Lars Walker - Blood and Judgment

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Blood and Judgment

Lars Walker

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are

fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

in any form.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-7434-7173-3

Cover art by Gary Ruddell

First printing, December 2003

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

For Mark and Patty

Many thanks are due to Prof. Dale Nelson of Mayville State University, North Dakota, and to

Dave Alpern, for making time to read the manuscript of this book. Their comments and

suggestions were insightful and invaluable.

BAEN BOOKS by Lars Walker

Erling's Word

Wolf Time

The Year of the Warrior

Blood and Judgment

PROLOGUE

"Who needs counselors?" asked Ben. His brother Frank stretched the blanket over the

window while he smashed it in with a brick. The glass fell inside the building almost silently.

"Not us, man," said Frank. He folded the blanket over the frame to protect them from shards

and they scrambled inside.

"Damn straight," said Ben. "We coulda spent thousands of bucks on some fancy-ass shrink,

but we worked it out on our own."

"That's right, bro."

Inside, they stood facing each other in street light from the window, two men with ponytails.

Ben was a large, fat, bearded man in jeans and a black leather jacket. Frank was a skinny bearded

man in a tie-dyed T-shirt and cargo pants.

"You know what we got?" asked Ben.

"No?" asked Frank, who wasn't tracking very well.

"Common ground," said Ben. "I heard somebody say that on the radio once. Common

ground."

"Common ground. Awesome, man."

"That's all we need, common ground. You got common ground, you can work anything out.

Specially in a family."

"Hey, man, I'm really sorry for all that crap I said."

"And I'm sorry I set your van on fire."

"Hey, it's cool."

They shared a hug.

"So where're we gonna do this?" asked Ben.

Frank looked around vaguely, but the building was dark.

"Maybe up on the stage there, where the altar used to be," Ben suggested.

Frank set off down the center aisle, between the theater seats, and Ben followed him up the

steps to the stage. They sat themselves facing each other, cross-legged in the dark.

"This musta been a real pretty little church, before those arts-farts turned it into a pansy

theater," said Ben, looking around.

"I can still feel the church vibes," said Frank. "Gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"That's what I mean. Common ground. This is something we can—you know—share."

"Share, man—that's cool. Hey, I love you, brother. I'm sorry I called you a fascist, redneck

carrion-eater."

"Bygones will be bygones. I'm sorry I called you a rat's-ass Commie slacker."

"Water under the rainbow, man."

"Well, how we gonna do this?"

"We need, you know, some kind of fire, and something to make it spread. I got fire." Frank

pulled a Bic lighter, some Zigzag papers and a baggy full of pot from the pockets of his cargo

pants. He began to roll himself a joint with practiced fingers, the first smooth, efficient movement

he'd made all evening.

"I've got the stuff to make it spread," said Ben, pulling a bottle of amber liquid in a paper bag

from under his jacket. "You know, we won't need all of this. Sin to waste it." He twisted the cap

off and took a pull as Frank lit up. "Ground don't get any commoner than this," Ben said.

It was at that moment that they both realized they were not alone.

The police report filed later that night said that the two men received the lacerations that put

them in the hospital through trying to jump simultaneously through the same broken window.

CHAPTER I

Will Sverdrup picked his way between furniture and human legs in the crowded teachers'

lounge, headed for the telephone. For luck, it wasn't in use. The worst part of the casting process

was the handful of days you spent waiting between auditions and call-backs. He'd waited long

enough. He wanted to know.

I won't be Hamlet, he told himself as he dialed Bess's number. I'll get a good part, like

Horatio or Laertes, but I won't get the big one. I can handle that. The phone rang at the other

end. Good. He'd tried to reach Bess twice before, but the line had been busy. She'd been using it,

making call-backs.

"Check's in the mail," said the voice at the other end.

"Hi Bess. It's Will, returning your call."

"Hey, Will, I've been waiting to hear back from you. I'm happy to inform you that you've

been cast as Hamlet, if you're willing to accept the part."

Will nearly dropped the receiver.

"Hey, Will—you there?"

"Yeah—I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll take the part and work like hell to make us glad we cast you."

"I can't believe it. The part was Randy's. Everybody knew that. He's got the talent, he's got the

moves—he even looks good in tights."

"Oh no it wasn't, my low-self-esteemed friend. The part was yours from the beginning."

"But Randy—"

"Randy's all flash. He's got great tricks. I'd cast him in a minute as Richard III, or Ariel, or

Puck. But Hamlet is the greatest part in the greatest play in the English language—maybe the

greatest play in the world. It calls for more than nice legs and ballet moves. You're wrong.

Everybody knew the part was yours—everybody but you.

"And by the way, you don't look so bad in tights yourself."

Will accepted the part formally and hung the phone up. He announced the casting to the other

teachers, who gave him a loud standing ovation, so that he was sorry he'd mentioned it.

Wanting time alone, he headed out into the hall and toward an exit. As he turned a corner he

ran into Principal Hellstrom. Each of them took a short jump backwards.

"Still with the white shirt and tie, Will?" asked the principal. He was a large bald man with a

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BloodandJudgmentLarsWalkerThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Copyright©2003byLarsWalkerAllrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbookorportionsthereofinanyform.ABaenBooksOriginalBaenPublis...

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