Book Of Tongues (Hexslinger 1)

His fine looks and indubitable skill aside, Pvt. Pargeter lives most securely in a state of nature, which is, as we know, also a state of sin. Yet does the prospect of damnation really hold any terror for one so utterly unrepentant? He seems almost soulless, and happy to be so, like an animal; guiltless in his actions, and thus (perhaps) blameless of their consequences.

Much later still that same night, Rook woke suddenly, so stiff in the trousers it made him sore — thinking on Private Chess Pargeter’s green eyes, his freckled shoulders, that smooth dip where his belly met his belt. And thought: Ah, so my sin — my liking for the Other, in any form — has come upon me, even here. . . .

He lay there quite some time with both eyes open, searching the sky for stars, and finding none.

“Oh, Pargeter’s a harlot in trousers, to be sure,” the Lieutenant said, dismissively. “The very worst sort of Sodom-apple. Rumour has it his dam’s some ’Frisco lily-belle — and she certainly must know her business, too, for that son of hers has managed to sully more than half my men, distributing his favours without qualm. That a thing like that should seem so outright made for war, meanwhile. . . .”

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He trailed off, shaking his head, before concluding: “Well, it’s a conundrum I simply cannot fathom. But there’s no sentiment in the creature, thank God, sparing us all the usual fluttery Grecian nonsense inherent in such attachments. So while we have need, we’ll gladly pay the fee to use him . . . as is traditional, no doubt, in his family.”

“No doubt,” Rook said.

“Private,” he spoke up, around noon-time, as Chess passed him by, toting a pair of looted shotguns, “might I speak with you a moment, perhaps, tonight?”

“Well, that depends. What on?”

“A matter of Scripture?”

Chess turned back at this. “Really,” he said, and narrowed his eyes, then broke out into a wide smile.

“Well hell, Rev, why not? You may’ve grilled the Lieut on all my bad habits, but you never peached on old Hosteen — that’s worth somethin’.”

“So . . . you knew I was there, the whole time.”

“You’re a damn man-mountain, Reverend Rook. Whenever you walk, it’s like a tree movin’ ’round, no matter how quiet you may dream you’re bein’.”

“You don’t seem too upset I asked the Lieut about you, though.”

Chess stretched the smile into an outright laugh. “Oh, you’ve probably already figured out just how much of a damn I give what people think of me.”

Predictably, however, there was no single part of that evening’s personal sermon which went anywhere near the way Rook’d hoped it might, when he’d first issued Chess that fateful invitation. He came prepared, with all the relevant sections of his Bible premarked; preached mightily on Lot’s visitors and the destruction of Gomorrah, on it being better to marry than burn, on trouser-wearing women and other such unnatural oddities. But Chess just sat there while he gesticulated — interested but unimpressed, with the same tiny smile playing about his lips that’d annoyed Rook since the day they’d met.

Rook paused, finally, and sighed. Then asked: “Is any of this getting through to you?”

Chess shrugged. “Not much. But feel free to keep on talkin’, anyhow, ’cause I sure do admire how your lips move.”

“What do you mean by — ”

“Oh, Rev. Just what in the hell d’you think I mean?”

For a second, Rook almost convinced himself he didn’t understand.

“I’m . . . flattered, Private Pargeter,” he said, at length. “But even leaving the strictures of my calling aside, I’m really not that way inclined.”

Chess shrugged again. “Oh no, course not. Man of God, and all — what was I thinkin’.”

“I very much hope you’re not mocking my faith, Private, because . . .” Rook trailed away. “Have you even read the Bible?”

“Enough to know it ain’t got too much to do with me, or them that’s like me. I’m a bad man, Rev — that ain’t debatable. So I don’t aim to debate it.”

“Leviticus, then — how ’bout that. Ever heard of it?”

“That’s the part of your Book says all queers should die, ain’t it?”

“Essentially. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Seein’ how I’m funny as Union script?” Chess snorted. “Look, Reverend. Anyone wants to string me up just for who I’m drawn to dance with, I invite them to go ahead and try. If I can see them comin’ and they still manage it, then it was probably my time. ’Til then . . .” Another thin grin. “Well, you’ve seen me at my exercise. What’s your opinion?”