The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [147]
Cornelius eagerly leaned down close to him.
"Apply your heart to my knowledge; I have instructed you today so that I may make you know the certainty of the Words of Truth. Hear, my son, and be wise; because only through wisdom a house is built and only by understanding is it made to last."
His eyes focusing again, Cornelius nodded slowly; complete devotion and absolutely zero comprehension.
That's right, you muttonhead, thought the Reverend, watching closely. Message received.
"So," said Reverend Day, walking ahead, back to business, "what good news have you for us today, Brother?"
Cornelius wavered a moment, found his balance, and then fell into step like an obedient cur. ' 'That troupe of actors came through the East Gate, right on schedule," said Cornelius, waving a telegram.
"When?"
" 'Bout an hour ago; should be driving into town any time."
"Isn't that wonderful?" said Day, genuinely enthused. "We can look forward to some lively entertainment. Do you realize how long it's been since I've attended the theater?"
Cornelius frowned. "No?"
Hopeless. Well, never mind.
"Welcome our new arrivals for me and invite them to dinner tonight as my honored guests."
"Sure, Reverend," said Cornelius, pulling out another telegram. "And more good news, sir; our new rifles just came through the Gate, too."
"Marvelous, Brother."
"If it's okay with you, sir, I'll have 'em sent to the warehouse so I can inspect the shipment myself."
"Yes, do that, would you? Now tell me, Brother Cornelius, does the training of our militia go well?"
"Reverend, the way our Brothers and Sisters are giving themselves over to it is an inspiration," said Cornelius, eyes misting over again.
"Fine. How's their marksmanship?"
"Better every day. And when these new rifles are handed out, it'll get even stronger."
"Good, excellent..."
Cornelius's voice caught in his throat, choked up again. "Reverend, I have never been so proud of such a fine group of young people...."
"That's fine," said Day, cutting him off with a sharp chop of his hand, weary of the man's relentless blubbering, so pathetic in a man his size.
They had reached the base of the tower, workers scattering out of his way as he passed. Day stepped into the shadows of the tower, finding relief from the sun under the only shade in sight. As he took off his hat to wipe the sweat off his brow, an electric twitch ran up the stiff length of the Reverend's spine. He recognized the signal immediately, the aura already tightening like a steel band around his forehead.
This was a bad one.
Day felt a trickle of blood flow from his nose. He turned away and covered his face with a handkerchief. Have to hurry now, not much time.
"Excuse me, Brother, I must attend to my meditations," said Reverend Day, waving his hat, shushing him away. "Off you go. Back to work."
Cornelius obsequiously struggled against tears, nodded, and trotted back toward town, glancing over his shoulder for reassurance. Reverend Day waited for his first look, waved once, then hobbled around to the side of the cathedral.
Workers scurried off as he approached. Alone, he fumbled the ring of keys from his pocket and undid a padlock securing two steel flaps cut into the dirt. He lifted a flap, dropped it to the side, and straightened to catch his breath before descending.
Handkerchief turning red in his hand, blood flowing freely.
He took the stairs down into the earth, inserted a key in the black onyx door; the lock yielded with a deep, satisfying snick. He pushed lightly; the immense panel, a marvel of construction and design, pivoted on gimbaled hinges and swung open like a gentle breeze. Reverend Day stepped into the cool air of the sepulcher, then closed and locked the door behind him.
As he stepped quickly through the octagonal foyer, sconces of steel and glass lit his way through a maze of labyrinthine passages carved from barren rock. One hand trailed along walls polished to a silky perfection, boot heels snapped sharply on black marble, following the winding path that only he knew by heart, down into the