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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 86: Brown 312
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 111
After Boxing Day things were getting back into the routine. Worrying that he’d almost lost the trumpet at Yule, he found his mutant world ID card and stuck it in one of the cracks inside the case; he also suggested that Vashti put her scarf in her case, as if it were a polishing cloth, so she could track the neys were something to happen to them.
There was another upsurge in patronage at the restaurant, with people Derek didn’t recognize staring at them, and him in particular, as if trying to see something that wasn’t there. They got more tips, although one day a woman approached somewhat timidly and placed a lit candle beside him and backed away with her head slightly bowed.
“What’s this?” Derek asked himself, as he shifted it away from the edge of the table. Pierre provided the answer.
“It’s a votive. It represents a prayer, that she is praying to you.”
“Praying to me? That’s just wrong.”
“Yeah,” Maurice said. “It’s that Cath-oh-lick idolatry, that they pray to people, not to God.”
“Maurice,” Pierre responded, sounding like he was trying to be patient, “if I asked you to pray to God for me, would that be wrong?”
“No, but--”
“And if you asked your pastor to pray for you,” he said, cutting Maurice off, “would that be a sin?”
“Well, no, but--”
“So what if I decide to ask Saint Peter, or the Virgin Mother, to pray for me?”
Maurice’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Derek decided to join the discussion.
“It would seem to me,” he said, “that the only issue there, really, is whether you can actually ask them, that is, whether they can hear you and pass your requests on to the King. I don’t see it as necessary, because I know the King hears me, and will hear any of you if you call on Him.”
“Certainly,” Pierre answered; “but would there not be some advantage to having someone else also pray, someone who is particularly in God’s favor?”
“I don’t see any harm in it,” Derek said. “It’s only a question of whether we actually can talk to those already departed for heaven before us. If I ask you to pray for me, I’m pretty sure you will; if I ask Peter to do so, I don’t know if he heard me.”
After lunch they headed back to the shack to rehearse, Vashti bringing a bit of meat she hoped to cook for dinner.
There was a guest waiting on the front porch. From his rather fancy archaic garb Derek immediately recognized him as a clergyman from a high church; Pierre, though, obviously recognized more.
“Good afternoon, your Grace.”
“Good afternoon, Pierre.”
“I wanted to thank you for blessing my bullets the other day. I can say that it made a difference; I can’t say more than that.”
“You’re quite welcome, son.”
“So, what brings you here?”
“There are rumors,” he said, “that someone in your band might be an angel. That seemed to me to be important to know.”
“Well, it’s not really my band--it’s Derek’s.”
Derek interrupted. “It’s not my band; it’s our band, and it’s the King’s, to use as He wills.”
“The King?” the cleric questioned.
“That’s what Derek calls God,” Pierre provided. “Like, the King of Kings. Forgive my manners, Bishop Stevens, this is Derek and Vashti Brown, Maurice Howland, and Lei He, The Living Colors Dixieland Gospel Band. Mes amies, this is Bishop Stephens.”
“I am honored to meet you,” Derek answered, the others sort of grumbling in concert. The Bishop only nodded in response.
“I don’t think I’m an angel,” Derek said, “but I am a messenger sent to New Orleans by the King to be a protector of some kind.”
“Sent?” the Bishop responded. “How do you mean, sent?”
“It’s a bit difficult to explain. Would you like to come in?”
The Bishop eyed the front of the house suspiciously, and said, “I’d rather not.” Derek wasn’t certain whether he thought the building might collapse on top of him, or whether he thought he would be somehow soiled, physically or spiritually, if he crossed the threshold. There was no point in arguing it; he set down his trumpet case.
“I was born in another world--Earth, but a different Earth, and in the future--not the far distant future, just the end of this century. Then there was an accident with a machine that hasn’t been invented yet, and I was sent to a different universe. That happened several times--going to another universe--and in one of them I sort of started over, back in the womb, and was born as a sprite--little faerie creatures? With the help of some friends I managed to get back to who I was, a few years older, and I’ve been a lot of places and done a lot of things. When I was a sprite, I was apparently chosen by the King--God, as the sprites know him--to save them from humans who were trying to exterminate them. After that I met my wife, and somehow the King allowed that she would come with me, and we went to a couple worlds together.”
He composed his thoughts for a moment. He was fairly certain the Bishop didn’t believe any of this, but as Joe said, it was best to tell as much of the truth as you think your hearer can handle. “When we arrived here, we were confronted by a man claiming to be the devil and then trying to get us to leave so he could have the city. Obviously we didn’t leave, but when we reached as far as here, the man who owns this house, a Mister Hunter, said he had been awaiting us, gave us our instruments, and said it was now our responsibility to protect New Orleans, as we were relieving him. Then he left, and we’ve been doing what we could since then. I have a few unusual abilities I’ve learned in my travels that have helped.”
The Bishop watched him keenly for a moment, then said, “Where did you go for Christmas?”
“We stayed home and made a quiet dinner for ourselves.”
The Bishop shifted in his seat before continuing. “My problem in all you say is this notion that Mister Hunter was appointed by God to protect this city, and that you have replaced him. I do not believe God would have appointed a heretical Baptist as his agent, and you are no better, people who skip church on one of the holiest days of the year.”
Derek looked at him incredulously. “All that I said, and that’s the part you don’t believe?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but your God is too small. My God is the King in every universe, and able to work His wonders wherever they are needed. He saved Israel, and in another universe He saved the sprites more than once. I have no doubt that He is working in and through the Catholic Church, but that does not mean He doesn’t also work through the Baptists and the Presbyterians. I don’t know why He chose me to protect this city; I had never been here before. But if you don’t like it, I suggest you talk to Him about it.”
He looked at his friends. Pierre looked aghast, Maurice perhaps smug, Lei unfazed, and Vashti proud.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’m supposed to be at a rehearsal. I don’t know how that’s going to matter, but it has already helped us against some of the minions of evil, and we were told we were going to need the music in our fight.” He tried to conceal his impatience as the Bishop slowly rose and turned to leave--but then pointed a finger at him.
“God will punish you for your heresies.”
“God will punish many in New Orleans, I expect,” Derek replied. “I pray that you are not one of them.”
He watched as the Bishop retreated to the street, then turned and led the others inside.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
