are still on the boat. Myself and Augustus Strubewell."
Which might mean, Goring thought, that John had managed that no loosemouth would tell new recruits the truth. A push in the dark of a rainstorm, a splash no one could hear. A quarrel provoked by John or Strubewell and the discharge of the crewman for incompetence or insubordination. There were many ways to kill and many excuses for throwing a man or woman off the boat. And accident and warfare and desertion would take care of the others.
Now Goring realized another reason why Burton might have kept silent about his identity. If John recognized Goring, he'd know that Goring would know that he was lying. And he just might cause an "accident" to Goring before the boat got to Aglejo. Thus, no bad report about John would get to La Viro. Perhaps, Goring thought, he was being too suspicious. He didn't really think so.
24
THEY HAD LEFT THE GRAND SALON AND GONE TO THE ROOM AT the bow end of the texas. This was semicircular and walled with shatterproof glass. The elevator shaft that went through the room above and to the pilothouse formed part of the rear wall. Here there were chairs and tables, several sofas, and a small bar. As in most places on the boat, music was piped in from a central station. But it could be turned off. After some conversation about the rewinding, which would take two months at least, Goring steered the talk toward the forthcoming battle. He wanted to say, "What good will it do to fight? What purpose could it serve? Why must all these people on your boat and Clemens' risk death and mutilation and terrible pain just because of something that happened many decades ago?
"I think that you and Clemens are both mad. Why don't you two call this off? After all, Clemens has his own boat now. What could he do with two boats? Which he isn't going to have, anyway, because one boat is going to be destroyed, and I suspect it'll be yours, Your Majesty. Knowing the size and potentiality of Clemens' boat, there's little doubt."
What he said was, "Perhaps it won't be necessary to fight Clemens. After all these years, could he still thirst for revenge? Do you want vengeance because he tried to kill you? Can't you forgive him? The passage of time often cools hot passions and allows cool reason to reign. Perhaps..."
John shrugged broad heavy shoulders and raised his hands, palms upward.
"Believe me, Brother Fenikso, I would thank God if Clemens had regained his mind and become a man of peace. I am not warlike. All I want is fellowship for everyone. I would lift my hand against none if none would lift their hand against me."
"I am indeed happy to hear that," Goring said. "And I know that La Viro will be very happy to act as intermediary so that any disputes between you two may be settled amicably. La Viro, all of us here, are eager to avoid bloodshed and to establish good will, love, if possible, between you and Clemens."
John frowned.
"I doubt that that demon-possessed bloody-minded creature will agree even to a meeting... unless it is to kill me."
"We can only do our best to arrange a meeting."
"What troubles me, what makes me think that Clemens will always hate me, is that his wife, his ex-wife rather, was accidentally killed during the battle for the boat. Though they'd parted, he still loved her. And he will hold me responsible for her death."
"But this happened before the resurrections stopped," Goring said. "She would have been translated elsewhere."
"That doesn't matter. He'll probably never see her again, so she is as good as dead to him. Anyway, she was dead to him before she died. As you may know, she was in love with that big-nosed Frenchman, de Bergerac."
John laughed loudly.
"The Frenchman was one of the raiders. I kicked him in the back of the head when I escaped from the chopper. It was also de Bergerac who ran his epee through the thigh of Captain Gwalchgwynn. He's the only man who's ever defeated Gwalchgwynn in swordplay. Gwalchgwynn claims that he was distracted, otherwise de Bergerac never would have gotten through his guard. Gwalchgwynn would not like it if Clemens and I made peace. He too thirsts for revenge."
Hermann wondered if Gwalchgwynn—Burton—did indeed feel this way, but when he looked around, the Englishman was gone.
At that moment, two crewmen entered carrying small kegs of watered alcohol. Goring recognized one of the men. Was this boat loaded with old acquaintances?
He was good-looking, of medium height, and with a slim but wiry physique. His short hair was almost sandy, and his eyes were hazel. His name was James McParlan, and he'd * entered Parolando the day after Hermann's arrival. Hermann had talked to him about the Church of the Second Chance and found him polite but resistant.
What strengthened Hermann's memory of him was that McParlan had been the Pinkerton detective who'd infiltrated and eventually destroyed the Molly Maguires in the early 1870s. The Molly Maguires was a secret terrorist organization of Irish coal_ miners in the Pennsylvania counties of Schuylkill, Carbon, Columbia, and Luzerne. Goring, a twentieth-century German, would probably never have heard of it if he hadn't been an ardent student of the Sherlock Holmes stories. He'd read that the fictional Scowrers, Vermissa, and McMurdo of A. Conan Doyle's Holmes novel, The Valley of Fear, were based, respectively, on the real Molly Maguires, the Pennsylvania coal counties, and McParlan. That had led him to read Alan Pinkerton's book on McParlan's exploits, The Molly Maguires.
In October 1873 McParlan, under the name of James McKenna, succeeded in insinuating himself into the secret society. The young detective was in grave danger many times, but he slipped through safely by his courage, aggressiveness, and quick wits. After three years in this perilous disguise, he exposed the inner workings of the Maguires and the identities of its members. The chief terrorists were hanged; the power of the Molly Maguires was broken. And the mine owners continued for many decades to treat the miners as if they were serfs.
McParlan, going by Hermann on the way out, glanced at him. His face was expressionless. Yet Hermann believed that McParlan had recognized him. The eyes had flicked away too quickly. Moreover, the fellow was a trained detective, and he'd once told Goring that he never forgot a face.
Was it the discipline of a marine on duty which had prevented McParlan from reintroducing himself? Or was it for another reason?
Burton entered and joined the party. After a few minutes he went into the toilet by the elevator. Hermann excused himself and followed him in. Burton was at the far end of the urinal, and no one was near him. Hermann came up to his side and, while urinating, spoke in German in a low voice.