Valentine found himself liking the Dispatcher, even if he could be categorized as a Quisling and had a touch of tentpole-revivalist singsong to his words. There was no "step into my office," and as far as he could tell no retinue of subordinates and bodyguards one might expect of a feudal lord. The man carried out his business in the center of his people; any interested eye or curious ear could hear the latest.
A boy brought a spittoon made from an old motorcycle helmet.
Price pointed to Valentine. "I'm looking for a ride to the Ohio for five. We need food for same. Myself, Bee, David here, his friend Ali, and another Grog, an emissary from the Omaha area named Ahn-Kha."
Ahn-Kha didn't claim any titles, though in Valentine's opinion he deserved many. Valentine had to hand it to Price for adding a lot of sizzle to what was probably a very unappetizing steak.
"What does the job pay?"
"Two gold justices. Fort Knox mint."
"Hard currency. Lovely. But it won't pay for the kind of numbers you'd need to get up there safely. There are towers along the Ohio. That could be a dangerous trip, and the Bulletproof have no friends north of Lexington. I'll have to see if I can find you a lead rider willing to hazard a one-worm excursion."
"You seem to have most of them here. That man Zak seems capable."
"He is. I'll speak to him after tomorrow's challenge. He's a bit distracted at the moment. His sister was the lead rider for the legworm that started all this."
"Where should we camp?" Price asked.
"Bed down where you like, but keep clear of the campfires around that farm across the fields to the east. That's the Wildcat camp."
"May we use your laundry, sir?" Valentine asked. Everything he owned was long overdue for more than just a streamside rinse.
"Of course, umm, David," the Dispatcher said. "Our soap is yours. Did you hear me, Hoffman?"
As they walked back to collect the others Valentine had one more question for Price.
"I didn't know you could eat legworms. Even in the Ozarks we couldn't stomach it."
"You have to butcher them fast. The meat can be ground into pig feed. But there are other ways. Didn't you ever have a Ribstrip?"
Valentine remembered the preprocessed barbecued meat from his days masquerading as a Coastal Marine and in Solon's shortlived TMCC. Placed in a hard roll with onions and pickle relish, it was a popular sandwich.
"You don't mean-"
"Yeah. You put enough barbecue sauce on you can hide the taste. Ribstrips are ground and pressed legworm."
* * * *
Human instinct is to join a crowd, and Valentine gave in to it the next morning. Everyone in the party save Duvalier came along to watch events.
At breakfast, mixing with the Bulletproofs, he'd learned a good deal about what to expect out of the contest. The challenge was fairly simple, a mixture of lacrosse and one-on-one basketball.
The two sides lined up at either end of an agreed field, roughly a thousand yards apart. At the Bulletproofs side, a line of short construction stakes with red blasting tape stood about ten yards out from the crowd, and the only one at the line was the Dispatcher.
Valentine decided there was probably an interesting story having to do with the rifle range of an experienced marksman behind it, but didn't press the issue. The two contestants each went to the center of the field, carrying only a legworm starting hook. The referee, usually either a medical man or a member of the clergy, would be in the center of the field with a basketball. He or she would toss it high enough in the air to dash out of the way before it came back into crook-swinging distance, and the contest would end when one contestant brought the basketball to his side.
"Why a basketball?" Valentine asked a Bulletproof rider who was also explaining the rules to his young son. Nothing was happening yet. The Dispatcher and some of his riders were meeting their opposite numbers in the Wildcats, presumably negotiating the recompense that would be paid.
"You know the answer, Firk. Tell him," the father suggested.
The boy shook his head and shrank against his father. Valentine turned away to save the boy embarrassment and looked out across the dew-spangled field, recently hayed. Opportunistic spiders had woven their webs on the stalks, creating tiny pieces of art like cut glass in the lingering summer sunshine. Some operational farms still existed in this part of Kentucky. Valentine wondered how they ran off grazing legworms.
"It's about the size of a worm egg," the father explained. "That, and basketballs are easy finds."
"No other rules?" Valentine asked.
"I see where you're going. You can't bring anything but the crook. You're stripped down to your skivvies to make sure. Not even shoes."