The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [136]
"What is this man doing here?" asked Jack in a whisper.
"I'm not altogether sure," said Doyle.
"There, there, Major," said Innes. "Not as bad as all that, is it?"
"Reduced to promoting weightlifters and bearded ladies in a traveling freak show," said Pepperman, burbling through his sobs, dropping slowly to his knees and pounding his fists on the floor.
"Get rid of him, can't you?" asked Jack.
"He's very upset," said Doyle.
"I can see that," said Jack.
Walks Alone moved to the collapsed giant and took him by the hand; he looked up at her like a six-year-old mourning a dead puppy. She made a low soothing, murmuring sound, stroked his neck a few times, and Pepperman's sobbing slowly subsided. As he relaxed, she placed a hand on his forehead and whispered a few quiet words in his ear. Pepperman's eyes closed, his body slumped over to one side, and he was asleep before his head hit the floor. Loud snuffling snores ratcheted out of him, dead to the world.
"I've seen that done to snakes before," said Presto, in amazement, "but never to a human being."
"He should sleep now for a long time," said Walks Alone.
"What should we do with him?" said Innes.
"Drag him out to the hall," said Jack.
"The poor chap hasn't done anything wrong," said Doyle. "Let's put him on the bed."
It required all six of them to lift and carry Pepperman into the bedroom. Doyle threw a blanket on him, closed the door, and returned to the sitting room. Jack and Presto brought the others quickly up-to-date on the events at the synagogue; the men in black, their attempt to authenticate the book, the murder of Rabbi Brachman.
Never would have happened with the old Jack, Doyle couldn't help thinking: He would have anticipated their intentions, somehow prevented it.
"The same as the men on the Elbe, down to the mark on the left arm," said Jack. "It's a brand, burned into their skin, like cattle."
"The smell of burning flesh in that office tonight," said Walks Alone.
"Could have been some sort of initiation," said Presto.
"Let's attempt a summing up, then," said Doyle, trying to impose order.
Jack laid out two pieces of paper. "Before he died, Brachman concealed the information we asked for in his desk lamp, which Innes succeeded in finding."
"Nothing, really," said Innes modestly.
"This program lists the names of every clergyman who attended the Parliament of Religions. Brachman circled one name, a charismatic evangelist, an American: Reverend A. Glorious Day."
"A. Glorious Day?" said Doyle, a lump forming in his throat. " 'A,' as in Alexander."
"The preacher we saw in Edison's photos," said Jack.
"Who is this man?" asked Walks Alone.
"My brother," said Jack bitterly.
Doyle and Walks Alone exchanged a look: This is the source of his sickness. She seemed to understand.
"So we know Alexander was here in Chicago and we know the name he's using," said Doyle. "Can we establish any connection to the theft of the holy books?"
"The second piece Brachman left is this note, written moments before he died," said Jack, handing the note to Doyle.
Doyle read it aloud. " 'Mr. Sparks: I am able to recall meeting Reverend Day only once during the congress. Many scholarly seminars were held during the week of the Parliament; I presented a paper at one of these meetings, on the significance of sacred texts in the establishment of world religions. The Reverend Day came up to me afterwards, fervently interested, and asked a number of questions about these sacred books... .' The note ends here, abruptly."
"A sizable ink blot; he held his pen in place on the paper," said Jack.
"Because he heard someone moving outside his room," said Presto.
"So Alexander's interest in the books was born here, at the Parliament of Religions, while passing himself off as a preacher," said Doyle.
Jack nodded. "The first theft occurred six months later."
"The Upanishads, taken from the temple in India," said Presto.
"Then a month afterwards, the Vulgate Bible from Oxford,"