“My name is Schuld, Jack Schuld,” the hunter said, extending his hand.
Pete turned onto his side and clasped it. The grip was, as he suspected, powerful enough to crush his own, while sufficiently controlled to show this without exerting considerable force. Releasing it, Pete leaned back and contemplated stellar geometries. A meteor smeared white fire across the sky. When the stars threw down their spears, he remembered, And water’d heaven with their tears … What came next? He could not recall.
“Tibor is on a dangerous Pilg,” Schuld said, “and he has recently expressed a desire to convert to the religion wherein you would take your ministry.”
“You are indeed thorough,” Pete observed.
“Yes, I’d say so. You Christians aren’t doing so well these days,” he continued, “and even a single convert comes to mean a lot in a little place like Charlottesville, Utah. Right?”
“I can’t deny it,” Pete said.
“So your superior has sent you to take care of the catechumen, to see that he comes to no harm while finishing his job for the competition.”
“I do want to find him and protect him,” Pete said.
“And the subject of his search? Have you any curiosity concerning the one he has been commissioned to portray?”
“Oh, I sometimes wonder whether the man is still really living,” Pete said.
“Man?” Schuld said. “You can still call him that?”
“Well, unlike our competitors, I do not really see him as fitted for any larger role.”
“I was not talking theology,” Schuld said. “I was simply noting your reference to humanity when speaking of one who has forfeited all right to any human considerations. Adolph Eichmann was an altar boy by comparison. We are speaking of the beast who destroyed most of the world.”
“I cannot deny the act, but neither can I judge it. How can I know his motives, his intent?”
“Look, around you. Anytime. Anywhere. Their effects are manifest in every phase of existence now. He is, to put it bluntly and concisely, an inhuman monster.”
Pete nodded.
“Maybe,” he said. “If he truly understood the nature and quality of his actions, then I suppose he was something unspeakable at the time.”
“Try Carleton Lufteufel. It can be spoken. There is not a living creature on Earth today that has not known pain because of him. There is nothing to which he does not owe a sea of misery, a continent of despair. He has been marked from the day he made his decision.”
“I had heard that hunters were mercenaries, that they do not act out of conviction.”
“You anticipate me, Pete. I have not named him as my quarry.”
Pete chuckled. So did Schuld.
“But they are fortunate times, when desire and circumstance are conjoined,” Schuld finally said.
“Then why do you seek Tibor?” Pete asked. “I do not quite understand the connection.”
“The beast is wary,” the other replied, “but I doubt his suspicions would extend to a phocomelus.”
“I begin to see.”
“Yes. I will lead him to him. Tibor can have his likeness. I will have his flesh.”
Pete shuddered. The situation had twisted and darkened, but might, for all that, be turning to his advantage.
“Are you planning to make a quick, clean thing of it?” he asked.
“No,” Schuld replied. “I am charged to make certain that it is just the opposite. I am, you see, employed by a worldwide secret police organization which has been searching for Lufteufel for years—for just this purpose.”
“I understand,” Pete said. “I can almost wish that I did not know this. Almost…”
“I am telling you this because it will make it easier for me if one of you knows. As for Tibor, he has been a member of the Servants of Wrath, and its symbols may still have some hold over him. You, on the other hand, represent the opposing camp. Do you see what I mean?”
“You mean, will I cooperate?”
“Yes. Will you?”
“I do not think myself capable of stopping a person such as you.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I know.” Damn it! I wish I could talk to Abernathy right now, he thought. But there is no way to get off the call. But he would not give me a real answer. I have to decide this one for myself. Tibor must not be permitted to meet Lufteufel. There ought to be a way. I will have time to find a way—and then let Schuld do the job for me. There is nothing else for me to say now, but, “All right, Jack. I’ll cooperate.”
“Good,” Schuld replied. “I knew that you would.” He felt that powerful hand clasp his shoulder for an instant. In that same instant he felt hemmed in by the stone and the stars.
Fifteen
Into the world, the day, spilling: here: the queries of birds, tentative, then self-assured: here: dew like breath on glass, retreating, gone: here: bands of color that flee the east, fading, fading, blue: here: like a wax doll, half melted: Tibor, soft in the collapsed cart; cock-eared hound by his side, watching the world come around.
A yawn then, a blinking, slow memory. Tibor bunched and relaxed his shoulder muscles. Isometrics. Stretching. Bunching. Relaxing.
“Good morning, Toby. Another day. This one will tell it, I guess. You are a good dog. Damn good. Best dog I ever knew. You can get down now. Hunt up breakfast if you know how. It’s the only way you’ll get any, I’m afraid.”
Toby jumped down, relieved himself beside a tree, circled the cart, sniffed the ground. Tibor activated the extensor and proceeded with his own simple ablutions.
I suppose I should try the bullhorn again, now, he thought. But I am afraid to. I really am. It is my last hope. If it fails me, nothing else remains.
He hesitated a long while. He searched the sky, the trees.
The blue jay? Is that what I am looking for? he wondered. I don’t know what I am looking for. I guess that I am not truly awake yet. There goes Toby into the brush. I wonder if I will ever see him again? I may be dead by the time he gets back. No telling what—Stop it! Okay. A cup of coffee would be nice. It would be so nice. A last cup… All right! I’ll try the horn. He raised it, turned it on, and called out: “Hallo! This is Tibor McMasters. I have had an accident. My cart is stuck. I am caught here. If anyone can hear me, I need help. Can you hear me? Can you help me? Is anyone there?”
Nothing. He waited for perhaps fifteen minutes and tried again. Again nothing.
Three more attempts. An hour drawn and quartered. Toby returned, discussed something with the cow, lay down in the shade.
Faintly… Was that a shout? Or a tricking of the ear? A thing compounded of hope, fear, background sounds? The cry of an animal?
He began to perspire, straining to hear through the natural noises, listening for it to come again. Toby whined.
Turning, Tibor saw that the dog had risen to its feet and was facing back along the trail, ears pointed, body tense.
He switched on the horn and raised it once again. “Hallo! Hallo! Over here! Up here! I am trapped! Caught in a collapsed cart! This is Tibor McMasters! I have had an accident! Can you hear me?”
“Yes!” The word echoed among the hills. “We are coming!”
Tibor began to laugh. His eyes were moist. He chuckled. At that moment, he thought he glimpsed the blue jay darting away among the trees. But he could not be certain.
“We are going to finish this Pilg yet, Toby,” he said. “We are going to make it, I think.”
It was another ten minutes before Pete Sands and Jack Schuld rounded the bend of the trail and came into view. Toby laid his ears flat and growled, backing up against the cart.
“It’s all right, Toby,” Tibor said. “I know one of them. He is here to do the Christian thing. Be a handy Samaritan and look over my shoulder afterward. And I need him. The price is right, whatever.”
“Tibor!” Pete called out. “Are you hurt?”
“No, it’s just the cart,” he answered. “Threw a wheel.”