Raphael had a fixation about punctuality, and didn’t bother to discuss it further. “Are you still having those dreams?”
“They seem to be becoming clearer by the day.”
“Any ideas?”
“No ideas, but I’ve made drawings.”
“You want to show them to me?”
Raphael leaned back in the saddle and reached in his right saddlebag. He pulled out a thick, spiral-bound sketchbook and handed it to Slide, who paged through it without removing his gloves. “Twins?”
Raphael nodded. “That’s how they appear. Twin figures, lit from within by a bright white light.”
“The Mosul worship twin deities.”
Raphael looked bleakly at Slide. At times, the demon tended to state the obvious. “Ignir and Aksura, I know that better than most.”
“Could they be what you’re drawing here?”
Raphael sighed. “I’m damned if I know. You told me to draw what came to me, and that’s what I did.”
“But you have no ideas what these figures might be beyond what you’ve put down here?”
“I was on the other side of the ocean and had no idea who or what Cordelia was when I started drawing her from my dreams.”
Slide handed back the drawings. “I hate blind instinct.”
Raphael sullenly replaced the pad in his saddlebag. “I’m sorry I can’t be more precise.”
“Don’t cop an attitude, boy.” Slide seemed about to say more, but both he and Raphael had spotted Argo Weaver threading his way through the moving columns of men. Slide contented himself with a fast warning. “And keep all this to yourself for the moment.”
A clear path opened in front of Argo to where Slide and Raphael were waiting, and he urged his horse forward. The last few times that Raphael had seen Argo, he had either been morose or drunk, and this day was no exception. He slouched in the saddle, and when he reined in beside Raphael and Slide, he looked pale and hung over. “Am I late?”
Raphael shrugged. “Not as late as the ladies.”
Argo grinned despite the obvious headache. “We learn to wait on the ladies.”
“You look terrible.”
Argo laughed. “And so would you, Major Vega, if you weren’t such a damned recluse.”
Raphael didn’t like to be chided about his self-imposed isolation. “I heard the racket coming from the mess.”
“Nervous officer-boys facing their own mortality.”
Slide, who had been staring silently, ignoring Raphael and Argo, suddenly gestured across the field. “The Lady Blakeney approaches.”
Raphael and Argo both turned and peered. At first they saw nothing. This was often how it was when Slide pointed something out. After some fifteen seconds, Raphael was able to pick out Cordelia from the milling khaki. She was mounted on her gray gelding, and wearing blue sunglasses. She seemed to be in no particular hurry, and Argo glanced at Raphael. “Those glasses, are they covering her bloodshot eyes, or is she just being stylish?”
Raphael might be a recluse, but he was not completely out of touch with his companions’ adventures. “Probably both. Cordelia’s been expanding her legend as hard as she can while we’ve been marching through Virginia.”
Cordelia paused to exchange smiling pleasantries with two young officers in a halted staff car. Argo eased himself in the saddle. “Her ladyship is making an art form of being fashionably late.”
Slide heard this, and snorted. Even at a distance Cordelia sensed his displeasure. Her head turned, and she looked directly at where the three of them were waiting. She bid the officers a fast adieu, and then kicked her horse into a brisk trot that quickly brought her to Raphael, Argo, and Slide.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Cordelia.”
She looked around for Jesamine. “So, for once, I’m not the last to arrive.”
Raphael sniffed. “No matter how hard you might have tried.”
Cordelia ignored him. “Any sign of Jesamine…” she smiled bitchily, “with or without her Indians?”
Raphael was tempted to point out
“They seem to be becoming clearer by the day.”
“Any ideas?”
“No ideas, but I’ve made drawings.”
“You want to show them to me?”
Raphael leaned back in the saddle and reached in his right saddlebag. He pulled out a thick, spiral-bound sketchbook and handed it to Slide, who paged through it without removing his gloves. “Twins?”
Raphael nodded. “That’s how they appear. Twin figures, lit from within by a bright white light.”
“The Mosul worship twin deities.”
Raphael looked bleakly at Slide. At times, the demon tended to state the obvious. “Ignir and Aksura, I know that better than most.”
“Could they be what you’re drawing here?”
Raphael sighed. “I’m damned if I know. You told me to draw what came to me, and that’s what I did.”
“But you have no ideas what these figures might be beyond what you’ve put down here?”
“I was on the other side of the ocean and had no idea who or what Cordelia was when I started drawing her from my dreams.”
Slide handed back the drawings. “I hate blind instinct.”
Raphael sullenly replaced the pad in his saddlebag. “I’m sorry I can’t be more precise.”
“Don’t cop an attitude, boy.” Slide seemed about to say more, but both he and Raphael had spotted Argo Weaver threading his way through the moving columns of men. Slide contented himself with a fast warning. “And keep all this to yourself for the moment.”
A clear path opened in front of Argo to where Slide and Raphael were waiting, and he urged his horse forward. The last few times that Raphael had seen Argo, he had either been morose or drunk, and this day was no exception. He slouched in the saddle, and when he reined in beside Raphael and Slide, he looked pale and hung over. “Am I late?”
Raphael shrugged. “Not as late as the ladies.”
Argo grinned despite the obvious headache. “We learn to wait on the ladies.”
“You look terrible.”
Argo laughed. “And so would you, Major Vega, if you weren’t such a damned recluse.”
Raphael didn’t like to be chided about his self-imposed isolation. “I heard the racket coming from the mess.”
“Nervous officer-boys facing their own mortality.”
Slide, who had been staring silently, ignoring Raphael and Argo, suddenly gestured across the field. “The Lady Blakeney approaches.”
Raphael and Argo both turned and peered. At first they saw nothing. This was often how it was when Slide pointed something out. After some fifteen seconds, Raphael was able to pick out Cordelia from the milling khaki. She was mounted on her gray gelding, and wearing blue sunglasses. She seemed to be in no particular hurry, and Argo glanced at Raphael. “Those glasses, are they covering her bloodshot eyes, or is she just being stylish?”
Raphael might be a recluse, but he was not completely out of touch with his companions’ adventures. “Probably both. Cordelia’s been expanding her legend as hard as she can while we’ve been marching through Virginia.”
Cordelia paused to exchange smiling pleasantries with two young officers in a halted staff car. Argo eased himself in the saddle. “Her ladyship is making an art form of being fashionably late.”
Slide heard this, and snorted. Even at a distance Cordelia sensed his displeasure. Her head turned, and she looked directly at where the three of them were waiting. She bid the officers a fast adieu, and then kicked her horse into a brisk trot that quickly brought her to Raphael, Argo, and Slide.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Cordelia.”
She looked around for Jesamine. “So, for once, I’m not the last to arrive.”
Raphael sniffed. “No matter how hard you might have tried.”
Cordelia ignored him. “Any sign of Jesamine…” she smiled bitchily, “with or without her Indians?”
Raphael was tempted to point out
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