Jerusalem Man 03 - Bloodstone Read Free Page B

the weapon from his hands. It fell to the scree.
    Carefully Nestor dismounted and retrieved the weapon.
    The mare, pleased to be relieved of the boy's weight, walked on. 'Hey, wait!' called Nestor, scrambling towards her. But she ambled on, and the dejected youngster followed her all the way to the bottom, where she stopped to crop at the dry grass. Then Nestor remounted.
    One day I'll be a Crusader, he thought. I'll serve the Deacon and the Lord. He rode on.
    Where was the Preacher? It shouldn't take this long to find him. The tracks were easy to follow to the Gap. But where was he going? Why did he ride out in the first place? Nestor liked the Preacher. He was a quiet man, and throughout Nestor's youth he had treated him with kindness and understanding.

    Especially when Nestor's parents had been killed that Summer ten years ago. Drowned in a flash flood.
    Nestor shivered at the memory. Seven years old - and an orphan. Frey McAdam had come to him then, the Preacher with her. He had sat at the bedside and taken Nestor's hand.
    'Why did they die?' asked the bewildered child. 'Why did they leave me?'
    'I guess it was their time, only they didn't know it.'
    'I want to be dead too,' wailed the seven-year-old.
    The Preacher had sat with him then, quietly talking about the boy's parents, of their goodness, and their lives. Just for a while the anguish and the numbing sense of loneliness had left Nestor, and he had fallen asleep.
    Last night the Preacher had escaped out of the church, despite the flames and the bullets. And he had run away to hide. Nestor would find him, tell him that everything was all right now and it was safe to come home.
    Then he saw the bodies, the flies buzzing around the terrible wounds. Nestor forced himself to dismount and approach them. Sweat broke out on his face, and the desert breeze felt cold upon his skin. He couldn't look directly at them, so he studied the ground for tracks.
    One horse had headed back towards Pilgrim's Valley, then turned and walked out into the wild lands.
    Nestor risked a swift, stomach-churning glance at the dead men. He knew none of them. More importantly, none of them was the Preacher.
    Remounting, he set off after the lone horseman.

*
    People were moving on the main street of Pilgrim's Valley as Nestor Garrity rode in, leading the black stallion. It was almost noon and the children were leaving the two school buildings and heading out into the fields to eat the lunches their mothers had packed for them. The stores and the town's three restaurants were open, and the sun was shining down from a clear sky.
    But a half-mile to the north smoke still spiralled lazily into the blue. Nestor could see Beth McAdam standing amid the blackened timbers as the undertakers moved around the debris, gathering the charred bodies of the Wolvers. Nestor didn't relish facing Beth with the news. She had been the headmistress of the Lower School when Nestor was a boy, and no one ever enjoyed the thought of being sent to her study. He grinned, remembering the day he had fought with Charlie Wills. They had been dragged apart and then taken to Mrs McAdam; she had stood in front of her desk, tapping her fingers with the three-foot bamboo cane.
    'How many should you receive, Nestor?' she had asked him.
    'I didn't start the fight,' the boy replied.
    That is no answer to my question.'
    Nestor thought about it for a moment. 'Four,' he said.
    'Why four?'
    'Fighting in the yard is four strokes,' he told her. That's the rule.'
    'But did you not also take a swing at Mr Carstairs when he dragged you off the hapless Charlie?'
    That was a mistake,' said Nestor.
    'Such mistakes are costly, boy. It shall be six for you and four for Charlie. Does that sound fair?'
    'Nothing is fair when you're thirteen,' said Nestor. But he had accepted the six strokes, three on each hand, and had made no sound.
    He rode slowly towards the charred remains of the little' church, the stallion meekly following his bay mare. Beth