Neal Barrett Jr. (25 page)

“What are we doing?” Howie asked. “We ain’t been riding for three hours.”

Jonas looked surprised. “Why, we’re here, Cory. This is High Sequoia.”

Howie didn’t like to seem a fool, but he couldn’t see anything but trees. Jonas caught his expression, took his arm, and led him a few steps to the right.

“Look,” Jonas said. “Over there.”

At first, Howie saw nothing but dense woods, and that was nothing new. His eye caught something, but rejected it at once. It was clearly a trick of the light; there weren’t any trees that big, not anywhere. There were six or eight together, and his one eye couldn’t sort them out. Then he saw another, and another after that, great, enormous shapes nearly lost in the dusty green light that filtered down from above.

“Great God A’mighty,” Howie cried, staring at the sight. “They’re
real
, aren’t they? They’re really there!”

“Oh, they’re there,” Jonas said. “Giant sequoias, Cory, the Lord’s finest creation. This is hallowed ground you’re standing on right now. Don’t forget that. There’s nowhere like this in the world. Nowhere but here.”

“I reckon I’ll agree on that,” Howie said.

T
he party walked from the point where the caravan had stopped. Carriages and horses weren’t allowed within the compound of High Sequoia. Howie didn’t ask why; religious folk had reasons for everything they did, but those reasons didn’t always make a lot of sense.

The closer he got, the more he was astonished by the size of the great trees. A few stretched nearly three hundred feet toward the sky, and had to be a hundred feet around. Jonas said they were three or four thousand years old. Howie nodded politely at that, and didn’t believe it for a minute. The whole world couldn’t be a lot older than that, much less a tree. Still, they were likely pretty old, there was no arguing that.

Past a small clearing, he caught his first glimpse of High Sequoia itself. A gate opened wide in a redwood fence nearly ten feet high. Once the party was through, Brothers with rifles over their shoulders closed the gate again. Low wood-and-stucco buildings in muted shades of yellow-green were scattered like children’s toys among the giant trees. The structures were well planned, set among fern and twisting vines, vegetation that had clearly been left undisturbed. Everything man-made seemed a natural part of the scene, as if it might have grown up with the trees.

It was the most tranquil, peaceful setting Howie had ever seen. Still, the farther he got into the compound, the more obvious it became that within the free and open plan of High Sequoia was a more subtle, nearly invisible network of inner boundaries, unobtrusive gates and vine- covered fences that wound like a floral maze through the grounds, forming a number of different areas and enclosures. Now and then, Howie spotted armed Brothers wandering about. They seemed to be paying no attention to their tasks, but Howie knew better than that.

The party thinned as it neared the heart of the compound. Howie saw Ritcher Jones and Lorene disappear through a stand of green leaves. Jonas led him to a gate where a Brother stood guard, and Howie was issued a yellow wooden button. The button had a number on its face, and Jonas told him to wear it at all times.

“While you’re here,” the Brother explained, “you can go into any area you like that has a yellow circle on the gate. Some gates will have
all
the different colors—yellow, green, red, blue, and white. Others will have only two, and a very few just one. Roam freely about, anywhere you see your color.”

Howie tried not to grin. “For a church, you got rules a whole lot like the army.”

Jonas shook his head. He wasn’t offended at all by Howie’s remark. “Visitors get that idea at first sometimes, but High Sequoia isn’t like that at all. We
are
a religious community, Cory, and there’s a reason for our needs. In some areas—red, for instance—Brothers and Sisters remain in solitude as a part of their training. Novices have their own compound and work areas, though you’ll encounter them nearly everywhere. Initiates, those who wear the white robes, have their areas, too. Jonas spread his hands. “Of course, everyone comes together for services and other occasions. In spite of all the
rules
, Cory, we are a very open society here.” Jonas smiled and looked up at the majestic tree overhead. “Prayer and devotion is the order of the day, our whole reason for being. The privacy and peace of the individual is our major concern.”

It sounded like a speech Brother Jonas had given before, but Howie could see it made sense. He didn’t ask about the Brothers who were armed—as far as Howie was concerned, that made a lot more sense than anything he’d seen in the place. The settlement was a hundred or more miles from any help, and no one had to tell him there were groups of lawless men running free in California.

He thought about Camille then, and wondered why God hadn’t shifted Brother Harmon just two or three inches to the right to catch the piece of lead that had found its way into the girl’s skull. Two or three inches wasn’t any big problem for God, but you never could tell what He’d do.

T
he room was small, comfortable and clean. A window looked out upon a fence covered with tangled green vines. Jonas got him settled, pointed the way to the visitor’s dining room, and left Howie on his own.

Howie tried out his bed. It was softer than he’d expected, and he wondered if the Churchers got to sleep on a soft bed, too. The redwood building was long, built with a narrow hall facing eight or ten rooms. There was an outside door at each end of the hall.

How the hell was Lorene supposed to get in here, with all those gates to pass through, and guards every-where? Howie wondered what color badge she might have. Probably a good one, seeing as how she hung around with Jones. Maybe she couldn’t get here at all. Maybe everything was over, whether she wanted it that way or not.

Howie heard steps in the hail, and looked up to see a thin, dark-haired man with olive skin and funny eyes.

“Hello,” the man said with a smile. “I am Chan. All right if I come in?”

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Howie said. He stood and shook Chan’s hand. “I’m Cory. Just visiting the place.”

“Ah. I am a visitor as well,” Chan said. He spoke English in a precise, studied manner. Howie couldn’t guess his age, but he seemed in his thirties somewhere.

“I am with the trade delegation,” Chan announced. From the way he spoke, it was clear Howie was supposed to understand. “There are several of us here.”

“I guess you’re an Asian,” Howie said. “I seen some in New Los Angeles, but never met one before.”

Chan laughed aloud. “Well, you have met one now. What do you think?”

“I don’t guess anything at all.”

“Good.” Chan nodded as if he had checked some-thing off in his head. –Then that is out of the way. I will explain about Asians so you will clearly understand. Asia is a very large place across the Pacific. Several large places, to be exact. I am from a country called China. You may think of me as Chinese. There are other countries as well, but we are the biggest.” Chan grinned again. “And the best.”

Howie found the explanation helpful. In his mind, Asia had loomed as a gray, indistinct mass far away.

“That’s like being from California or Alabama,” he said. “Only they’re both part of America, too.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Chan sat down in the room’s only chair. “And what is it you do, Cory? May I ask this question?”

“I don’t do a whole lot right now. I used to be in the army.”

“Of course.” Chan bowed his head for an instant. “And you have been injured. I am sorry.–

“I sort of got acquainted with Ritcher Jones back East. He invited me out here for a while.”

“Brother Jones.” Chan was clearly impressed. “He is a most high official of the Church.–

“I guess so. I don’t know much about that.”

Chan smoothed the collar of his shirt. “As I have said, I am a part of the Chinese trade delegation. I am a cultural representative, which means I do very little. Like you, at the present. We should get along fine.” Chan gave Howie a broad wink. “Actually, what I am is a spy. It is my job to see everything I can in California and write it down. I am quite good at it, too.”

Howie was taken aback. “If you’re a—what you said you was, how come you’re tellin’ me?”

Chan shrugged. “Oh, it is no great secret. Everybody knows. There is no delegation from China that does not include a spy. Someone is assigned to tell me lies. I listen quite carefully to these lies, and in this way I learn what it is they wish to hide. It is most interesting work.”

Howie was somewhat bewildered. “What kinda stuff does a spy want to know? I mean, there isn’t no army in California. All the fighting’s back East, over the Rockies.”

“Oh, nothing like that.” Chan waved Howie’s words away. “I am interested in matters of trade. Shipping tonnage. The price of stock. What sort of goods people in California will find desirable.”

“Doesn’t look to me like you’d have to spy much to learn that. Seems like you could walk up and ask.”

Chan raised a heavy brow. “Ah. You would be greatly surprised what people do not wish others to know. Greatly surprised indeed.”

Howie glanced out the window past the bed. This far beneath the great tree’s canopy, the light itself was green.

“So what are you spyin’ on here?’ he asked Chan. `High Sequoia’s a kinds church. I delft guess they got a lot of shipping tonnage and stuff.”

Chan gave Howie a sly look. “I cannot reveal that, now can I? How can I be sure you have not been assigned to tell me lies?”

Howie frowned. “Well, I ain’t been. I just got here, and besides, I’m not a Brother or nothing.’

“We shall see.” Chan stood. “It is time for the noon meal, I believe. I would be pleased if you would join me. Perhaps I will discover who you truly are.”

“Don’t count on it,” Howie said solemnly. “I’ve fooled a whole lot of spies in my time.”

“Marvelous!” Chan laughed. “We will get along well, Cory.”

Howie found he liked his new acquaintance a lot. He was obviously crazy
as
a loon, and that was a real improvement over the sour-faced Brothers of the Church.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I
n the dining area, Howie met several other members of the Chinese trade delegation—at least he shook their hands and said hello, and received some sort of reefing in return. None of the seven men and women besides Chan seemed to have more than a smattering of English, though Howie suspected more than a few knee exactly what he was saying.

After the introductions, Chan led Howie to a table across the room. Howie thought this was a peculiar thing to do. Then he began to see that Chan, for some reason he couldn’t guess, was clearly uncomfortable among his own people. He ate too fast, and talked too much, and made an effort not to look at the others. Howie thought
he
might be the cause, but it soon became obvious the Asians’ chilly looks were directed at Chan, and not him. Howie wondered what was wrong, but didn’t ask.

There were no other residents in the visitors’ quarters. Howie wasn’t too surprised; he hadn’t expected to find Loyalist and Rebel officers wandering about, He tried to think of some way to learn where these people might be, without really seeming to care. Finally, he simply asked.

Chan merely shrugged, and said the men on hand for the talks were somewhere else in High Sequoia.

“Well apart from one another, I should think,” Chan added without a smile.

“Thanks,” Howie said. Hell, he already knew that.

A
fter lunch, Chan offered to take Howie for a walk around the grounds. Howie accepted at once, pleased that he didn’t have to bring up the idea himself. Learning his way around the big compound was exactly what he needed to do. The night before, he’d stayed awake for some time, wondering how he might get through the maze of gates and fences and discover where Harriver Mason slept. Bypassing the gates wouldn’t be that hard, not in the dark of night; there simply weren’t that many guards to, go around. Finding
which
fences to climb was something else. The way the compound was laid out, a man could wander around forever and not get anywhere at all.

“It is a truly idyllic setting,” Chan said, clearly more at ease outside, away from his friends. “These magnificent trees! It is an unbelievable sight.”

“They’re big, all right,” Howie said.

Even in the middle of the day, the clearing was pleasantly cool, sheltered from the sun. Gold coins of light dappled the ground, and pale green clusters of fern. Chan showed Howie several chapels, small, shaded structures built of rough-hewn wood. He pointed out the various study areas, quarters for Brothers and Sisters, and half a dozen other sites that held little interest for Howie. It was pleasant to be with Chan, but Howie learned nothing he couldn’t have discovered for himself. Chan wore one of the yellow visitors’ buttons too, and had access to the same places Howie could see if he wandered about alone. Still, he got a fair idea of the areas he wasn’t allowed to enter, and figured that was helpful, too.

As they walked, Chan rambled on about a number of different things—whatever came to mind, as far as Howie could see. it was clear the man was still unnerved by his treatment in the dining area. He told Howie about China, and the wondrous things his people were trying to do, marvels such as the ships Howie had seen that ran by the power of heated water, a process Howie didn’t begin to understand. Chan said that he had seen an old machine that could talk and sing songs at one time, though it didn’t anymore. More than that, a device that had once flown like a bird. Howie didn’t believe any of this, but it was interesting to hear Chan talk.

“Not as much was destroyed in the Great War as one might think,” Chan said. “Many useful devices from the past can be put to work again.” He offered Howie a confidential smile. “We know much of such things in China. Ways to keep food in containers for several years. Methods of making many things at once.

“I don’t see nothing new about that,” Howie said.