Himura the organ player brought the anthem to a crescendo and the congregation hollered, some with arms raised, others rocked in the fetal position on the floor between the pews.

Reverend Roy descended from the pulpit, chest heaving, his brow covered in thick sweat. He'd lost himself completely in the rhetoric, the dogmatic doctrine he proclaimed. At times he wondered where the words came from. But the more he served the King, the more he knew. At pivotal moments when he held an audience captive, the King filled him. And Roy was willing, a vessel ready to be drunk on that power, that sweet, dark, honey-yellow warmth.

Today was a day his King had answered his prayers and blessed his meditations. First he bestowed power on Moe. And after that Roy himself was taken captive. The congregation had all but melted away while he, Roy, had been raptured by his own message of transcendent conquest that awaited all true believers.

When he descended from the heavens, after the King had left him, he dropped back into the dust and grime of Rubrum. His eyes once again beheld the pathetic bodies sitting before him, hanging on his every word like filthy alley cats fighting over scraps of trash. The first person he made eye contact with was Cherry.

A fire burned in her eyes. Not the yellow fire, but something close. Her eyes raked his body with anxious desperation. Roy sensed he almost had Cherry. She alone made it all worth it. A smile curled his lips, pulling them back, away from his sharp stained teeth.

She just needed one good prodding to push her over the edge and then she'd be his, always and forever. Then he could demand almost anything of her to prove her devotion. He knew. He'd seen her kind before, knew the signs to watch for. Beautiful but feeble. Outwardly able to strut her stuff and bring most men to their knees, but inside laid bare, vulnerable. And young. Her youth pleased Roy. Her mind was pliable. Her desires, her goals, and even her motivations sat like a lump of clay begging for his hands to shape and mold. Into what? He did not know. And there was joy in the mystery of what she might become.

He had a gift he wanted to give her. The perfect present, sure to win her heart. A thrill burned in his chest. He rubbed his palms together and licked his lips.

As the music died down and the emotions subsided, the ushers helped gather people off of the floor. Many wanted to stay and chat with Roy, bombarding his personal space as if he was their friend.

A sharp inhale rushed into his nostrils, steeling him for the work he still had to do. The congregants thought his work ended after he stepped down from the pulpit, but really it had just begun.

"I caught a vision today, Reverend," said Beth.

Roy resisted wrinkling his nose at her. She always sought his approval. It was plain as she dragged her reluctant husband up to the front week after week, trying to show Roy she'd been attentive to his words, as if he cared. "That's amazing, my daughter. I'm glad the King blessed you. He enraptures us all, if our hearts are willing." Roy made sure to glare at Beth's husband, indicating his belief was lacking. It was a simple tactic he loved to goad others with. Give them a compliment seasoned with a subtle rebuke. Always kept them eating out of his palm, like offering a horse a handful of oats.

"Howdy Reverend. Some miracle today with Moe. I'd like you to meet my kids."

"How do you do kiddos?"

Roy had to fight the urge to wipe his hand clean on his slacks after shaking each of the children's grubby hands. He hated kids, and did not understand why parents felt the need to share their misplaced pride. Roy was not impressed. If the parents were simpletons, the children were worms to him.

Up in the pulpit, the King filled him with rhetoric and inspired him with euphoric visions. Down here in the mire and the muck he was left to fend for himself and try to keep his head afloat while he waded through feces. He detested these people. But he also attained a sort of satisfaction while interacting with them. Making them believe he was their friend, their mentor, that he actually cared, it warmed his heart. So while they presumed he smiled out of genuine interest in their pathetic, mundane lives, he grinned because his performance convinced them completely. They entrusted themselves to him, and in the end that was worth more than all of the resources and riches the tycoons held combined.

When you held the people's hearts, as Roy did, you truly controlled Rubrum.

The tycoons offered the people low wages, breaking their backs with hard physical labor, quarrying the rocks, building the bullet rail lines, or the mentally taxing work of keeping the air and water clean. And the people for their part put up with it, because it was all they could do. But in the end the tycoons reaped all of the rewards and the people knew it. And if you were a homesteading farmer, outside of the tycoon control, you were still in a tycoon-controlled trade system, and at the whims of Rubrum and whatever she allowed to bloom come harvest season.

Roy was a man of opportunity. And if he had a talent it was seeing diamonds where others saw detestables. It was so simple. Tell the children what they wanted to hear, tell them they were resilient, puff them up by complimenting their hard work, sympathize with them for how every waking moment of their lives they'd been slighted and handed a bad hand of cards, whether born on Rubrum, or exiled from Terra. Always focus their negative emotions on a common enemy: Terra. Always insist that Terra further encroach on their sphere, diminishing their way of life. And of course he had to put on a little show. That was almost a reverend's job requirement. And always, always dangle the juicy worm on the end of the hook, hints at something greater, but only for true believers.

From the girls at the brothel he learned the secrets of men. Though they did not want to hear it, many of the girls were subject to pillow talk. Behind the calloused exteriors of the working men resided vulnerable misters, needing true companionship, but looking for it in the wrong place. With a little delving and prodding, Roy had learned the desires and dark secrets, the vulnerabilities of most of the men in town. He knew who was cheating on their wife, who was single and desperate because they were ugly, and who was hurting because they were burned out.

Their pointless lives had no ultimate direction. Men and women alike had learned the hard way that life was more than occupation and survival. The human soul longed for more. It was that longing that was ripe for the picking. Roy arrived just in time for a harvest. His King offered him power in exchange for sustenance.

So while he loathed them on an individual, name to face basis, the herd as a whole motivated him.

"That was amazing, Scratch."

Cherry latched onto his arm.

The warmth of her body pressed so tight against his brought some genuine cheer back into Roy.

He peered past her long eyelashes into her big, beautiful eyes. They were like two precious jewels ready for the taking. She reminded Roy why he even did all this to begin with, so that the cream of the crop could rise to the top. They weren't all sheeple.

She was ready. He squeezed her hand. "Cherry, dear. How would you like to attend a private meeting tonight, with some of the more devout followers?"

Cherry's mouth opened slightly. She almost could not contain her surprise, the excitement of being selected for more. She regained her composure. "I'd feel honored, Scratch."

"Good girl. Meet me here tonight, after midnight. Also I have a gift for you, which I will give you then."

He wanted to give her more details, but two of his ushers, one being Silent Sammy, approached, stopping on either side of him. "Have a word with you Reverend? Downstairs."

The second usher spoke. Silent fidgeted with his blazer.

"Sure."

He waved goodbye to Cherry, who lingered, too excited to know what to do with herself. Roy grinned.

The ushers led him through the door behind the pulpit, down a flight of stairs, turned the corner, and down another flight. Candlelight basked whatever wasn't hidden in darkness. Smack dab in the middle where soft glow joined shadows, Moe writhed, groaning.

Yellow secretion oozed out of every hole in his head, from his ears to his nostrils, mouth, and tear ducts. A thin film of slick wax covered the exposed skin of his naked body, robed only in jaundice. His clothing lay torn and cast aside, as if Moe had stripped himself of garments that had caught on fire.

Roy slapped his hand over his nose and mouth and resisted the urge to heave.

"Moe, Moe, Moe." Roy shook his head. Big, stupid, empty pupils stared back at him. "His faith was weak."

The ushers nodded their heads. "The King hates weakness." They said it without skipping a beat, and without remorse.

Roy's hand, still clasped over his face, hid his proud smile.

"What should we do, Reverend? His wife is asking."

"Tell her I'm indoctrinating Moe in the ways of the church now that he believes."

"And what about...that?"

Roy scowled at the heap of filth-covered flesh. "I heard Moe loves spaghetti cider. Drinks it by the gallon. Let him drink to his heart's content. Then point him towards the railway. Tell him if he can walk a kilometer along the tracks, I'll give him a thousand creds."

"Bound to get hit by a bullet train, walking along the tracks like that."

Roy paused a moment to heave. "That's the idea."

He thought he had his stomach under control, but he didn't. He vomited.

"But what about after? She'll still inquire."

Roy wiped his lips. "I'll tell her what I tell everyone. Moe was summoned to the King."

This time the ushers smiled.

"Get him some clothes and clean him up before you take him out though. And clean this puddle up too, before the seance."

He left before the ushers could object.