“Do you maintain that it serves the will of god to open those boxes? To read the words of the heretic McReady?”
She tried to speak, but her voice was thick. Sister Sun cleared her throat and tried again. “I do, Honored One.”
“Even though our Mother Rose believes that this is tainted?”
“Yes.”
“Even though to do so would be to break faith with Mother Rose?”
Now Sister Sun raised her eyes and looked directly at the saint. “My faith is in god,” she said. “I . . . I mean I love Mother Rose, but—”
“Do not apologize,” said the saint. “It’s unseemly.”
She blushed and nodded.
Saint John cut a piece of fig, put it in his mouth, chewed it thoughtfully, then nodded to the folders.
“Mother Rose will be in Utah until next month. When she returns, she will very likely inspect the seals on the Shrine of the Fallen.”
Sister Sun nodded.
“When that happens, she will find all these seals intact. Everything correct and in order.”
He did not say “or else” or make any other threat. He cut another slice of fig and offered it to Sister Sun, who reached out a trembling hand to take it. She chewed it quietly while he stood there and smiled at her.
30
BENNY PARKED THE HONDA IN the damaged Yamaha’s slot and went looking for Captain Ledger.
As he passed the playground, though, he saw Riot and Eve sitting on a set of rusted swings. Benny drifted over that way. Riot’s face was animated as she told a funny story involving a crazy little dog name Rosie and her adventures in an abandoned toy store. Benny thought that Riot looked deeply strained despite her animation. There was an odd light in her eyes and a detectable tremolo in her voice.
Sister Hannahlily stood a dozen yards away, pretending to water flowers, but she was clearly watching Eve. Deep lines of concern were etched into her face.
Eve’s face was slack, her mouth open, her eyes dull and fixed, as if all her internal lights had been switched off. It was how she often was, drifting between moderate highs and very deep lows. Benny took the bag of balloons from his pocket, tore it open, selected a bright yellow one, and began blowing it up as he strolled over in front of the swings. Riot saw what he was doing and raised her eyebrows in surprise. Balloons were rare—like most things from the old world, they weren’t made to last, and most of them were so dried out that any attempt to blow them up was a failure. The ones in the bag were wonderfully preserved, and with each puff the balloon grew and grew.
Eve’s face remained slack, but after the fifth or sixth puff her eyes reclaimed a little bit of their focus and shifted toward him. The more the balloon expanded, the more awareness seemed to grow in the little girl’s eyes. Riot gave Benny a grateful smile that glistened with tears.
It really must be one of Eve’s bad days, Benny thought. Riot looks like she’s ready to scream.
Finally Benny stopped and tied off the balloon.
“For milady,” he said, presenting the balloon to Eve with an exaggerated flourish and bow. “I believe you ordered a big, squishy, yellow thing.”
There was a moment when Eve did nothing except look at the balloon, her mouth and body still slack. Then, like the sun peering shyly through the darkest of storm clouds, a small smile formed on her lips. She glanced at Benny and blinked several times, as if she was seeing him for the first time. Which, he thought sadly, she probably was. He kept his own smile pasted onto his face while the girl struggled out of the shadows. When her tiny hand slowly rose and reached for the balloon, she took it as lightly as someone reaching for an illusion in a dream, as if she was afraid it would suddenly vanish.
Benny straightened and took two more balloons from the pack, a blue one and a green one. He almost picked a red one, but Riot gave him a quick and desperate sharp shake of the head. He stuffed the red one quickly out of sight and handed the other balloons to Riot.
“If you fly away to the land of Oz,” said Benny, “make sure to send me a message via delivery Munchkin.”
Eve nodded seriously, as if that was a reasonable suggestion.
Benny left, and when he looked over his shoulder, Riot was teaching Eve how to blow up the green balloon. The little girl was smiling, but the whole thing hurt Benny’s heart. He was aware that the older nun, Sister Hannahlily, was watching him. He smiled and nodded to her, and she responded. A nod, no smile.
A few minutes later Benny found Joe Ledger working out in a small enclosure behind the last of the hangars on this side of the trench. Grimm, Joe’s dog, opened one baleful eye, decided Benny wasn’t a lunch being delivered, and went back to sleep. Even so, Benny stayed well away from the mastiff as he entered the enclosure.
Joe Ledger was stripped to the waist, wearing only camo pants and boots, and he shifted around on the balls of his feet as he worked a heavy bag. Joe barraged the leather with jabs, hooks, overhands, uppercuts, backhands, hammer blows, two-knuckle hits, corkscrew punches, elbows, and the occasional cutting palm. Then he shifted to kicks—snaps and roundhouse kicks, hooks and slashing knees. The bag juddered and danced as if it was being hit by continuous gunfire, and with each blow dust puffed through the canvas’s thick weave.
It bothered Benny that despite Joe being at least thirty years older than Tom, the man was at least as fast. Maybe faster. And a whole lot stronger. That was annoying. It felt wrong, somehow, as if this man’s superior skill was in some way an insult to Tom’s memory. Even so . . . it was mesmerizing to watch.