The Plains of Abraham

Chapter 48

Father Mitchell brought a doctor to my cell who patched my eye. I sat in rigid silence as the doctor worked, my legs sprawled out before me on the earthen floor. When the doctor had finished and departed, Mitchell said, "As you can see, Mr. Jordan, and as I've been trying to tell you, we're a compassionate people."

With my one remaining eye, I scrutinized him. I wasn't sure I'd ever experienced true hate before. I'd disliked certain people, and I'd fought with some, but I'd never wished anyone pain. Pain so excruciating he'd crave death as much as a castaway stranded on a desert island craved water.

"You look like a man with something on his mind," I said. "Although I can't be sure of such observations anymore, not without stereoscopic vision."

He squatted in front of me. "I wanted the pleasure of telling you. You're going to be executed tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? The Sabbath?"

"The Sabbath seems appropriate to punish heresy, don't you think? Also, everyone's off work and can come to the show."

"Seems appropriate for inquisitorial executions too. If you move it to Monday I'll have the Sabbath to spend in prayer before I die."

"I'm afraid what is already underway cannot be reversed. But I can offer you an out. If you're interested."

My wife was dead. I wasn't the least bit interested. Tomas was dead. Malcolm was dead. Eli was dead. My mother was dead. The love of my life was dead. I wasn't interested in anything Mitchell had to offer. But I wanted to live a while longer. Long enough to take revenge upon him, to thrust a blade into his gut, to wrench it upwards, to twist it. To yank it out and thrust it in again.

"I'm all ears," I said.

"You traveled successfully to Ellanoy and back, through some of the most dangerous country known to man. Our army is preparing to depart. Tell me how you did it, how you avoided the mutants, or defeated them, and I'll arrange for your sentence to be commuted to life in prison."

"To spend the rest of my days here, on this dirt floor?"

"Better on the dirt floor than beneath it."

"Won't your throngs be disappointed over the show's cancellation?"

He shrugged. "There's always a miscreant or two we can string up and burn. Mobs are easy to please."

"Fair enough," I said. "There's nothing to it. Tell your people to stick to the north shore of the first Great Lake. That's the secret of making it through safely."

"The north shore? And pass directly by Turonado?"

"The Turonado mutants are friendly. They gave us food and directions."

"You're pulling my leg."

"If they hadn't been friendly, I wouldn't be here today. They're physically disfigured, it's true, and frightful in appearance, but they mean no harm. They'll help your men. They'll share their knowledge of the lakes."

"How do I know whether to believe you?"

"You don't. You have to take my word for it." I looked him in the eye with my one eye until I won the stare-down contest. "Stick to the cities. It's the best way to encounter mutants, who are friendly and helpful. They just want us to accept them back into normal society, to treat them as human. The most effective strategy to survive the voyage to Ellanoy and complete the mission is to befriend as many mutants as possible."

"Your wife spoke of them as evil."

"They are, in her part of the world. The lake mutants belong to a different world order."

He stood up. "I hope you're telling the truth. The army leaves within the hour."

"And now, the commutation?"

"I have no authority to commute your sentence."

"But you said—"

"What I said is what you needed to hear. As I told you, what is already underway cannot be reversed."

Mitchell turned to leave. My execution was scheduled for the following day. The exiles were coming for me then as well, commencing an attack on the city at the stroke of noon. They constituted my only remaining hope for an opportunity to grab Mitchell by the throat, to choke him until he turned purple, until his eyes bulged in terror and his tongue dangled from his mouth.

"Can I ask you a question?" I said.

He hesitated at the door. "Well?"

"What time is my execution tomorrow?"

"It takes place at the stroke of noon. And by the way, your stake will have a crossbeam, one that fits your arms. Make of it what you will. We're having a barbeque afterwards. No need to decline the invitation. We know you'll be tied up."

***

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