believe she’s run off, they’ll try this as a place for her to run to.
It’s been four weeks, Ignatius says, and they haven’t come back yet.
Could be they’re tryin other places first. Could be they know that if she’s here she’ll be easy to get. But they’ll be back.
It makes no difference. She won’t be here.
Where’s she gonna be?
With you.
What Ignatius wants is forMoses to take the Vestal to someone he knows, someone who will know what to do with her, a high priest who oversees the largest citadel still operating in the country
– a haven for the devout, and the devout are populous in these times.
I ain’t an escort by trade, Moses says. You don’t got enough to endow my bounty for that kind of work.
I’m not offering to pay you, Ignatius says.
Then what?
I’m asking for your service.
A favour?
Not a favour. A duty. An obligation has befallen you. These are the things a man of honour does, and I know you to be a man of honour.
You got it wrong. A man of honour I ain’t.
A man with a code then. They are much the same thing when there’s no one around to say which creed is honourable and which isn’t.
It occurs to Mosesthat just two days before he was seeking some purpose, some direction to their travel – a simple reason to be going one place as another. In these times, when all places
and people seem distinguished only by the most ephemeral and muzzy of boundaries, when the peaceful walking dead begin to look like the salvationed and the huddled living the damned – then
does a man seek for something beyondpills and shelter and woman comfort, then does he seek for objective, for vocation.
But my brother, Moses says, holding up the last weak barrier to what he already sees as his given mission.
Your brother isn’t taking her, Ignatius says. You are. You have the capacity to protect her – even from your own blood.
Moses felt himself steeped in blood, all kinds of blood, the family kindand otherwise.
Where is this citadel? he asks.
And the monk Ignatius responds:
Colorado.
That night, lodged in the stable crib, Moses sees his brother Abraham lying back on his straw bed, scraping at his teeth with a wood splinter. Abraham hums a tune Moses
doesn’t recognize, and Moses wonders how much of his brother’s music is just the creeping harmonic wastage of his own poxymind.
We’re leavin tomorrow, Moses says.
That’s fine by me, Abraham says. I had just about enough of the silent life.
You seemed to get along just fine.
I been on my best behaviour.
You done all right.
Anyway, I don’t much care for the witchy shit they got goin on. I ain’t in all my life seen a slug pass up a meal. That girl’s cursed.
Cursed? Moses says. The friar thinksshe’s blessed.
These religious types think everything’s blessed. Dump a bucket of shit on their head, and they’ll thank God for it not being two buckets. But I’ll tell you something.
Abraham points the toothpick at his brother to make his point.
I’ll tell you this, he goes on. Whatever hell those walking dead came out of, I ain’t interested in gettin cozy with the girl they’re afraidof.
You got a vision, Abe. There’s no denyin it. The way you see the world – those eyes of yours ought to be enshrined somewhere important.
Abraham casts a suspicious gaze at his brother, as if unsure of the true thrust of the remark – but he grins proudly despite himself.
But it don’t make any difference, Moses says. Because tomorrow when we leave, we’re takin her with us.
Who?
The Vestal.
What in the hell would we do that for? If you want to steal some holy bride, why not go for one of the other ones? Maybe one that knows how to cook.
We ain’t stealin her.
That Ignatius ain’t gonna be very happy with you stealing his cannongirl.
I said we ain’t stealing her. The friar asked us to take her somewhere, and we’re gonna take her.
Where?
North.
How far north?
Colorado Springs.
Colorado? Shit. Is it gonna be
It’s been four weeks, Ignatius says, and they haven’t come back yet.
Could be they’re tryin other places first. Could be they know that if she’s here she’ll be easy to get. But they’ll be back.
It makes no difference. She won’t be here.
Where’s she gonna be?
With you.
What Ignatius wants is forMoses to take the Vestal to someone he knows, someone who will know what to do with her, a high priest who oversees the largest citadel still operating in the country
– a haven for the devout, and the devout are populous in these times.
I ain’t an escort by trade, Moses says. You don’t got enough to endow my bounty for that kind of work.
I’m not offering to pay you, Ignatius says.
Then what?
I’m asking for your service.
A favour?
Not a favour. A duty. An obligation has befallen you. These are the things a man of honour does, and I know you to be a man of honour.
You got it wrong. A man of honour I ain’t.
A man with a code then. They are much the same thing when there’s no one around to say which creed is honourable and which isn’t.
It occurs to Mosesthat just two days before he was seeking some purpose, some direction to their travel – a simple reason to be going one place as another. In these times, when all places
and people seem distinguished only by the most ephemeral and muzzy of boundaries, when the peaceful walking dead begin to look like the salvationed and the huddled living the damned – then
does a man seek for something beyondpills and shelter and woman comfort, then does he seek for objective, for vocation.
But my brother, Moses says, holding up the last weak barrier to what he already sees as his given mission.
Your brother isn’t taking her, Ignatius says. You are. You have the capacity to protect her – even from your own blood.
Moses felt himself steeped in blood, all kinds of blood, the family kindand otherwise.
Where is this citadel? he asks.
And the monk Ignatius responds:
Colorado.
That night, lodged in the stable crib, Moses sees his brother Abraham lying back on his straw bed, scraping at his teeth with a wood splinter. Abraham hums a tune Moses
doesn’t recognize, and Moses wonders how much of his brother’s music is just the creeping harmonic wastage of his own poxymind.
We’re leavin tomorrow, Moses says.
That’s fine by me, Abraham says. I had just about enough of the silent life.
You seemed to get along just fine.
I been on my best behaviour.
You done all right.
Anyway, I don’t much care for the witchy shit they got goin on. I ain’t in all my life seen a slug pass up a meal. That girl’s cursed.
Cursed? Moses says. The friar thinksshe’s blessed.
These religious types think everything’s blessed. Dump a bucket of shit on their head, and they’ll thank God for it not being two buckets. But I’ll tell you something.
Abraham points the toothpick at his brother to make his point.
I’ll tell you this, he goes on. Whatever hell those walking dead came out of, I ain’t interested in gettin cozy with the girl they’re afraidof.
You got a vision, Abe. There’s no denyin it. The way you see the world – those eyes of yours ought to be enshrined somewhere important.
Abraham casts a suspicious gaze at his brother, as if unsure of the true thrust of the remark – but he grins proudly despite himself.
But it don’t make any difference, Moses says. Because tomorrow when we leave, we’re takin her with us.
Who?
The Vestal.
What in the hell would we do that for? If you want to steal some holy bride, why not go for one of the other ones? Maybe one that knows how to cook.
We ain’t stealin her.
That Ignatius ain’t gonna be very happy with you stealing his cannongirl.
I said we ain’t stealing her. The friar asked us to take her somewhere, and we’re gonna take her.
Where?
North.
How far north?
Colorado Springs.
Colorado? Shit. Is it gonna be
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