“I’m guessing those last two clusters are more attracted to Prudence’s side?”
“Yeah,” he says. “At least that’s true for those who realize that there are factions. Most of the local temples just focus on what seems important to their people and skip the other stuff. Sometimes you’ll have two in the same town who can’t agree on a bloody thing, but both call themselves Cyrists.”
“So, like most religions? Okay then, let’s get back to the big-picture questions. Why build the Cyrists? Why go to all this trouble in the first place? If Saul just likes killing people, if all he’s after is death on a massive scale, wouldn’t he simply replicate this toxin and release it?”
A blue sedan drives past, and Kiernan waits a second and then pulls out onto the road behind it. After we’ve settled in about a quarter mile behind the car, he answers my question. “I don’t know, but when I was down in New Orleans with Simon? When he was drunk and running his mouth about Six Bridges? He said Saul started all of this because he has a wager with this guy Campbell at his club.”
“What? A wager? You mean he’s doing all of this because he made a bet?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the sum of it.”
“That’s crazy.”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “And this surprises you? You saw him in the chapel, same as I did.”
I just sit there for a few minutes, pondering the fact that one-quarter of my genetic makeup is seriously screwed up. “And you think Prudence inherited his crazy?”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far, although the jury is still out on Simon, since he seems to think the whole wager thing is funny. Pru’s has come on gradually, and it’s pretty clear, at least to me, that it’s due to too many jumps and too many memories that clash. It’s like she sometimes can’t tell what’s real anymore. Pru—I think she sees the Culling more like collateral damage. Saul sees it as his bloody masterpiece.”
“Did Prudence send my mom to Italy?”
“What?”
I realize I’ve never mentioned that theory to him and explain my reasoning.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But she’s never spoken against her sister. I don’t think your mom is in any danger, at least not from Pru.”
That’s pretty much what I thought, but it’s a relief to hear it confirmed by someone who has shared more than a few dozen words with her. That thought, however, reminds me exactly how much he’s been sharing with Prudence, something that bothers me on many different levels. His reasons for getting into Pru’s good graces make sense on the surface, but I can’t help but feel that there’s something he’s not telling me.
The truck is cooling off now that we’re moving, and the breeze feels nice on my face. We pass a cemetery named Mars Hill, and after that the woods we’re driving through begin to thin out a bit, with a few farms scattered here and there.
About a mile later, we approach an intersection. The road ahead is lined with cars and tractors and even a few horses, some of which are attached to carriages. The blue car pulls onto the shoulder, and Kiernan parks just behind. Delia and Grant, both seated in the back, step out and cross over to the left side of the road, where a group of maybe fifty are gathered.
“Do you want to get out or wait here and follow them someplace less crowded?” Kiernan asks.
“Out,” I say. “I want to see FDR. But let’s keep our distance from Delia’s group.” There are too many people around to risk talking to them here, but I want another chance to observe them before we approach. Also, the temperature seems to have gone up by several degrees since we left the cabin, and the truck is stifling hot—it has to be cooler out there than it is in here.
Kiernan starts to get out, but I grab his sleeve. “How much do you think Grant knows about Saul and Six Bridges? I mean, he looked unconscious when Saul drove past the stable point, but . . .”
“No idea. When I asked Martha, she said he kept to himself and was kind of Saul’s shadow. Which makes sense if Saul was his trainer. Katherine doesn’t remember anything about him?”
“Only that he was probably first-year CHRONOS. She didn’t have a lot of interaction with trainees.”
“Well,” Kiernan says, “the only way it matters is if he was in on Six Bridges. And I really doubt that, if Saul saw fit to knock him out.”
Abel, who has been waiting in the driver’s seat, gets out of his car just as I’m about to open my door, so we wait a minute longer, watching as he strolls over to a group on the right side of the intersection. He’s a large man, tall and muscular. I hadn’t realized exactly how big he was when I saw him in Athens, but I think he may have been trying to make himself less conspicuous. No one is paying attention now, and he walks with a more confident gait. He leans back against one of the trees and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering a smoke to the two men standing next to him. One of them takes him up on it, and they start a conversation.
I look at Abel under the trees and then at the opposite side of the street, where the summer sun is blazing down on the spectators. “The pictures I’ve seen always show the whites getting the better accommodations in the segregated South. And yet Abel gets the shade?”
“Athens is to the north. The folks on the white side of the street will see FDR first.”
It will be a few seconds’ advantage at most, so personally, I’d rather be in the group with the shade. And I’d also rather leave the sweater in the truck, but since it helps to hide the gun I’m carrying, I guess I’ll have to roast.
Given the physical road separating the two groups, the racial divide was immediately apparent. But as we get closer, I see there’s also something of a gender divide. A few younger couples are together, but otherwise, the men are off a few yards to the north, with the women closer to the fence. Kids are scattered all over, younger ones near where the women are talking and older ones chasing each other around or climbing on the fence that keeps the cows from wandering onto the highway. And it actually is a highway—according to the sign, which looks pretty new, it’s U.S. Highway 129. It’s nothing like the six- or eight-lane roads around DC that I’m used to, but it’s wider and in better condition than the narrow road we drove in on.
Kiernan and I stand by the fence, near the other couples. Grant is with the men by the road. He looks out of place, and I remember one of the first things Katherine told me about CHRONOS historians—they all loved their jobs because they were naturally good at them, better than they’d be at anything else. Maybe Grant would have reached that point eventually, but right now, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Delia, on the other hand, seems totally at ease. When I first saw her in Athens, I couldn’t help but think that her looks would be a liability in her line of work. Long dark hair, flawless skin, hourglass figure—she tends to draw most eyes toward her, male or female, and I think that would make it tough to blend in with a crowd. She walks toward the cluster of women, stopping near a young mother with a fussy toddler propped on her hip and a girl, my age or maybe a bit younger, who holds a small infant against her shoulder. The toddler is wriggling and whining nonstop, clearly intent on getting his mom’s attention.
Delia crouches down a bit, her red skirt brushing against the grass. Once she’s at the same level as the grumpy boy, she makes a silly face, crossing her eyes and using her fingers to stretch out her lips, which are outlined in a red as vivid as the skirt. The kid looks suspicious at first, but he stops screaming and tries to make the face back at her. Delia counters with an even sillier face, and he giggles, reaching out to tug at her scarf.
The sudden change in temperament finally causes the mom to look at the kid, and she exchanges a smile with Delia. A few seconds later, Delia’s chatting with the women like they’re old friends. She hands the kid the scarf from around her neck, and he seems content, at least for the moment, to wave it back and forth. I’m not close enough to catch what they’re saying, but the women seem to be telling her about their children, because the toddler’s mom points at a group of kids a few feet away from where Kiernan and I are standing.