“A happy birthday to you, Captain!”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll get one on the house for every twenty years. Now, I know you sailors can hide it. How many do you have?”
“Six hundred and two.”
“Ooh!” Margot laughed and clapped. “That’s rich! You like a drink, do you? Business is dead so I think we’ll have one with you. Be right back.”
She and Fergus returned with a banquet for three. Captain said the cider was the finest he’d had in years and that that was coming from a connoisseur. The bread’s crust made a pleasant crackle as Fergus cut, but he didn’t squash the loaf, and soon had soft pats of butter sinking into its steaming slices. They shared bowls of the Cauldron’s signature stew, like hot comfort from the cold, deep with nutrition and the flavor of the second day. And then, the chicken - a new world interpretation of an old world favorite - served cool, picnic style, and tender with a spicy, crunchy fry.
Fergus and Margot enjoyed Captain’s renewed enthusiasm after he tried each of those things set out before him. They talked for hours. When the conversation turned away from food, Margot said, “All by yourself on your birthday, that’s sad. Why didn’t you bring some friends?”
“I’m not so by myself, am I? I’m with a fine couple.” He raised his drink. “To new friends.”
The three clanked flagons, said, “Cheers!” and drank to one another’s company.
Then Captain declared, “I’m stuffed to the gills!” He leaned back, pulled out his pipe, a bag of leaves and a box of lucifers.
Margot said, “What’s this?” He struck a match as an answer. She cried, “Mercy!” at the burst of flame.
Fergus smacked the table. “That’s that fire-in-a-stick I was telling you about!”
It was Captain’s turn to enjoy reactions. He lit the pipe, waved out the match and puffed. Then he pushed the rest of the box over to them. “Please accept these as a gift, from one business to another. Just be careful not to burn your business down.”
Fergus was pleased. “We’ll make it a trade for the meal!”
Captain smiled. “Fair deal.” He liked Antioch. He could get anything he wanted for a box of matches. Handing them out and bartering with them were also good ways to introduce them around town and boost sales at the candle shop.
Margot was delighted, until she smelled the pipe. “Ooh, they’re brilliant! How kind of you… Oh… Ooh… that’s got a bit of a funk to it, doesn’t it?” She’d grown accustomed to the sour milk. Now this - the sailors were a stinky crew.
Captain closed his eyes and breathed. “Mmm, that part of a thing that makes it unseemly against a more common notion of beauty, its funk, as you say, is often in what we’ll find perfection, to be true.”
Margot said, “It’s that grand, is it?”
“Oh, aye.”
Fergus said, “It smells like a devil.”
Captain said, “This’ll make more money than lucifers, I’ll wager.” Then he offered the pipe with a devilish smile. “Would either of you care for a try?”
Fergus was cautious but Margot was game. She said, “Alright, I’ll give it a go!”
Fergus said, “Careful, now!” But, once she had a hold of it, Margot put the bit in her mouth without qualm and sucked. Captain hadn’t been fast enough to give her any instructions.
Her eyes clenched and a violent cough blasted out of her. “WAAAGGGHH! WHHUUFFFF, hoof, hoof! AAAaahhh!” She grimaced with her tongue out and held the evil thing away at arm’s length, waving her other hand in front of her face. “Och! Tekitawee! Tekitawee!”
Fergus grabbed it and said, “Pepper! Are you ok?”
Captain snickered. “I’d no chance to explain! A chance to explain!”
Fergus gave him the chance to explain, along with an iron glare.
Captain said, “The first puff’s… a little rough,” then snickered at his own explanation. Margot fanned herself, eyes watering, sure it was one of those coughs that would last forever.
***
Captain’s chemistry was a boon for Bing’s candle shop at a time when only the strongest desire could get people to leave their homes. Those profits were nothing next to the rise in value of milk. Davies was squeezing gold out of the teats those days.
And he rode the white horse, Ares. Each was a powerful picture of his kind, though the milkman’s nose bent a little to the side. Hooves pounded moist turf as they rounded Antioch’s western reach, heading north past the thorny expanse John and Daniel had traveled - puh-puh-fwump, puh-puh-fwump, puh-puh-fwump, puh-puh fwump.
Coming around to the northwest, they approached the hundred yards of wall so far completed, a stone and mortar section eight feet thick and eighteen feet high. Biggs sat atop a scaffold with his Springstien BOSS, keeping watch for the hard working masons below. Andalynn sat with him, having brought lunch. They all waved when the horse and rider passed, just like they did every day.
Davies and Ares took a turn into the city at the north, rather than dodging through the apple orchard, and the hooves hit cobblestone - Ca-ca-clack, Ca-ca-clack, Ca-ca-clack, Ca-ca-clack. The clatter was so piercing that the milkman was nearly deaf for those few seconds he reined Ares in to keep from trampling Ditch in an alley. He couldn’t hear the bell ringing - Ka-Kang, Kang.
Ditch flattened himself against the wall and shouted, “Hey, watch out! Every day with you! Where’s your guard?! You’re s’posed to have somebody with you, bucknard!” Ka-Kang, Kang.
Davies couldn’t hear any of that that either. He held up one hand and said, “Out of the way, Mitch! Official church business!” Then he charged through the space Ditch had given him - Ca-ca-clack, Ca-ca-clack, Ca-ca-clack, Ca-ca-clack. The little sailor shook his fist as they left him behind.
They shot out of town and tore into the turf again to the northeast. Davies roared a challenge to the world, “Heya! Ares!” and the horse built to a thrilling speed. On a good day, in season, they would have been galloping through a vast, gold and green meadow that spread from there almost all the way to the road south. That day, the field was a sullen adversary, made of mire and dampening air, but still couldn’t thwart their spirit.
It wasn’t until Davies saw a figure off in the foggy distance that he brought Ares to a halt. “Whoa, boy. Whoa, there.” Ares didn’t want to stop. He wanted to run! He stamped and pitched to make that known. Davies clucked at him and patted his neck while staring at the misty shape. It was too big to be a man. They trotted toward it.
Closing in, the figure revealed itself to be a horse. Davies recognized him. It was that red roan, Rascal. Davies laughed. “Thrown another thief, have you?” He rode up alongside and took the reins without trouble. “Let’s get you home.” Right away he noticed some hesitancy and a limp in Rascal’s step. Davies stopped for a closer look and found a long, festering gash on one flank that continued partly through the saddle. He inhaled with a hiss. “That’s a nasty cut. Come on then. Michael will fix you up.” He dismounted and walked the horses in. The mud plated his boots.
They were slow to cross the wet field and through the lonely, narrow streets before coming to the graveyard. Michael was inside by then and it was silent but Davies was far too saucy to be afraid of bauran. When he finally arrived at the church, he dropped both sets of reins and tiptoed toward Michael’s bell, grinning.
The bell hung six feet off the ground on sturdy posts with a rope to swing the clapper. Massive, gray and the depth of a man’s chest, it was unadorned but well-made and had the voice of God if you were standing next to it. Michael planned on hanging it higher to save his ears.
It was the largest of five bells. The smaller ones were stationed around the city for signaling Michael in case of trouble. They had been made by and represented the effort of the entire community. Sailors and citizens alike donated inspiration, time and material to found them. The bells were the heart of a new Antioch.
Davies crept up with an eye on Michael’s door and gave the clapper one good pull - KWABONG! The horses
flinched.
Moments later, Michael stomped out with an angry frown. “How many times do I have to tell you people that’s not what the bell’s for! Ah, Davies, of course.” Then he saw Rascal. “What’s this? Is Samuel here? Joseph?”
Davies said, “No, just the horse. He’s hurt. Come have a look.”
Michael removed his gauntlet and went around. The heat of an infection glowed from the wound. It was as long as Michael’s arm and two inches deep. Running his fingers through the cleft in the hard leather saddle, Michael didn’t need Jacob to tell him it could’ve been done by a caligan. Abraham had planned to go through Tabor on his way to Salem.
Michael moved in front of Rascal and said, “Hup! Hup!” He swatted the loose chain on his forearm as part of a command and threw his gauntlet on the ground. “Lay down! Lay down!” Rascal went to his knees and rolled onto his side. Michael was a little surprised. “I’ve never seen him so obedient.” He knelt, put his hand on the horse’s head and opened the way.
Davies said, “I wish John had been that careful with me.” His boys had told him who’d broken his nose but he preferred to say that John had dropped him. “It’s trouble this one’s back, isn’t it?”
Michael stayed on his knee, thinking. “It’s not a good sign, of course, but they’re trained to come home on their own. Rascal wasn’t trained to go home to Tabor, so, I can’t be sure what’s happened. I’ll admit it has me worried. That was a serious injury.”
Davies didn’t have anything useful to say, so he said, “I’m worried too. Sam’s my favorite out of the lot of you.”
Michael smiled and stood up. “Thank you for bringing Rascal to me. Do you want to take him? Finish that trade for the cow?” Davies, believing the church needed at least one horse in its stable, had given Ares back to Michael the day John and Daniel left.
“No. That deal’s done.” He collected an empty milk can from the church doorstep and then went over to pat the white stallion. He was quite fond of Ares.
“Thank you then, for everything. With two horses in the stable now I’ll need more help for sure. Find a boy for me, won’t you? I’m sure this has been hard on you.”
Davies took on a skeptical air. “I don’t know… he’d have to be a brave one to come out here so often. Not to mention, a mighty rider to work this great brute. Someone like that could take a long while to find. Mmm, I doubt there’s such a hearty soul in the whole city.” Michael chuckled at Davies’ bragging, which ended with, “Ha, ha, yes.”
“Fergus was right. Nothing can cork your sauce. If you won’t get me a stable boy, at least stop ringing my bell.”
The milkman grinned, ran over and struck the bell with his can - KWANG! It woke Rascal and startled Ares. “See you tomorrow, brother!” He waved goodbye as he walked home.
Michael laughed, shook his head and waved back. Then he watched Rascal get up. The wound’s crust and pus sloughed away, disconnected from a canyonous scar. Michael’s worry returned to the surface. He hoped Samuel and Joseph were safe.
23 Death and Taxes
Captain and Jacob met during the incinerator’s construction. They became good friends during the founding of the bells. Demand for their expertise had them meeting frequently to do science, as Jacob had become fond of saying. One afternoon, after having done science all morning, they sat against the wall of the church, pooling their thoughts.
Captain held the smoke in his lungs. “I like… burning things and… explosions. And plants. I like plants.”
Jacob nodded. “I like food. And women.”
Captain exhaled. “Uncommonly common claims to make, Jake. Everybody likes them.”
Jacob giggled, said, “I know,” and inhaled from the pipe.
“Oh, ok then. I liiike… cider.”
“Fwah, that’s a good one. I like Rachel.”
“Who’s that?”
“A woman.”
“You’ve already said women!” They laughed at each other, hunching over and shaking their heads. Captain slapped his knee and pressed on, “I’ll take money, then. Money’s like the score in a contest, except you buy things with it.” He paused, seemingly on the precipice of a great discovery. “And the contest… is life.”
Jacob offered him the pipe. “I like smoking.” They hissed and snorted like little boys.
Michael, having heard them through the wall, came around the corner, frowning. Wearing his long handles under the tabard again, looking like he was about to tell them that Armageddon had no place for sitting or laughing or pipe-smoking, he said, “Forgive me for intruding. I’m curious about how my sleeve is coming along.” He managed to mean the other as well.
Jacob blew smoke and nodded. “Today.” Then he pointed at Captain. “He’s distracting me.”
Captain said, “Back in your jammies, Michael?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Jammies?”
A snort of laughter slipped out of Captain. “Jam jams.”
“I see. Well, when you can, Jacob, thank you.”
The blacksmith got up with a laugh, said, “Of course, sir,” and went back to work.
Michael looked down at Captain. “What about that thing you’ve been working on? Jacob’s told me about it, your exploder.”
Captain snickered at the term. “The design’s in its infancy but growing like a weed.”
“Ah, very good. I’ve been thinking we could use something like that at the wall.” Michael linked his hands behind his back. “As soon as possible.” He stood there, expecting Captain to hop to it, like Jacob had. Captain reclined, making it clear that wasn’t going to happen. Michael frowned at him again, said, “Carry on, then,” and walked away.
Captain waited for him to be gone. Then he strolled over to the forge, where Jacob was using a special pair of pliers to twist and pinch around a rip in Michael’s mail. Captain tapped himself on the nose and watched. “Jake, who pays you to do what you do?”
Jacob smiled. “I don’t get paid for this. It’s an honor.” The smith’s nimble wrists and fingers were the only sober parts of him. They moved in tight patterns over the damage and made slow, consistent progress. Captain imagined that if time sped up the torn chain would pull together like a zipper.
Jacob rambled while he worked. “My family’s always been smiths for the church. Right now, I’m the one. It’s me. I can walk into any of these… shops, hey, and they’ll say, there’s Jacob, the armorer.” He nodded with pride. “You must feel something of the same. Sailors are the cow’s teats around town… and you’re a big cheese!” His face clenched up as though he’d pinched himself with the pliers and an infectious giggle squealed out of him.
Captain couldn’t help joining in and had to lean against a post to recover. “Weee! A Big Cheese! Aye, indeed, we’re all well-loved. Does that get you anything for free?”
“Fwah, no! Well, sometimes.” They shared another laugh and Jacob went on, “My brothers and my father have the town smithy for making money. They’ll take care of me while I’m the one. When one of them is ready to serve the church, I’ll take care of him. I don’t mind selling… hammers and… nails.”
“So, nothing’s changed for you. The Circle’s gone, you know. It’s only Michael in there now.”
Jacob prickled some. “Oh, ho, only Michael in there is it? Let me tell you something, hey. If it came to it, your life or your love’s, you’d offer Michael everything you own. And do you know he wouldn’t take it? He wouldn’t even ask for thanks. While there’s a man like that in it, I’ll serve the church.”
Captain looked as though he’d smelled a fart. “Oh, aye? That’s… ok, fine, but I’m a bit bothered by what they’ve done, myself.” He pointed at himself. “I’m mad. You should be too. So should everyone be! They’ve duped us! They’ve held part of us hostage in their little clubhouse, hiding it from us, like, like…”
The stream of frustration that poured out of him then wasn’t something Captain often shared. “They think they can just pop back in every few decade
s and make you good as new and that that makes everything alright. But nobody understands that, do they? Nobody knows what’s happened to you when it happens and they want the truth, or they think you’re a warlock. So, you have to run away and start all over again in some new place with new people who don’t know your face and don’t have a torch or a pitchfork. Better just to stay away from them all, because it’s easier than the other… easier than living… You’d think you could say no, wouldn’t you? But you can’t. You can’t say no to a god. And he never lifts you up more than a head taller than the crowd… and that’s only so you can do for him better.”
Jacob didn’t know what he’d just heard. “Is it like that?” It certainly hadn’t been about Michael or the church. But, seeing his friend so put out, Jacob offered the best advice he could. “Maybe I could be mad about… something. What good would it do? Michael’s doing all he can. That’s what I’ll do too.” He nodded some encouragement at Captain and went back to mending the sleeve.
Jacob started talking about something else but Captain’s thoughts went adrift behind a pout. Who does Michael think he is anyway? The Circle, hmph. A circle of children playing ring around the secret. Secret notes in secret languages for secret civilizations across the ocean… “Kafferway’s Llama!”
“Hey?”
“Oh… sorry, Jake. Go on, about… that,” Captain submerged into contemplation again. He’d been marooned. And it confounded him why Ezekiel had bothered to do it. Zeke, hmph.
He supposed the reasons didn’t matter. He’d doubted from the day they’d set sail that Ezekiel would find enough people after the Grace even to man another ship. He’s marooned himself as well, for an eternity in the wasteland. The thought settled on him. Michael didn’t have a candle of Ezekiel’s power. Eternity, for Captain, meant death.
If Antioch somehow survived the army of bauran fermenting in the south, he guessed he might have another sixty or seventy years of natural life, at most. He was finally among the people with whom he would age and die. Captain smiled. He’d grown fond of them and their simple ways already. Dying had started to seem like something that was supposed to happen.
Jacob had been rambling on. “…because he’s never had a penny, despite being the deacon’s son. It’d be nice if he could go a day without ripping his damn sleeve, but I’ve nothing really to complain about. Other than the end of the world, hey?” Jacob smiled too.