Chapter Fifty-Four
With so many vehicles disembarkation was serial, empty SUVs retreating though the presidential limo stayed. Medicine Wolf, Skuffles, Adam, and Jesse entertained the Man and Sawyer, and I greeted governors, short-circuiting any dancing around by thanking them for their endorsements. Illinois was there, so I mentioned Fort Defiance and handed him off to Washington. It was mostly western, northern, and younger governors who had come, though Georgia and Tennessee had tagged along with eyes on their water war, and all had pretty much decided to cut their losses where National Committees were concerned. No strategy having been announced or looking likely, they would create their own, which as they wanted a very positive federal response to Ol' Manitou River to continue amounted to endorsing me and persuading federal and state candidates to support my core policies in the hope of not having a slate candidate beat them. I was clear I'd have to be persuaded someone was sincerely on board, but I was happy to recruit, and open to any practical evolving we could manage.
Then it was representatives, apologetic about turning up unannounced but unrepentant about accepting a ride on Air Force One. I didn't mind in the least, but needed to know if they were willing to be onstage, which they were, and what I might do with them, which my backbrain was working out. The shape of what would work became clearer when I checked with stage crew, discovering someone had been smart. I managed words with the Boss before he went on, then the Man, who corralled governors while I did representatives, and we watched monitors relaying the stage while we waited. The Man looked round.
"You know, Ms Hauptman, that looks very like Jorma Kaukonen."
"Because it is, sir. I want stuff that needs serious lead, so Bob Weir asked him and he jumped at it."
"You've persuaded them to a set list?"
I laughed. "Never. Just a particular threefold number."
When Dylan had been joined by the Dead he'd switched from ballads to more up-tempo back catalogue, his own and increasingly the Dead's, 'All Along the Watchtower' and 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door' giving way to a pointed 'He's Gone' and funky 'Estimated Prophet' that had people dancing. When the Boss joined them they had to do the new 'Born with the USA', to get some power chords out of the system, and were blasting through 'Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)'. Adam tapped my arm, and I saw Leslie had arrived, looking frazzled as she spoke to senior Secret Service agents, so we headed over.
"Hey, Leslie. All OK?"
"Mercy." She gave me a hard hug, glancing at Excalibur as she released me and shaking her head. "I am very happy you're safe, considerably freaked by what you did, and run off my feet with sixty-two more VIPs to look after. But we need to talk."
"Marsilia?"
"Yeah."
"Alright. The space in front of the stage was you? Serious thanks — it's very helpful. Why did governors and representatives fall on you?"
"You're welcome. Secret Service was scrambling, FBI's got a bigger fleet here than anyone else, and I was DO for interagency liaison because it's a you event. It's all sorted, it just took time I didn't have."
"Right. Who else needs to hear you about Marsilia?"
"No-one, but I'll welcome input from anyone who knows her and Wulfe."
"Know does not mean understand in either case. What's the problem?"
"I don't know if there is a problem, Mercy. When you called Geronimo I scrambled with our SWAT team, and found Wulfe, Marsilia, and your friend Stefan awake, watching TV in that basement with a bunch of donors. Wulfe had spoken to the AED, and he and Stefan were making calls but clearly shocky. Marsilia was out of it, eyes glazed and voice remote. Donors were physically OK, if also shocky, but I am a lot clearer on why you say sheep the way you do. On the surface, all fine, for a new value of fine, and as they reasonably said they'd have to be a lot busier after sunset we left them to it. But while I think I see why you get on with Stefan, Marsilia did not strike me as anything like stable, and Wulfe was a weird, jangly mix of hyperexcitement, deep shock, and what felt like barely contained rage, far more at you than me. Wolves with us said Wulfe was always weird and no-one knew what he really thought about anything, but after Bonarata even he was not going to take you on. Fae liaison agreed but I want your take, because I left feeling I didn't trust either of them an inch but I have no probable cause to do otherwise."
"Vamps are walking probable cause. Who was fae liaison?"
"Ymir no last name. Slim, a bit silvery. Registration form has him as a snow elf, but no data on what those are."
"They don't exist. He's one of the jötnar, but everything about them is really unclear. He's smart though, if vulnerable to some kinds of witchcraft, and wouldn't try to deceive in this. I hear you about Wulfe and Marsilia, but you'll want to let dust settle, literally, before you conclude anything. Beyond shock, and Marsilia having been Bonarata's main squeeze for a while, back in the night, add that Wulfe Turned Bonarata, and Bonarata Turned Marsilia. Bonarata broke both bonds centuries back but for those two it's still more than shock."
Leslie stared at me. "They're all vamp family? Eeuw."
"Stefan isn't, though he did once serve Marsilia. But talk to Jesse — that was her reaction before Jill complained collocating Sauron and Oedipus made her head hurt." I grinned, because Leslie obviously felt the same, and so did listening agents. "As to Wulfe's rage I have more than one theory, but what they boil down to is that any two or more of his cunning plans didn't work out. I doubt he was what any of us would call sane when he was Turned, very young, and even if he was he hasn't been for centuries. He wanted Bonarata punished rather than dismissed, I'd guess, and probably hoped to get the magic Bonarata stole from She of Livorno for himself and Marsilia. Releasing the ghosts and unravelling the witchcraft puts it permanently out of reach, thank God, so tough. But I think he'll chew and swallow. Keep a close eye on his donors, though."
"Oh yeah. And Marsilia's."
"She has human donors now?"
Leslie blinked. "Why wouldn't she?"
"Masters and mistresses usually feed on other vamps. Control process. But with seethe numbers down maybe she needs vitamin supplements. Huh. Find out how new those donors are?"
"Can do. You think Wulfe wanted you dead?"
"I think Wulfe wants any number of things, many incompatible with one another, and is even less rational than usual when it comes to Bonarata and Marsilia. Even vamps find no-one pushes their buttons like family."
"God above, Mercy. You are being very calm about this."
"Why not, Leslie? Ding dong, the witch is dead. I would say it's party time, but they're not looking in such good shape either."
"No. And I get a victory dance, big time. But those vampires are freaking bad, and I don't think you get used to them."
"A bit, but Wulfe scares everyone — even Gray Lords are wary of him, and the Marrok — so it's way better to keep him onside. Stefan may contact me, and I need to meet Marsilia and Wulfe soon, so we'll see."
"You'll go to the seethe?"
"Not a chance. Public venue. Uncle Mike's, probably — I warned him I might need to use his place." I looked at my senior Secret Service agent. "And that I'd have a human squad on me. It's the local preternatural bar, off East Ainsworth near the port. Something to look forward to, hey?"
He gave me a long-suffering look.
"Public bars are a security nightmare, ma'am, as you well know."
"I do, but handy preternatural meeting places are in short supply. We'll take lots of wolves, Agent, but everyone will be on best behaviour. And that's tomorrow's problem. Are you good for now, Leslie?"
"Better. Some. I truly do not like vampires."
"Welcome to the club, but they have an upside. Stefan really is a good guy, and Wulfe has a chair that compels truthful answers he might be willing to use in a just cause. But I need to get on." 'Rosalita' had given way to a brightly cheerful 'China Cat Sunflower', and I knew what would come next. "You're not wrong, Leslie, but don't add to pressure on Wulfe just now — it already has to be immense. And listen hard to Stefan."
"Right. Sorry, Mercy. You don't need extra crap, but it's been a very long two days and nothing like enough sleep. God only knows how you're coping. You didn't get out of St Louis until closer to dawn than midnight."
"I had time Underhill when there was a delay getting back, so I'm not too bad. But everyone's running on euphoria. Early night tonight. Just now, though, I'm gonna be a dancing fool." I looked at Excalibur. "Foot-tapping fool, anyway. Come say hi to the Man and relax."
She looked dubious but followed us. I sent Adam a query, and got back an image of Wulfe looking three ways so fast he seemed to have three heads below a thought-balloon containing jagged question-marks. I recognised Snowy, trying to decide between picking up a bone and King Ottakar's Sceptre, fallen from Tintin's pocket, and laughed.
"Confusion to our enemies. Though he's not quite one of those."
"Near enough. He's a one-vamp freakshow. And Marsilia."
"True. Time to listen to the music, though."
It was interesting to see the Man greet Leslie, offering thanks for her insights, and see her dark blush. But he had a question for me.
"Haven't heard them do this in years. One of your requests?"
"Un huh. My wolf guardian when I was pre-teen had Aoxomoxoa and Live/Dead on the turntable often enough. I've always liked the cheer of 'China Cat Sunflower', but it's mainly for the segue."
"Which one?"
"The one they liked early in 1968, but I asked them to combine that with later developments of what's coming up soon now."
His eyes narrowed. "'The Eleven'?"
"Have a skull-and-roses point. But what should also segue into that?"
"'Saint Stephen'."
"Have another. You're on when 'The Eleven' ends."
"Damn. Why that one?"
"The tempo suits coyote dancing. Hush."
I saw Leslie settle with our levity, and so did the Man, offering me a wink. Whether 'Saint Stephen' was about the stoned Christian martyr or the differently stoned Haight-Ashbury guru Stephen Gaskin, I'd always liked its rising and falling lines and local accelerations, and once it segued into the astonishing structure-for-a-jam Phil Lesh created for Robert Hunter's counting poem 'The Eleven' I had a hard time keeping feet and fingers still. Even as a child the insanely fast 11/8 time fascinated me, in the cut on Live/Dead that Bryan had played loud when he wanted to cheer himself up, and I'd taken to trying to dance to it on four feet, with eventual success.
'China Cat Sunflower' segued into 'Saint Stephen' and it took willpower not to play air-guitar with the slow opening rise of Kaukonen's pure notes and their sweeping descent as everyone else came in, and once they were in the groove I didn't try to stop feet or hands, fingers flicking the beat on thighs, enjoying the rough harmony of the voices until they reached the ironic conclusion that one man gathers what another man spills. Then we had the William Tell bridging verses, and the tempo skittered before shifting into 11/8. I moved so I could finger-drum on a barrier protecting the monitor stand while my feet tapped counterpoint. You can break down 11/8 any number of ways, but I thought back in the day Garcia had mostly been hearing one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two, and so was Kaukonen, closely matching Garcia's melodic line on versions I'd cited to Dave Lemieux. The Man gave me a sideways look.
"You drum too?"
"Not with a kit but I get complex tempi. Sorta. Here come the lyrics."
Posted versions give the whole of Hunter's poem, but they hadn't sung it like that, and didn't now, compacting the lyric and splitting lines between overlapping voices. Dylan kept out of it, wisely given the state of his voice these days, Kaukonen and the Boss alternated lines Garcia had sung, and Bob Weir and Phil Lesh did their counterpoint in punching harmony. And it was on to Kaukonen unreeling his take on the central jam before finding the repeated rising figure that crested out into the nearest an electric guitar can come to church bells, descending tenor to bass, the odd intervals unavoidable in change-ringing stretching eight notes to eleven beats. Bran had missed English church bells, and the church in Aspen Creek had been firmly provided with a bell tower, so the sound had been familiar, and I thought mapping an octave sequence onto an 11/8 bar was an act of genius, letting my fingers say so in stuttering tattoo. Often enough 'The Eleven' had segued into 'Turn On Your Love Light', but that was for another day, and as players started dropping beats and let the jam fade Medicine Wolf headed out front and we shifted towards the stage.
"Oh man." Bob Weir's voice was laughing. "It's been a while since we did that sequence, and 11/8's a blast. And we did it by special request of the person we're all here to listen to. But you know, last week, right before he brought the Boss onstage, that guy in the excellent jug band you had playing said little wonders happen around Mercy Hauptman, just as big ones do. Can't say I ever thought I'd be saying this mid-gig, but we're taking a break, and I ask you all now to give a warm welcome to the President of the United States, here to introduce his successor."
The Rhythm Devils gave the Man a drum roll, and he got applause as he advanced to the mike, Sawyer waving and going to stand by the Boss.
"Thank you, Mr Weir. When I was in breadhead oil, and the old politics-as-usual, being an open Deadhead wasn't such a good idea, but I've sneaked into a few gigs, and always listened to you guys with admiration, so I'm very happy to step out of that closet now."
That got him cheers, but he used his volume slider and became brisk.
"People of the Tri-Cities and all my fellow Americans, let me first give you what news I can, after the extraordinary events yesterday. In the USA all remains calm and under control. Integrating vampires who accept the Code of Conduct, daywalking by night, continues smoothly under AED Westfield's and Director Wiseman's oversight. Those who do not accept the Code have been detained, and as most were never legally citizens they will with all due process be deported, unless serious criminal charges are preferred. In other nations there have been more casualties, vampire and human, but things seem to be calming as shock wanes. Still more positively, having met Ol' Manitou River this morning, we reached broad agreement to establish a Department of the Mississippi Basin to oversee the many strands of transformation involved in curbing pollution and removing dams in return for greatly improved flood control, new irrigation, and Ol' Manitou River's attention to the volcanic threat at Yellowstone. There's a way to go, but very productive Ol' Manitou River Accords are well in sight, so we are safer and better off, with a new preternatural alliance agreed in principle and a major domestic and international threat averted."
What was not to like? and the crowd told him so. He gave a thumbs-up.
"Right. But here's something you don't know. After Mercy Hauptman's three amazing successes yesterday — greeting Ol' Manitou River, dismissing Bonarata with his whole hit-squad, and utterly demolishing her rivals — a significant number of state governors she invited to meet Ol' Manitou River have decided not to wait on National Committees any longer, and are here to join me in endorsing Mercy Hauptman for my present job."
They filed on as he named them, men and women of both parties assembling without regard for affiliation, and they got drum rolls too. Numbers built excitement and it was another thing no-one had seen before. Then, thanks to Leslie, governors could leave by descending a ramp into a large clear strip in front of the crowd; Secret Service agents with the Freed held the perimeter, and the Man picked it up again.
"Air Force One has a lot of space, so when I headed here from St Louis I offered some other people a ride. Yesterday Mercy Hauptman took a lot of trouble to observe a distinction between campaigning and matters like great manitous and vampires beyond any campaign, so representatives of the Mississippi Basin she'd assembled couldn't properly endorse her, but they surely do, and today they'd like to say so."
Anglos were cheering and clapping as hard as anyone, and there was real force in the receptions of First People and African Americans as they were drummed on, the Man thanking them for serving their country, and me for arranging it.
"The reasons for strong positive discrimination are what we're going to be hearing about soon, and we're nearly there, but there's more than one name on a presidential ticket, more than one race between now and November. There are also VIPs where that P stands for preternatural."
Representatives joined governors in the clear strip, and their place was taken by Frank and Rachel, Irpa and Vanna, to an extra burst of applause I hoped was because of trolls' very visible role in the fight, Jeremiah and Ros, and Kyle and Warren, who got a snatch of 'Born With the USA' and another crescendo of cheers. Elder Spirits tended to make more than First People quietly respectful, but Coyote went first, and Second People were happy to cheer him after his antics. The others didn't want the hassle of being recognised and went in animal-headed, Jill beside Bear, which quieted things, and the Man took advantage.
"Coyote, Thunderbird, Wolf, and Bear, thank you for all the assistance you and avatars have given in the matter of vampires. Please pass that on to your peers. And thank you, Ms Widepaw, for your guardianship. You have to be the fastest grizzly anywhere, never mind in the west."
Jill grinned, and quiet dissolved into another cheer, so it was roles in combat that were on top.
"Uh oh. Skuffles, slider control fast, please. It's going to be bedlam."
Cacophonies can be fun.
"And painful, when you have coyote ears."
The Man used his own volume slider again, and gestured. "The stage is getting crowded, but we have room for some more. Eighteen days ago, when Washington, Oregon, and I responded to Mercy Hauptman's question, are you serious?, by endorsing her and pledging our votes and ten-buck affirmations, there were a bunch of political movers and shakers in DC who thought I'd lost my mind completely. Lord, how they squawked!" There was laughter the Man pushed through. "And you all didn't — because you got it right away, if you hadn't already. We've made very important national steps in the last two years, and however they're things we have to do together, bottom line is that most are down to Mercy Hauptman. There's a reason it's called the Path of Mercy, though I'm told she argued against naming it that as hard as she could — which she would, because she's very modest, and gets antsy when people try to give her accolades she deserves. But that's a problem she's going to have to live with, when she holds my present job." He held up a hand. "But Mercy Hauptman is a family coyote-girl, and family matters. She couldn't do what she does without her husband and mate, Adam, and their daughter Jesse, who's been showing us all just how smart, strong, and wise seventeen can be. Her adoptive wolf brother, Charles Smith, with his wife and mate Anna, have been critical liaisons in the Medicine Wolf Accords and more. There are also the amazing Skuffles and a special guest even I don't know much about. So I'm not just asking you now to welcome and give it up bigtime for our next president, She Doesn't Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It, Elf-friend, Troll-friend, Vampire saviour and slayer, Daughter of Coyote, newest wielder of Excalibur, Mercy Hauptman and a whole lot more, I'm asking you to welcome our next first family, because though she'll be taking point they are all going to be leading us, as they already are. Put your hands together now for the Hauptmans!"
The Man had been raised Baptist and had the preaching rhythm in his blood, so he really did have them primed, and it was a cacophony. Jesse was between Adam and me, Skuffles at my side, Charles, Anna, and Asil behind us, and it was all any of us could do not to flinch at the decibel level, but I could hear the Rhythm Devils giving me more 11/8, and gave them a smiling bow. We toughed it out, the Man stood aside, and Jesse and Adam drifted to a halt as I took the last steps with Skuffles, seeing a tumultuous sea of faces in slanting light. No-one could sustain that for long, and Skuffles obliged with a loud Oy!
It's very heartening, thank you all, but hush a little, hey? Any amount of Stuff That Matters coming right up.
Skuffles lay down, and that as much as her mindvoice had an effect. So did my silence after a smile of thanks, gesturing until noise dropped.
"Thank you, everyone, for an amazing reception, and your faith that we can change for the better, however it's hard work." I turned. "And thank you, Mr President, for your introduction, your endorsement, and the way you've dealt with issues surrounding the forcible outing of vampires." I swung back to the crowds. "And it was forcible outing, make no mistake. It was necessary, and justified, but it leaves a bad taste all the same, and not only Bonarata's. That's probably not what you were expecting me to say first-up, and I have more cheerful things to say later, but hard things are best dealt with sooner. Forcibly outing vampires has become twined with the election, but its real relevance is as a demonstration that I — like other wolves, fae, Elder Spirits, avatars, and manitous — do not, as a preternatural, automatically favour other preternaturals. Wolves were once human, all avatars are half-human, and to those who signed the Medicine Wolf Accords lives matter. Every last one, irrespective of kind, age, gender, ethnicity, faith, orientation, or anything except behaviour. Question is, how do humans stack up on that scale?"
Very loud noise had become very deep silence, and I nodded.
"Yeah. That one. I've had to fight some bad preternatural threats, but also Cantrip, the Heuters, JLS, and Dim Future, and so have Adam and Jesse, Charles and Anna, with most every preternatural and their close kin. There's a lot of human hate out there. Frank, Jesse, and I are not pushing Others 101 because preternaturals need to learn that lesson. And what I spent most of yesterday doing was about that. The President mentioned my positive discrimination in selecting representatives to meet Ol' Manitou River, but didn't say why I'd done that. And didn't need to, because everyone knows, if they're remotely honest with themselves."
The cloak folded itself back so the absurd array of weapons on my belt was visible.
"There are pressing reasons I go armed most everywhere, as there are for every citizen of colour and every woman to do so. And that's not on, so I started thinking hard when Medicine Wolf told me its neighbour of the Mississippi Basin would like to meet humans residing within it. There's been a lot of praise thrown at me today, most over the top, but the New York Times said something I can't deny — that I'm trying to apply the principle of the Medicine Wolf Accords to our scheduled Ol' Manitou River Accords, and in doing so I'm taking on our national racial history, which has not been good."
I let myself settle into my stance, and the image that came onscreen was a fractured Stars-and-Stripes, more jagged than the quilting pattern, with ugly splotched stains. Breaths were drawn sharply in.
"I know. That doesn't look so well, does it? But it speaks a truth. None of this is easy, but it has to be faced. We all love our country. Adam fought for it in Vietnam, as the President did, and many others. But they all know it was a wrong war, fought for bad reasons in bad ways. And being a patriot doesn't, shouldn't, mean my country right or wrong, no matter what. People make mistakes, and do bad things. So do nations. And though I'm far from Roman Catholic, they are right you cannot obtain absolution or any kind of forgiveness if you do not confess your sins, one way or another. So where does that leave us when it comes to the Mississippi Basin and the decision of Ol' Manitou River to speak with us?"
I spread my arms.
"It leaves us facing real challenge but also gives us real opportunity. I said yesterday I first thought about geography, the sheer extent of Ol' Manitou River's self, embodied in thirty-two states and governors, then I was hit by history. That was my major at Wazzu, and it involved thinking about more than old facts and what happened when. There's also what we do with the history we know, or don't, because what happened in our land, good and bad, is what we all inherit, but like most nations we do a lot of cherry-picking, remembering glory and forgetting shame. And one thing I learned at Wazzu, and have thought about ever since, is that after 1945, Germans who were dealing with their savagely unhappy inherited history invented a word for remembering shame. German compounds words by sticking others together so it's a jawbreaker, vergangenheitsbewaltigung, and you can translate it more than one way — some possibles are on the screens, but what they come down to is the work of dealing with inherited guilt. Remembering shame, so you don't incur more. You didn't do it, you aren't to blame personally, and yet you inherit the guilt along with the ruins. We all do. So to begin with, let's do some different cherry-picking."
What came onscreen was an animated version of the graphics I'd sent governors, showing the whole Mississippi Basin, and charting, year by year since 1776, the inexorable spread of Anglos with African Americans they had enslaved, First People they displaced, and violent deaths of all three with the slaughter of bison. The fluctuating Hispanic presence was also shown. Figures could only be ballpark, and I said so while insisting they were ballpark, methodical estimates not wild guesses, and the tale they told was of radical imbalance that lessened a little over time but didn't go away. After 1865 there was a shift, but Jim Crow ensured a continued elevation of violent African-American deaths that persisted, and after the Indian Wars battle-deaths of First People became deaths from illness and malnutrition in inadequate reservations. With the twentieth century African Americans flowed west and north in millions, but creation of LA's Watts and Chicago's South Side hadn't made for peaceful old age either. And the only reason bison deaths dropped was because they were almost all dead anyway. Light was fading, and screens stood out brightly.
"It's an ugly tale, isn't it? Our past shapes as well as stains our present, and the political name for the history you've just seen, the form it takes now, is white, might, and right. That was what Cantrip stood for, and the murderous Heuters, father and son alike. So when the Paths of Assertion and Mercy and Manitous push back against that bigotry, they have to push back at older history behind it. God knows there are plenty of historical sins on our plate, including Vietnam, but will anyone disagree the two greatest shames of our nation, the deepest stains on our honour, are enslavement of African Americans and near genocide of Amerindians? Both were abominations, and neither can be undone. I told you we faced a real challenge, but I also said it was a real opportunity, and it is. We can hardly be proud the principal scene of both those greatest crimes was the Mississippi Basin, but we can do something with the fact that Ol' Manitou River now forces us to see that collocation, and address both, individually and in joint harness. Here's some of the how."
It's easy for discussion of guilt to get hung up on financial reparations, which always puts Anglo backs up, but if serious investment in African-American communities and First People's reservations was needed, it wasn't the only thing. We'd heard a lot about removing Confederate and slavery-complicit statues and memorials, names that warranted scrubbing, but less about putting new ones up, though they were needed, as were new names. How many towns and cities with Amerindian names — which was a lot — had no memorial to peoples they were named for, languages they were named in? Museums, libraries, and study centres were needed as resources for Others 101, which was so not only about preternaturals — and change would flow both ways. If African Americans and First People wanted better Anglo and Latinx knowledge of their histories, they had to do some meeting and greeting, teaching and preaching. Yes, it'd cost good money, but no child should graduate high school without knowing about our many ethnicities and faiths, the sheer variety of the world, and understanding that being different, being other, was not automatically a threat and almost always a communal resource. And if we made sure kids knew, we'd see progressive change as they became adults.
I had chosen representatives by occupation for more than one reason. People who seriously work the waters, fresh or salt, are, like most soldiers, more interested in competence than its colour, and I called up men and women of all four major ethnicities who were very happy with the idea that Mississippi Basin river-use initiatives, old and new, including all river freight, fishing, and tourism, would seek specifically to address that set of inherited historical racial problems as they could. Hiring, equal pay and benefits, promotion, education, simple courtesy — a growing network of smaller initiatives across the Basin, spreading with work exchanges, secondments, and the needs of clean-up. On screen places and connections were highlighted, rivers as rhizomes from which new cultures could grow, using resources of, but not dependent on, top-down initiatives governors would pursue. There would be major projects around levees and dam removals, where interculturation could flourish, and as bison migration was restored Buffalo Rangers, not only African-American but a national service for all, open to all, as the Army Corps of Engineers was, with the same mix of high ideals and fierce practical competence.
"Some might wonder why restoring bison migration matters. One reason is that their Elder Spirit is still suffering badly from the mass murder of his children, and the motive for that near-extinction wasn't only to free land for ranching, but to deny it to First People. The same man who said the only good Indian he ever saw was a dead Indian, Philip Sheridan, was a prime mover of that vile and irresponsible tactic. He anticipated the thinking that saw us try to defoliate Vietnam so trees wouldn't get in the way of gunfire. Think about that one. And there's a powerful symbolism in trying to restore some of what we slaughtered, as well as other factors. Wolves and coyotes are not big on vegetarianism, but demand for red meat is falling and needs to fall further — which is handy, as we need land to reforest. So there has to be some reallocation of land use in the plains states, and providing a migration corridor for bison will help structure that. And, more seriously than you might think, there's also the fact that Ol' Manitou River finds cows boring, reasonably, so bison are a way of accumulating points with manitous, Elder Spirits, and First People, which are really not so easy to come by."
I'd have to return to it but the thought was there.
"So, as Secretary Sawyer said having just met Medicine Wolf, are there a million questions? You bet. But WashU conferences are scheduled, thanks to the President federal government is reconfiguring to meet the challenge, and nothing I've suggested is remotely impossible. I've said before great manitous tend to shrink the scope of the impossible, but co-operation, pan-human and pan-preternatural, shrinks it too. Together we can do this, and if you elect me and Frank, and the slate candidates, we will keep doing it, with all speed. It won't happen overnight, or overyear, even overdecade, because reshaping the weight of history doesn't, but if we don't start it won't happen at all, and it badly needs to."
I held up a hand to stop swelling noise.
"But let's go back to where I started, forcibly outing vampires leaving a bad taste, as it should. But vampires were in a bad place, oppressed and neglected, often enough made vicious by it. Sound familiar to anyone? So I say to vampires learning to daywalk by night — most in the US will be awake now — that everything I've said in principle about all of us applies to you as well. The Undead need vergangenheitsbewaltigung too, to learn and discuss their own history, despite its literal and moral darkness, as we do. That amazing hoard of Bonarata's is one thing, and it doesn't seem any kind of chance it was full of Borgia materials. Then there are his evident connections to organised crime, especially smuggling — and coffins are good for that, as Chomsky told us while Vietnam was happening. And there is a lot more, all the way down to how vampires treat those they Turn, because that can be kindness or a form of slavery. And unless vampires do that work, confront their own history and shames as we confront ours, we could wind up using their otherness as one of our glues. Do you all see that? Oh, he or she may be a differently coloured human but they're our differently coloured human, and at least they ain't a vamp. Does that sound familiar too? It does to me. Horribly so. And for all avatars have a longstanding problem with vampires, which we'll be working on, I will fight that kind of thinking every way I can, and you need to do so too. E Pluribus Unum it says, Out of many, one. One. Not one-and-three-fifths, nor fifty, nor anything except one."
People are odd. The sheer weight of the topic had been keeping them quiet, but positive possibilities caught imaginations, and mentioning the old constitutional obscenity of the three-fifths so-called compromise punched African-American buttons, or perhaps they just felt they'd been quiet long enough, because they erupted. Cheering morphed into Mercy's Slate! over and over, and it seemed better to let them get it out of their systems, but what was I supposed to do meanwhile? After a minute or two I looked at Skuffles, who sighed and came to her feet.
Ahem! There are more things to be said, you know, and musicians are waiting on us.
Gradually sound died, and I smiled, thinking a distraction was in order.
"Thank you all, but Skuffles is right. And I'm done for now with the more recent history of the Mississippi Basin, but not with history, because there's someone I'd like you all to meet." Asil came forward to stand beside me, smiling though I could feel his tension. "I've known this wolf as Asil Moreno, Asil the Moor, since I was knee-high, but he was born Hussan ibn Galib, and he's one of the oldest wolves in the world because the last round number he hit was 1300."
Oh those pins dropping.
Only I heard, but Skuffles wasn't wrong, and humans on stage were as bug-eyed as everyone.
"That gives him a perspective on people and events that isn't always so cheerful, but it's worth some hard thinking, so please listen carefully now."
Asil spoke simply and remorselessly into a very extended silence. His father had been killed at the Battle of Tours, or Ma'Arakat Balat ash-Shuhada, in 732, and as a young wolf he'd fought Franks for the Umayaad Caliphate, serving as an emissary, which was how he'd met Charlemagne, after Roncevaux. Human violence continued as always with wars, crusades, and genocide of the Cathars, but as he'd aged he'd withdrawn from human affairs and faced preternatural ones — wolves divided by power struggles culminating in the Reconquista, witches, likewise, and vampires who had come with Romans and liked wolf- and witchblood better than human. Asil being Asil, his basic belief that to be a werewolf was to be cursed came through, and his observation that he'd stopped having children more than a thousand years ago because he could no longer bear watching them die of old age or fail the Change had the stunning effect it once had on me and Jesse. Then we got the Inquisition, Witch Wars, new to everyone human, preternatural migration to the New World, and the emergence in the Marrok of a new discipline and co-ordination for wolves, with the contrasting example of Bonarata. The upturn was extended into human technological acceleration, with many horrors but also the force to begin to solve even the oldest problems. Then, with a sideways look, he said that when I'd been small he'd been in a rough patch, a grumpy old bogey to avoid, but he'd seen me stand up to the Marrok, and been impressed. And last year he had seen what everyone had, while receiving the inestimable gift of Medicine Wolf's omega abilities, and been moved to found a fan-club, Aficionados de Mercy, not political but aesthetic, admiring my style.
"Yesterday is the most outstanding example so far. Ol' Manitou River needed meeting, Bonarata needed defeating, and Mercy's rivals needed beating, but no-one else could have pulled off so many dominoes in a row. She will tell you it was luck, and some was, yet luck she earned, and it is never wise to ignore those luck strongly favours. And the facts remain — Iacopo Bonarata and eleven of his most potent killers attacked Mercy at a time and place of his choosing, all were dead within seconds, and we are left with an image of her standing among fae, avatar, tibicena, wolves, Elder Spirit, and humans, framed by the Gateway Arch, drawing Excalibur from thin air to cleave black witchcraft asunder and free enslaved ghosts. Magnífica! Almuzahara sayf. And Mercy's style boosts her political power, moving all who see, so it is not self-regarding. Theologians may disagree, but I call it a form of grace, and tell you all flatly I have seen no leader so wield grace since the last flowering of the Caliphate. If you would have the advice of long experience, however deeply other, treasure it, and her, for the coherence of luck, style, and great magical potency is vanishingly rare under sun and moon, and she is our blessing in our need."
He gave me a bow, retreating to stand beside Anna, who brushed his hand with omega calm, and I faced a dazed crowd.
"That's not for me to comment on, but thank you Asil, for your faith in me. We've been trying warfare for thirteen centuries and more, and it hasn't worked so well, so let's try something else. The last historical matter for today is first steps, in the form of round tables, starting next weekend, under Frank's chairmanship, to bring together preternaturals and historians of all ethnicities to explore specific American issues, local, regional, and national. Wolves, avatars, and fae will be involved, and I hope vampires. PBS will broadcast them on radio and TV and they'll continue through the fall, looking at cheerful and offbeat things as well as bad ones we need to deal with, so take a look, hey?" They seemed to indicate they'd do that. "Thanks. And as I consider myself well and truly launched, we're going to let these wonderful musicians get back to playing their socks off for us. But I'll be available, at the end of the secure area there." I pointed with Manannán's Bane. "I would rather go walkabout, but my poor bodyguards have been though a lot already. Be aware there will be checks on those wanting to meet me, and you'll be on film for Ms Taylor and Ms Ligatt. But please come if you have a real question — which does not include 'Ooh can I see Excalibur?', because the answer's the same as last night — or a good idea. Slate candidates, governors, and representatives will be there. And that leaves just one thing." Adam and Jesse came up beside me, with Coyote. "I told you my irrepressible not-exactly father was doing posters. Well, there's a new one in Times Square. It's a promise about campaigning differently, and the last thing I'm saying about dismissing Bonarata. If it makes you laugh, good. Laughter's a tonic we need. I hope Frank and I, and all slate candidates, will have your votes in November, and thank you for listening."
When the River Devil poster came up there was a stunned gasp, but as the joke clicked laughter spread and tensions eased. Speech wasn't readily possible on stage, but Skuffles was handy.
Mercy says thank you to governors, representatives, and musicians, out of whose hair we should get. And everything's welcome, but if you could get 'Scarlet Begonias', 'Like a Rolling Stone', and the uptempo version of 'The Ghost of Tom Joad' in there, we'd be an even happier coyote.
We got musicianly thumbs-up, and after more waving and smiling made it off-stage. Governors and representatives had a way round the outside, so the secured area filled fast, but not faster than Elder Spirits reverted human, Gordon giving me a rare clap on the shoulder.
"You remain my favourite coyote, Mercy. That was well done."
Coyote grinned. "I know you said no more Lone Elk Stampedes, but if you will keep doing them …"
"Oh hush, you."
"Lone Elk Stampedes?" The Man arrived, sounding quizzical.
Coyote recapitulated the neverending saga of my names. Lone Elk Stampede meant explaining customised Clue!, but the Man got Threshing Sledge on his own, pinpointing Isaiah.
"Beating mountains small. That I get. And I'm not sure I want to know about duckponds, but if you collect names, Ms Hauptman, I've got one for you — Eight-sided Whispering Hallelujah Hatrack. It occurred to me hearing 'The Eleven' I've never known what one of those might be, but you seem to fit the bill."
He and I managed to hold laughter, even when a baffled Wolf told him he was stranger that anyone had thought, until Coyote thoughtfully observed he'd assumed it was a paraphrase for a very quietly-spoken elk, but Lone Eight-sided Whispering Hallelujah Hatrack Stampede might prove a bit much, when all three of us had a fit of giggles. I don't think presidents are supposed to do that, but it's no problem for coyotes. Then we went to meet the people, and found there were already a lot of them. I sighed. It was going to be a long night.