Book Of Tongues (Hexslinger 1)

“I think you’re the best pistoleer I’ve ever come across, though I’m sure the Lieutenant’d say your soldiering leaves a bit to be desired. What I don’t understand is why pursuing this line of . . . abomination means so much to you, ’specially at the risk of your immortal soul.”

“Where I’m from, we’re all born bound for the Hot Country. I ain’t lookin’ for no chariot to Glory, not even if you’re offerin’.”

“What about those others you’re pullin’ down, though? Can’t you see you’re draggin’ any man you let take advantage of you straight into the fire along with you? Hosteen, for example. You seem to care — ”

“I don’t ‘care’ ’bout shit but me, myself and I, thank you kindly. As for the rest — I never put a damn gun to anybody’s head to get them near me, and they sure weren’t complainin’, either.” He turned back. “Oh, and speakin’ of which: God’s the one made me this way in the first place, Reverend. Maybe you should just take it up with him.”

Rook sighed. “Hell doesn’t have to be a foregone conclusion, Chess, that’s my point. Salvation — that’s God’s promise, open to all who want it, no matter what they may have done beforehand. There’s no sin so black it can’t be washed away, if you only ask for it to be.”

“Yeah? Thanks for that, anyhow.”

“The option to be redeemed? That’s God’s, not mine.”

“Naw, that you can keep — probably wouldn’t take, anyhow. But thanks for callin’ me by my given name, Reverend. Maybe you’ll even let me return the favour, one of these days.”

Flirting with him, still. The man was damn well incorrigible. Yet Rook found himself smiling back, all the same.

“Maybe,” he heard himself say.

Things continued bad, shading fast toward worst. There were rumours everywhere — that recent action at Five Forks and Sayler’s Creek had left the Confederacy crippled, that General Lee himself was on the verge of surrendering to that drunken farm-burner Ulysses S. Grant. That Lincoln had been either assassinated or elected king by popular acclaim.

That afternoon, the Lieut received one last message, read it, then broke the pigeon’s neck, before crumpling the offensive cipher up and throwing it into the fire.

“It’s official,” he told Rook, a tic in his brow fluttering wildly. “The rats have infiltrated. All further communiqués must from now on be reckoned a mere tissue of Abolitionist lies.”

“Yes sir,” Rook said. “I’m very sure that you’re right.”

That night, he dozed off, then came to, to find himself restrained by a hard little set of limbs, as somebody hissed: “Sssh!” in his ear.

“Damn, Rev,” Chess Pargeter said, shifting to pin him closer. “You want to get us both swung?”

Rook breathed out through his nose, slow, while simultaneously struggling to resist the urge to see exactly how far he could kick the smaller man, if he only gave it a good enough try.

“Get off of me, Private,” he replied, finally.

The same snicker again. “That an order? Hell, Rev, you’re three times my size, at least. What is it you’re ’fraid of, exactly?”

“Of . . . hurting you, mainly.”

“Uh huh? Well, that’s nice, but don’t worry yourself overmuch — it’s been tried.”

“You want to talk? Then let me up.”

Chess shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and moved back.

“So,” Rook said, once he’d regained his dignity. “What was it you had in mind, Mister Pargeter? Besides the obvious.”

“Oh, I wasn’t even thinkin’ of that,” Chess lied. “All seriousness, though . . . you do know the Lieut’s gone stark starin’ crazy, right? How he’s probably right now dreamin’ on the best way t’get himself killed for the honour of the South, and take us all along with him?”

“I don’t see what either of us can do about it, saving desertion . . . or worse.”

“Like blowin’ his brains out in his sleep? Yeah, I’ve thought ’bout cuttin’ his throat, too — or maybe smotherin’ him, since that wouldn’t leave much of a trace. But I ain’t got anything on me exactly suitable to the purpose, more’s the pity.”

“Private!”

“Aw, Rev, I was ‘Chess’ just a week back. Can’t we try for that again?”

“Not if you’re counselling murder, we can’t — ’cause I won’t stand for that sort of cold-blooded mortal sin, not even as a joke.”