The Six Messiahs

by Mark Frost

  "Even the circus won't take me back now."

  Presto went to comfort Stern, and Innes toward Pepperman, to restrain him if necessary, as Jack took Doyle aside.

  "What is this man doing here?" asked Jack in a whisper.

  "I'm not altogether sure," said Doyle.

  "There, there, Major," said Innes. "Not as bad as all that, is it?"

  "Reduced to promoting weightlifters and bearded ladies in a traveling freak show," said Pepperman, burbling through his sobs, dropping slowly to his knees and pounding his fists on the floor.

  "Get rid of him, can't you?" asked Jack.

  "He's very upset," said Doyle.

  "I can see that," said Jack.

  Walks Alone moved to the collapsed giant and took him by the hand; he looked up at her like a six-year-old mourning a dead puppy. She made a low soothing, murmuring sound, stroked his neck a few times, and Pepperman's sobbing slowly subsided. As he relaxed, she placed a hand on his forehead and whispered a few quiet words in his ear. Pepperman's eyes closed, his body slumped over to one side, and he was asleep before his head hit the floor. Loud snuffling snores ratcheted out of him, dead to the world.

  "I've seen that done to snakes before," said Presto, in amazement, "but never to a human being."

  "He should sleep now for a long time," said Walks Alone.

  "What should we do with him?" said Innes.

  "Drag him out to the hall," said Jack.

  "The poor chap hasn't done anything wrong," said Doyle. "Let's put him on the bed."

  It required all six of them to lift and carry Pepperman into the bedroom. Doyle threw a blanket on him, closed the door, and returned to the sitting room. Jack and Presto brought the others quickly up-to-date on the events at the synagogue; the men in black, their attempt to authenticate the book, the murder of Rabbi Brachman.

  Never would have happened with the old Jack, Doyle couldn't help thinking: He would have anticipated their intentions, somehow prevented it.

  "The same as the men on the Elbe, down to the mark on the left arm," said Jack. "It's a brand, burned into their skin, like cattle."

  "The smell of burning flesh in that office tonight," said Walks Alone.

  "Could have been some sort of initiation," said Presto.

  "Let's attempt a summing up, then," said Doyle, trying to impose order.

  Jack laid out two pieces of paper. "Before he died, Brachman concealed the information we asked for in his desk lamp, which Innes succeeded in finding."

  "Nothing, really," said Innes modestly.

  "This program lists the names of every clergyman who attended the Parliament of Religions. Brachman circled one name, a charismatic evangelist, an American: Reverend A. Glorious Day."

  "A. Glorious Day?" said Doyle, a lump forming in his throat. " 'A,' as in Alexander."

  "The preacher we saw in Edison's photos," said Jack.

  "Who is this man?" asked Walks Alone.

  "My brother," said Jack bitterly.

  Doyle and Walks Alone exchanged a look: This is the source of his sickness. She seemed to understand.

  "So we know Alexander was here in Chicago and we know the name he's using," said Doyle. "Can we establish any connection to the theft of the holy books?"

  "The second piece Brachman left is this note, written moments before he died," said Jack, handing the note to Doyle.

  Doyle read it aloud. " 'Mr. Sparks: I am able to recall meeting Reverend Day only once during the congress. Many scholarly seminars were held during the week of the Parliament; I presented a paper at one of these meetings, on the significance of sacred texts in the establishment of world religions. The Reverend Day came up to me afterwards, fervently interested, and asked a number of questions about these sacred books... .' The note ends here, abruptly."

  "A sizable ink blot; he held his pen in place on the paper," said Jack.

  "Because he heard someone moving outside his room," said Presto.

  "So Alexander's interest in the books was born here, at the Parliament of Religions, while passing himself off as a preacher," said Doyle.

  Jack nodded. "The first theft occurred six months later."

  "The Upanishads, taken from the temple in India," said Presto.

  "Then a month afterwards, the Vulgate Bible from Oxford," said Jack.

  "And the Tikkunei, in Chicago, only weeks ago," said Stern.

  "A trail that I'm confident would mirror the travels of this German collector," said Jack.

  "Who, I think we can say with some confidence, is in the employ of your brother; during those first months after the Parliament he made contact with the Hanseatic League and commissioned the thefts," said Doyle.

  "Exactly," said Jack.

  "How would he have known about the League?" asked Stern.

  "During his years in England, Alexander established knowledge of and contact with criminal organizations all over the world," said Doyle. "To conclude the League was among them is far from difficult."

  "But why?" asked Innes. "Why does your brother want these books?"

  Silence.

  "That's a very good question, Innes," said Doyle.

  "Thank you, Arthur."

  "We can't answer that yet," said Jack, sitting apart from them.

  "He hasn't attempted to ransom them, we know that much," said Presto.

  "Perhaps he's searching them for... mystical information," said Stern.

  "Hidden secrets," said Doyle. "Like the Kabbalah supposedly contains."

  "Like that bit about how to build a golem," said Innes.

  "Possibly," said Doyle.

  "Stay away from that sort of speculation," said Jack sharply.

  Silence again.

  "Do we know where your brother is now?" asked Walks Alone.

  "We know a telegraph line ran out of their office," said Presto. "Presumably that was their method of communication."

  "Any way to trace the line?" said Doyle.

  "Not now," said Jack.

  "They would have used some sort of code," said Doyle. "And by now whatever link existed between them has surely been destroyed."

  "The tower," said Walks Alone, with a flash of clarity. "That's where he is."

  The thought startled everyone in the room, but no one quite grasped her point yet.

  "The man in the dream, the one who looks like you," said Walks Alone to Jack. "Your brother; he was in Chicago; he saw the Water Tower, just as your father did before he made that drawing," she said to Stern.

  "Good God," said Stern. "Maybe they met each other here; my father and Alexander; they could have, couldn't they?"

  "Possibly. Go on," said Doyle.

  "What if your brother is building this tower?" Walks Alone asked. "Patterned in some way on the one he saw here."

  "Schwarzkirk, the Black Church," said Presto. "It falls together."

  "Somewhere out west," said Walks Alone. "In the desert we have seen in the dream."

  "Maybe that's where my father's gone," said Stern, excitement rising.

  "You're suggesting this black tower you've all seen is an actual place, not just a symbol from the dream," said Doyle.

  "Yes," said Walks Alone.

  "Why couldn't it be?" asked Presto, excited by the idea.

  "I don't know; I suppose it could," Doyle admitted.

  "And if it is, how hard could it be to find a building of such size and singular design?" asked Presto.

  "Not hard at all," said Doyle. "We'll wire rock quarries and masonries in every western city."

  "He'd need a huge number of skilled workers," said Presto.

  "And an enormous pile of money," said Stern.

  "Supply houses, construction outfitters ..." added Presto.

  "And newspapers; there'd be stories about such an unusual project," said Doyle. "Innes, make a list; we'll go to the telegraph office and start sending inquiries."

  Innes took a sheet of stationery from the desk and began writing.

  Doyle glanced over at Jack,
sitting alone, staring at the floor, the only one not participating. "Can any of you remember more details from the dream that might tell us where the tower is?"

  Jack did not acknowledge the question.

  "Mary, you seem to have had the most revealed to you," said Presto.

  Walks Alone nodded, closed her eyes, and directed her mind back into the world of the dream.

  "Six people gather in a room under the ground," she said slowly.

  "The temple; yes, I think I've seen that, too," said Presto.

  "Each time the Black Crow Man rises from the earth, into the sky, out of the fire."

  "Like the phoenix," said Doyle.

  "Phoenix," said Stern.

  His eyes met Doyle's as the thought struck them simultaneously.

  "Phoenix, Arizona," said Doyle. "Send the first telegrams there—my God. I've just had a thought."

  Doyle rummaged quickly through his notebook to find his sketch of the design they had found on the wall of Rupert Selig's cabin and the brand on the arms of the thieves. "We've been assuming all along that this design is an insignia of this league of thieves."

  "What of it?" asked Presto.

  "Perhaps we've been looking at it the wrong way," said Doyle. "Perhaps that's not what it is at all."

  "What else could it be?" asked Innes.

  Doyle turned the drawing on its side and pointed to it. "What does this look like now? These broken lines?"

  "Dots and dashes?" said Presto.

  "Morse code," said Innes.

  "Exactly," said Doyle, laying it down flat, taking Innes's pencil. "Does anyone know what this translates into?"

  Jack had moved across the room without anyone noticing. He stood directly over Doyle, looking down at the paper.

  "The letter 'R' and a series of numbers," said Jack. "Thirteen and eleven on the middle line. Thirteen and eighteen on the last."

  "It's not a date, then," said Doyle.

  "Perhaps a geographical location, longitude and latitude," said Innes.

  Jack shook his head. "Middle of the Atlantic Ocean."

  "Maybe a biblical reference," said Stern. "Chapter and verse."

  "Innes, there's a Bible in the drawer beside my bed," said Doyle, as Innes bolted for the door. "Don't wake the Major."

  "How do we know which book of the Bible?" asked Presto, as Innes returned with a Gideon Bible and handed it to Doyle.

  "One that begins with the letter 'R,' I suppose," said Doyle.

  "Only three begin with 'R,' " said Innes from memory. "Ruth, Romans, and the Revelation."

  "Ruth has only four chapters," said Doyle, quickly flipping to that section of the book. "And Romans only fourteen verses."

  "What is the Revelation?" asked Walks Alone. "The last book," said Stern. "A series of visions experienced by the Apostle John."

  "A prophecy," said Jack, "of the Apocalypse." "Here it is," said Doyle, finding the page. "Revelation, thirteen, eleven: 'Then I saw another Beast coming up out of the earth and he had two horns and spoke like a dragon.'

  "And thirteen, eighteen: 'Here is wisdom: Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the Beast, for it is the number of a man: His number is 666.' "

  chapter 12

  THE FIRST CHECKPOINT WAS FIVE MILES OUT FROM THE center of the town. Late afternoon by the time the Players' wagons reached it, desert all around, flat and desolate, sun hammering down like a blacksmith. Eileen was grateful for the extra canteens Jacob had filled before they left Skull Canyon; Kanazuchi went through two himself, silent as before, his movements spare and economical. His wound stayed clean, no festering; the strange man seemed to be using the energy he conserved to consciously will himself to heal and damned if it wasn't working; his pallor gone, breathing steady and strong.

  At the moment, Eileen felt more concern for Jacob, driving their wagon all day in the blinding heat; she spelled him at the reins for a stretch until the swelter drove her back under the cover of the canvas. She knew the poor man had to be exhausted just from the tossing and jolting the rough road gave their buckboard—his face scarlet, sweat soaking his shirt—but he never complained, cheerful and buoyant as ever, making it impossible for her to give in to her rising sense of apprehension.

  Damn Bendigo anyway for marching them out across a desert in the heat of the day; their first performance wasn't until tomorrow night, they shouldn't have attempted this crossing until the sun went down; the road was well marked and the wagons all equipped with lanterns. But heaven forbid they should show up late for a free meal; Rymer might lose a nickel.

  Winding down from the foothills of the Juniper Mountains and into the sands of the eastern Mojave, their caravan had just passed through an eerie formation of spiraling vertical pillars, etched out of limestone and silt, rising from the flats like a forest of rock. The wagons rounded a corner in the densest part of the stand and came to a crude gate fashioned from large cut logs, the first sign they'd seen of human hands in hours. A small hut, built from the same wood, apparently empty, stood to the side.

  A sharp whistle blew.

  Out of nowhere, a dozen heavily armed men—people; Eileen realized half of them were women—appeared on every side and above them on top of the pillars, rifles cocked and trained on the wagons. They wore light cotton pants, heavy steel-tipped boots, and identical collarless white tunics; each one equipped with a belt of bullets slung around their waists.

  Something else odd about them: They were all smiling.

  A tall woman, the only one without a rifle—she wore twin-holstered sidearms and a whistle around her neck—stepped forward to the gate and spoke to Rymer in the lead wagon.

  "Welcome to The New City, friend," said the woman cheerfully in a loud, clear voice. "What is your business with us today, please?"

  "We are the Penultimate Players," said Bendigo, with a grand sweep of his Tyrolean hat. "Theatrical vagabonds. Come to entertain, amuse, and, one hopes, humbly, to please."

  The woman smiled at him. "One moment, please."

  She opened and consulted a list in a leather-bound folder she carried and apparently found a corresponding entry.

  "And your name, sir?"

  "I am Bendigo Rymer, director of our happy band; entirely at your service, madam."

  "How many in your party, Mr. Rymer?"

  "We are seventeen, uh, nineteen of us, in all."

  "Thank you, sir; you are expected," she said, closing the book. "We will have a look in your wagons, and you can go right on in."

  "By all means," said Rymer. "We have nothing to hide."

  The woman gave a signal, and the guards on the ground moved swiftly forward, throwing open the wagon flaps, while the ones stationed on the pillars held their rifles pointed and ready.

  "Good afternoon," said Jacob to the handsome young black guard who took hold of the bridle on his mules.

  "Good afternoon, sir," said the man, well-spoken, smiling broadly.

  "You have a tremendous amount of heat out here in your desert this afternoon," said Jacob, mopping his brow.

  "Yes, sir," said the guard, still smiling, never taking his eyes off' him.

  The canvas yanked away from the rear of their buckboard: Kanazuchi had pulled himself into a sitting position, swords hidden under the skirt of his coat. Startled, Eileen turned to look at the face of the guard; a slight young woman, no more than twenty, pony-tailed and freckle-faced, but she moved with the sharp assurance of a well-trained soldier. Her eyes darted methodically around the empty wagon—what is she looking for? Eileen wondered—and settled on Kanazuchi for a moment. He nodded and smiled, betraying no uneasiness. The girl smiled in return, a gaptoothed grin that suggested no undue curiosity.

  "Hello," said Eileen.

  "Have a glorious day," said the girl, and dropped the canvas cover.

  The guards on the ground stepped back and signaled to the woman at the gate; she leaned on a stone counterweight and the log barrier rose up smoothly, clearing their path.

  "Plea
se proceed, Mr. Rymer," she said to Rymer. "Do not attempt to leave the road. When you reach The New City, someone will meet you with further instructions."

  "We are most grateful, madam," said Rymer.

  With sweat covering his body, Bendigo congratulated himself on the unflappable coolness of his performance—authority figures outside the theater paralyzed him, particularly when heavily armed—but the woman hadn't noticed even the slightest uneasiness. What an actor he was! He urged his mules through the gate. The other wagons quickly followed.

  "Have a glorious day!" said the woman at the gate, smiling and waving at each passing wagon.

  "Thank you," said Jacob, returning her wave. "You, too!"

  Eileen peeked out of the back as the log gate closed behind them; the guards on the pillars watched them roll away, rifles still in hand, while the others disappeared back to their hiding places.

  "What do you make of that?" asked Eileen.

  "I detect the fine hand of religious fanaticism," said Jacob from the front seat.

  As he joined her to look through the flap, Eileen noticed a profound change in Kanazuchi; he looked revitalized by their encounter at the gate—focused, senses keenly attuned, his movements regaining their catlike precision and alertness. Although she felt no threat to herself, for the first time she felt a reason to fear him: He seemed more animal than man.

  "Strange, weren't they?" she asked.

  "Serious people," said Kanazuchi.

  "Seriously happy."

  "No," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Not happy."

  From the checkpoint forward, the road improved dramatically; hard packed dirt graded and leveled on top of the sand, nearly eliminating the rocking of the wagons. Across the dry flatlands to the rear, a distant rhythmic pounding faintly reached their ears. Eileen shielded her eyes and peered out in that direction but could see nothing on the heat-distorted horizon.

  "What is that?"

  "They are putting up fences," said Kanazuchi. "Barbed wire."

  "Who is?"

  "The people in white."

  "You can see that from here?"

  He didn't respond; Kanazuchi discarded Jacob's round hat, removed the long black coat, and began to strip off the motley patchwork beard.

  They were getting close.