The Reverend hobbled around the room, lighting a series of lanterns on the walls from the one he carried. He moved to Jacob, stood over and studied him a moment; when Jacob didn't move, the Reverend nudged him with the toe of a boot.
"I'm awake," said Jacob.
"Really? I would have settled for alive; awake is something of a bonus. I was afraid you might miss all the fun."
Jacob kept silent.
"I know how extraordinarily conversant you are with your Torah, Rabbi; how are you with Scripture?"
"Forgive me, I—"
"The Book of Revelation, for example."
Jacob's heart skipped a beat; he tried to adjust his position to jar it back into rhythm, and in doing so for the first time since the man entered, he caught a glimpse of the Reverend's face.
Good God. He looks worse than I feel. Like an exhumed corpse.
Caked blood encrusted his face, which had gone whiter than ivory. Blood vessels rimming his forehead undulated as if they had come to life and broken free of their moorings. His eyes looked as red and savage as raw meat.
"Let me refresh your memory," said the Reverend. " 'The blood of the innocent shall rain down into the wound that hath opened in the earth and the Beast shall ascend, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon. And he shall make war against them and overcome them and kill them.' Ring any bells for you, does it, Rabbi?"
Jacob shook his head.
"Oh, it will," said Reverend Day, craning his neck to look at the grills overhead. "When the bells start to ring again and the Holy Work begins."
Dante saw a shadow creep across the wall outside the door; he stood up, holding his knives, ready to pounce. The door pushed open; Frederick. Dante relaxed, then saw the terrible look on Frederick's face.
"Is he in there?" asked Frederick, pointing toward the maze.
Dante nodded.
"Then we'll never find him." He looked furious, more agitated than Dante had ever seen him.
"Do you have the book?" asked Dante.
"No. Here is our situation, Mr. Scruggs: There is no more time and the Reverend has defaulted on what is owed to me, an enormous sum, and there is no money"—Frederick's face contorted in a spasm of rage—"anywhere in the town that I can find. Giving our lives without recompense is not part of my arrangement. Do you understand? No further service is required here; I am taking my leave. If you want to live, I suggest you do the same."
Dante looked toward the hall, thought for a moment, then shook his head. He liked Frederick well enough, but he liked the Reverend even more.
"Suit yourself," said Frederick, and he vanished up the stairs.
Dante walked to the center of the room: What should he do? Ring the bell, have the Reverend come all the way back just to tell him Frederick didn't bring the book? That would only make him mad. Maybe he should go look for him. But the Reverend had said not to follow him into the hallway.
Dante stood paralyzed with indecision, until he again heard footsteps on the stairs.
As they neared the front of the church and saw the black-shirted guards rolling something on wheels into place, Jack directed them behind the cover of a stonecutter's hut. Presto and Lionel tried to make sense of the movement around the cathedral.
"What we're looking for is under the tower," said Jack.
"Right," said Presto.
Looking to her right about a hundred yards away, Walks Alone caught sight of a man in a suit climbing up out of the earth and sprinting off into the darkness.
"Over there," she whispered.
She led them to the spot from where she'd seen the man emerge; two steel flaps hinged back, stairs descending.
"This is it," said Jack.
Walks Alone led the way down the stairs.
"According to the dream, there are supposed to be six of them in total, whoever or whatever they're supposed to be, correct?" asked Innes.
Innes had hardly stopped talking since the moment he'd been shot; he's warding off shock, thought Doyle. He had led Innes and Eileen to shelter at the north edge of the shanties and was watching Jack and the others through his spyglass as they cautiously approached the church.
"Agreed," said Doyle.
"So Jack, Presto, and Mary what's her name, there's three of them," said Innes.
"Jacob and Kanazuchi," said Eileen, lying between them, rifle in hand.
"That's five," said Doyle.
"So my question is, if how many of them there are is so all-fired important—and it seems to be—"
"Who's number six?" said Doyle. "Not an uninteresting question."
He moved the glass right to follow their friends, as Walks
Alone led them to a flat, featureless area where they stopped and studied something in the dirt.
"What are they doing?" whispered Doyle.
A moment later, he watched them disappear into the ground.
"What the devil?"
"What is it?" asked Eileen.
"Are you up to moving on?" Doyle asked Innes.
"Right; lead away."
"Eileen?"
"I don't fancy hanging back here by my lonesome, thank you."
They helped Innes to his feet and crept closer.
Dante withdrew into the blackness of the hall behind him as the door swung open, grateful the Reverend had given him ; permission to kill whoever came through that door. He gripped the knives tightly, flush with heat, poised to rush forward and go to work.
He stopped dead when he saw the Indian woman.
The shock delayed his attack long enough for the three men to step into the room behind her. All carrying guns; one with a small suitcase. His eye jumped to the chair where he'd been sitting.
Damn, he'd left his case sitting on the floor.
The lead man, a tall, thin one who vaguely reminded him of Reverend Day, went to the case, flipped it open, showed its contents to the others, then tossed it aside. They talked in whispering voices—Dante heard the word "Chicago"—then j the tall man pointed them toward the hall where Dante was hiding.
Dante quickly felt his way along the wall to the first corner. He took a quiet breath, reached out to feel his way, and headed deep into the darkness.
Presto opened Edison's suitcase and took out the flash-a-light. Jack pulled from a pocket in his vest a handful of small square patches and the compass. Narrowing its aperture to a pinpoint, Jack turned on the flash-a-light, shined it briefly on the patches, took a reading off the compass, turned off the light, and led them to the mouth of the hallway.
"Do you remember this part of the dream?" he asked, voice low.
"Tunnels," said Walks Alone. "Twisted passages."
"Something like a maze," said Presto.
"Right," said Jack, attaching one of the patches to the wall at eye level; its back was coated with adhesive and it glowed a faint luminescent green. "We'll head north by northwest, towards the church."
Jack opened the suitcase and took out the night-vision glasses, handing the flash-a-light and the compass to Presto and Lionel. Jack slipped on the goggles and peered ahead into the corridor.
"Keep the light handy. Stay close," said Jack.
Wide enough to accommodate two people abreast, the hall gaped before them like a black throat. The other three followed Jack into the corridor, and its vast darkness instantly swallowed what little light issued from the room behind. Ten cautious steps on, they came to the first corner. Jack examined each of the three open passages.