Fate's Edge

eyes.
    “George?”
    “Mmm?”
    “What’s the point of this church?”
    “That’s how Yonker makes money.” George shrugged.
    “Yes, I get that part. But what do people who go to his church get out of it?”
    George furrowed his eyebrows. “People are scared to die. Most religions say that there is life after death, that only your body dies, but your essence, your soul, keeps living. Yonker tells them that if they give him money, their soul will go to a good place.”
    “Is Yonker a god?”
    “Of course not.”
    “So how can he control where the soul goes?”
    “He doesn’t,” George answered.
    “So he lies.”
    “Yes.”
    “Why do people believe him?”
    “Because most people are decent, Jack. They don’t want to think that someone would stand up like that in front of a crowd and lie just to get their money. They want to believe that they’re doing something good when they go to church.”
    “Do you believe in gods?”
    George sighed. “I believe you have to be a good person. Whatever you do, good or bad, it will come back to you.”
    It made sense, Jack decided.
    “Look, not all churches are like Yonker’s church,” George said. “Some of them are good; some of them are bad. You have to decide for yourself if you want to go and which god you want to worship or not. It’s up to you not to be a sucker. Life gets really hard sometimes. You don’t remember when mom died, but I do. I cried, and Grandmere told me that Mom was in heaven, in a beautiful garden, where she was happy and safe. It helped. Anyway, we’ll talk about this later.”
    George touched the rat. A faint pulse of magic sparked from his finger to the dark fur. The little rodent rolled to its feet and sat unnaturally still.
    “Ready?” George glanced at him.
    Jack took a deep breath, clearing his mind. He had to commit every word George said to memory. Kaldar had a recorder, but both he and Audrey worried that the boys would be searched, so in the end they decided not to risk bringing it. Now he was the recorder. All those memorization drills William made him do would finally pay off. “Ready.”
    George stared into space. The rat scurried to the door, squeezed out through the narrow gap between the lower edge and the floor, and vanished from view.
    “Log houses on the right, one, two, three, four, five,” George said, his voice a low monotone. Jack focused, committing each word to memory. “Identical houses on the left. Six, seven. The houses end in a wide space. Cafeteria on the left. Guardhouse on the right. Three people are playing cards. The one on the left is upset because he can’t remember the poker combinations. He’s accusing the others of cheating him. Two more people are in their bunks. Five guards total. There is a gun rack with rifles. Pathway from the wide space leading northwest. Trees. More trees. The path is maybe two hundred elbows in length. Large building.”
    George fell silent. Jack waited.
    “I’m at the ward. The Night plan won’t work. These wards are really old, at least as rooted in as ours were on the house in the Edge. You probably can get through in the lynx form, but none of us in human form can penetrate this. Going back into the camp now.”
    So much for stealing the gadget.
    “I’m at the church. The inside is large, one, two, three . . . twenty-five rows, in two sections in the middle of the floor. A lot of open space on the sides and before the stage. Another guard in the front row, carrying a rifle. He’s reading a book. The pulpit is empty. There is magical residue. Hallway to the right.” George’s face jerked.
    “A cat. Damn it.”
    “Did you get eaten?” Jack murmured, and cursed inwardly. George was so deep in trance he wouldn’t hear.
    “I’m hiding under a mop bucket. He broke my neck. Hurt like hell.”
    For the next ten minutes, they sat quietly.
    “Okay, he went away.” George winced. “Two rooms. One on the right has another guard. He’s drinking coffee. The door on the left is fitted tight. I’ll have to backtrack and chew through the wall.”
    Jack growled to himself. The longer George stayed in the trance, the harder it was to bring him back.
    “This is a really thick wall,” George said. “It will be a while.”
    Curse it.
    Footsteps. Jack tensed. Closer, closer. Someone knocked on the door.
    Go away.
    The knocking persisted.
    Jack padded to the door, dropped down, and sampled the draft floating under. The freckled girl from before.
    He got up