Warning: Offensive language follows. Read with a stiff drink in hand.
South Carolina
August 1784
"This meeting of the Patriot's League will come to order." Malcolm Coleridge, the reverend at Saint Michael's Church, stood at his pulpit. Service ended only thirty minutes before and men continued to discuss this deal or that, the prospects of an early harvest, a fresh import of slaves from West Africa. Few, he noticed, talked about today's sermon warning against the Deist heresy that seemed popular elsewhere. The church's doors opened and a few stragglers filtered in having left to take their wives and children home. "Gentlemen? Governor Moultrie."
As Rutledge Black did everything but disband the League because he no longer needed them. As Moultrie his power base remained unsecure. People worried about 'General Allen's' rebellion and whether it could happen again. This worked in Black's favor, but meant they wanted answers to difficult questions.
The door swished open in the silence, then thumped quietly as John Preston slipped in. He muttered an apology at the usher, then skirted the side of the sanctuary.
Black watched him, one arm resting on the pulpit. He'd learned to keep most of his opinions to himself, but he disapproved of what was happening. So long as he did his job, Black didn't care.
"Welcome, Colonel!" he called. "I'm sorry to call your attention from your wife on matters of little import, like the state."
Preston scowled and held up a sheaf of papers. "You asked for these?"
"Give them here." Moultrie flipped through them. He couldn't read a word. Who taught the man to write? "You will report on this."
John nodded and took them back. He sat on a hard wood chair behind Moultrie who cleared his throat.
"Carolinans!"
The last voices died away.
"I've come to give you a reckoning of what has occured these last weeks. Colonel Preston here will answer specifics, but I will provide..." His eyes fell on Mark Pratchett, Editor of the Post and Courier, taking notes.
I thought I closed your paper down. Ah, you reopened it? You may be useful. "...will provide a summary."
Black lifted his head and surveyed the room. Tense, expectant faces, some multi-hued as the stained glass windows did their work. He paused, then shot his hand at the red and black Carolinan flag in the corner sitting next to a white banner with a gold cross. "Carolina is under siege."
"For years we have fought to keep our enemies at bay, and we've done well. We thrashed the lobsterheads. We broke the niggers when they went against us, then chased the red ones and burned their towns. We've expelled the Christ killers and let the Romanists know we're watching. I would like to stand here and say Carolina is safe, but only two things remain."
"When General Heyward betrayed us, he ordered General Allen to hold and not attack further, knowing sooner or later someone would go to find out what happened. Poor Mister Rutledge sent himself. Yes, I know General Allen told his men Rutledge fled from me. This wasn't true, and all I can surmise is Allen used that excuse to rouse his men to anger. Allen found Rutledge and thrust him into the wilderness, knowing he could not survive the wild beasts there without escort." He bowed his head.
"And so Thomas Heyward's plan to kill a great man finally succeeded. While Allen waited to ambush whoever was sent, Thomas crossed into Savannah and tried to urge an attack. Fortunately his assassination attempt left him weak, and just as he recovered his strength Colonel Preston's raid forced him to flee before he could talk to General Burgoyne.."
He paced in front of the altar, so the cross rose behind him. "Until now these traitors have escaped justice, but God in His mercy has brought one of them to our doorstep!"
Preston looked at his notes and sighed. Men murmured to each other.
"At this moment Thomas is in Philadelphia!" Black cried. "He's attempting to spread his lies to our allies, but I am sure they will see through his folly. I've ordered Mister Pinckney to have him arrested and demand extradition. They must obey or they will break their own oaths and the confederation fails!"
Either way I win. "Once Thomas is back, we will introduce him to southern justice. That will only leave Allen. After he is in custody we can cry done and restore the state constitution." General Allen, of course, would never be found.
"Colonel Preston will now review his efforts to secure Charleston from her enemies. Colonel...?"
-------------
Pennsylvania
The prison they selected for General Thomas Heyward consisted of a locked upper room in one of the forts overlooking the Delaware River. A barred window allowed some light from outside, but dark grey walls gave the room a gloomy aspect while the narrow confines oppressed him.
Occasionally someone would pass by his door - a soldier enroute to the fort's defenses. Fool. Other times one would look in the Judas hole. Insect. Twice a day they let a soldier in with a bowl of mush and one of water. Animal.
Adams stopped by to once more ask for a rendition of events, nodded, apparently pleased and made some inane comment about fair weather for the morrow. Yes, they would think so...
Thomas had much time to reflect, especially at night. They didn't give him a lamp, so when the sun went down he lay in the dark carrying on an increasingly virulent dialogue to fill the terrible silence.
I have to get to Charleston.
Then leave.
There's a locked door. And guards.
So? You really think mere humans can stop you?
I'm a mere human, thank you.
No. You are not.
Heyward lay on his side, legs curled under him. What little light the stars offered faded as thick clouds rolled in from Chesapeake Bay. Absently he moved his hands in front of his face. Nothing. He might as well be blind.
Look what these animals are trying to do. To think you're trying to help them. They do not deserve your help.
He groaned and reached for the bent coin, squeezing until the edges bit into his hand.
They are animals. Beasts. Treat them accordingly.
No.
Open the door. Find the guard. Kill the guard. Leave.
That would be wrong.
Imprisoning you is wrong. The only law is to 'Do as thou wilt.'
No!
Not for them. You, however...
Heyward clenched his eyes shut.
Go away! Please!
Societies put laws in place as a sort of exchange: You agreed not to take certain actions - such as killing - and in return the society offered social exchange, protection, support and so forth. However what use were they to him? He couldn't talk about what really bothered him. He didn't need their protection. He didn't need their tainted version of God. And if Tom didn't need them, then why should he agree to play nice?
"Animals!" he snarled. They
dared try to hold him? "Filthy beasts!" He leapt to his feet and stormed to the door. They would pay for their insolence! They would...
"We carry part of the Spirit. Our souls cannot die!"
"Jess!" Thomas cried, spinning around. "Where are you?"
"The human soul is immortal. It cannot be diminished nor destroyed."
"Bast!"
"That is why you'll win."
"Help me!" But there was no one there. He screamed and fell to his knees.
"We're immortal!" Jess said. "Angels are not."
"Help me!" he screamed.
"I can't do this alone!"
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Keys rattled in the lock. Outside thunder pealed and rain fell in sheets, soothing the voices at last. All but one.
YOU WERE NEVER ALONE.
A soldier flung open the door, pistol ready. Heyward collapsed at his feet.