Eternity Road (28 page)

“We’re a ranger force,” Sak explained. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen much anymore. But unfortunately the bastards still show up once in a while.” He shrugged. “We work with what we have. When we’re not working, we’re farming. Or mining. Or whatever.”

“Mining?” asked Flojian. “What do you mine?”

“Iron, mostly. We take it out of the Roadmaker city.” He pointed north. “And aluminum. And even precious stones.” He shrugged. “On the south side, we’ve got coal.”

They moved casually through the complex. There were four old barracks buildings. “This used to be an army post,” he said. “We don’t really need the military anymore.”

“No more wars?” asked Chaka.

“Not since Brockett and Cabel signed the Compact. It’s been almost twenty years.”

“Brockett and Cabel?” asked Quait.

Sak frowned. “The cities,” he said. He shook his head as if his guests all had an extra leg. “You really
are
from the wilderness, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” said Chaka.

Quait observed that the barracks appeared to be in good condition.

“We still maintain them. There’ve been occasional large-scale raids in the past where we’ve had to bring everybody inside. It’s been a few years since we’ve had to deal with that. And the frontier’s moving west, so we’ll see even less of it. But if it comes again, we’re ready.”

He pointed out the bakery, the servants’ quarters, the stockade, the laundry, the cavalry yard, the officers’ quarters (now used by the rangers who were on duty), and the surgery. “We still call it the surgery, although it’s been converted into our operational headquarters. The real surgery is located in the west wing of the manor.” They toured the wagon masters’ quarters and the mechanics’ shops, both of which were still in use, and the wood yard, the stables, the hay yard, and the cavalry yard. “It looks empty, but the townspeople can defend it if they need to.”

They heard a volley of shots outside the wall.

“That’s our killer,” said Sak.

Chaka grimaced. “That’s fairly quick.”

“We don’t have any repeat offenders. But we took the time to repair his shoulder first. I don’t know why we do that, fix somebody up to shoot him, but the Judge insists on it.”

The waiting room in their quarters was fitted with a waterclock. It was an ingenious device, and Chaka copied a diagram of its mechanism into the journal.

The clock was constructed with upper and lower chambers. Water dripping from the upper chamber raised a float in the lower. The float, which was a tiny canoe, was attached to a notched rod. The rod turned a gear as it rose, and the gear directed a single hand around a clock face. Like other timekeeping equipment of the age, it gave at best an approximation, but that was enough for a people who had necessarily lost touch with the notion of promptness. (The Illyrians had salvaged Roadmaker clocks, knew how they worked, but had not yet mastered the art of building them.)

Shortly before the hand came to rest on the eighth hour, Sak arrived, decked out in a fresh uniform, a white neckerchief, and a white campaign hat. “I understand the Judge is anxious to meet you,” he said.

They walked across the parade ground, around to the front of the manor house, and mounted wooden steps onto the deck. A tall bearded man in a black coat a size too small and a billed cap was coming out as they entered. Sak exchanged greetings with him, and introduced his charges. “Captain Warden,” he said, “of the
Columbine
.”

Warden bowed to Chaka and shook hands with the others. He was a man of frail appearance, thin, with sallow skin and a curiously passive expression, but he had a grip like a bear trap.

“Where are you from?” he asked, in a voice just loud enough to suggest he was a trifle deaf.

“Illyria,” said Flojian.

He frowned. “Illyria? I thought I knew all the ports on the Inland Sea. But I don’t think I ever heard of Illyria.”

“It’s one of the League cities,” said Flojian, “in the valley of the Mississippi.”

“Oh,” he said. But Chaka caught the tone, and the uncomprehending glance that passed between the captain and their escort. “We must talk about it sometime.” He excused himself, explaining that he had business at the docks.

An attractive young woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, met them at the door. Behind her stood a rindle, decorated with several strings of beads. “Please come in,” she said, smiling a greeting at Sak.

Somewhere in back, children were laughing. “This is Delia,” said Sak. “She manages the Judge’s household.”

Delia showed them into a sitting room and turned up the lamps. She saw everyone comfortably seated, and inquired as to the guests’ preferences in drinks.

Chaka settled for blackberry wine. “It comes down the canal from Brockett,” said Sak. “On the
Columbine
.”

The windows were open, and a cool breeze blew through the room. Outside, the insects were loud, there was occasional distant laughter and the sound of a walloon, played skillfully. Quait smiled with a degree of embarrassment, but Chaka assured him he was good, too. Lightning glimmered in the western sky.

Flojian was surprised to hear that there was traffic on the canal. “If it’s the same one that parallels the road we came in on,” he said, “it doesn’t look possible. It’s blocked.”

“But you were to the
west
.” The comment, in a woman’s voice, came from behind them. “In that direction, you are quite right.” The speaker came closer to the lamp, and Chaka saw she was of indeterminate age and small stature. Her features were unremarkable: gray eyes flecked with green, a long, narrow nose, thick silver hair, and a bearing that suggested she was accustomed to command. She was holding a glass of dark wine.

Sak got to his feet and introduced the guests to Judge Maris Tibalt. “Good to have you at Oriskany,” she said. “I hope your accommodations are adequate.”

“Yes,” gushed Chaka. It had not occurred to her that the Judge might be a woman. “They are
very
comfortable.”

“Good.” The Judge looked pleased. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Meantime—” She studied the features of each of her guests in turn. “I understand you’ve traveled here from beyond the Inland Sea.”

Quait looked at Sak. “Is that the bodies of water to the west?”

He nodded.

“That’s correct, Judge,” said Flojian.

Chaka saw a frown creeping into Quait’s eyes.
No exact locations
, it said.

“And you are looking for Haven.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Good. Have you evidence that the place actually exists?”

“We believe it does, Judge,” said Quait.

Flojian mentioned the first expedition, and asked whether she had any recollection of having seen it.

“Yes,” she said. “They passed through. I never saw any of them again.”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

“Only the rumors.”

“And what were they?”

“That they took ship out of Brockett and went north. That all but one died.”

“Died how?”

She considered her answer. “The sailors who came back said they went into a cave and were killed by something nobody could see.”

That comment dampened the mood. “First time I’ve heard that,” Flojian said.

“The sailors lost their passengers,” said the Judge. “They had to have a story.”

“Do you have any details?” asked Chaka.

She considered the question. “No. It was never a matter of much interest to me. What you need to do is go to Brockett. Find the ship’s captain that took them. Talk to him.”

“We saw something strange yesterday,” said Flojian after a moment. He went on to describe the man in the sky.

“Oh, yes.” The Judge looked pleased. “That was Orin. He’s our aeronaut.”

“What does he do? I mean, besides float about in a balloon?”

“He’s an inventor. Lives outside Brockett.” She looked grateful for the change of subject. “He takes people up for rides.”

“Have
you
ever been in the balloon?” asked Chaka.

The question amused her. “I’ll try any form of travel, Chaka, as long as I can keep one foot on the ground.”

At the suggestion of the Judge, they drank to Illyria and the League, and then to Brockett and the Compact.

“Where is Brockett?” asked Chaka.

“About a hundred miles east. At the end of the canal. It’s on the Hudson.”

“The Hudson?”

“Our major north-south artery. All our commerce moves on it, and on the canal. If you like, I’ll be happy to arrange passage for you with the
Columbine
. Captain Warden’s boat. I assume you’ll be going on to Brockett.”

“Yes,” said Quait. “That would be very kind of you.”

“Or, you might want to consider staying with us. Life in Oriskany is good. We can use people like you.”

“You don’t know anything about us,” said Flojian.

“I know enough.”

They looked at one another, and Chaka saw agreement. “Thank you,” said Quait. “But we can’t stop now.”

“Good,” she said. “I expected no less. Maybe on your return you’ll feel differently.”

“What lies beyond Brockett?” asked Chaka.

A bell rang softly in another room, and Delia appeared. “Dinner is ready, Judge,” she said.

The Judge rose. “Beyond Brockett,” she said, “there is only darkness. And the sea.”

The staff served roast beef and potatoes and a range of vegetables and hot rolls. There was an endless supply of good wine. The travelers described their adventures, and received the Judge’s commiseration at their losses.

The children whom they’d heard earlier took their meals in a separate room. They belonged to the staff, the Judge explained. “My own are long since grown and gone.”

“Gone where?” asked Quait.

“To Brockett. One is receiving her schooling. My sons are both in the service of the Director.”

“The Director?” asked Flojian.

“The head of state.”

Chaka said, “And women are given a formal education?”

“Of course.”

The Judge explained she had spent her own formative years in Brockett before returning to Oriskany to assume her responsibilities on the death of her father. She was the elder of two daughters.

Flojian asked about her husband. That proved to be a misstep: She blithely explained she didn’t have one, had never had one, and (if her guests would pardon her candor) she really saw no need for one. “You’re shocked,” she added.

“Not really,” said Quait, stumbling for a reply.

“It’s all right. Most people confuse sexual deprivation with virtue. It’s not their fault, really. Society imposes these things and no one ever questions them.”

“The gods impose them,” said Flojian, sternly.

“Which gods are those?” she asked. “The gods of the south? Or of the north?”

Flojian looked to Chaka to help. But Chaka saw no reason to get into it.

“Most societies start with gods and end with philosophy,” the Judge said. “They come eventually to realize that there are no gods, and the laws have been laid down by dead men. My father once warned me that when it came time to die, the only regrets I would have would be for things left undone.”

“There
is
such a thing as virtue,” persisted Flojian, his voice rising.

“In fact, Flojian, I would argue that the only virtue is wisdom. The others are frauds. And while we’re on the subject, I’d be pleased to supply night companions for any who wish.” She glanced around the table. Her guests squirmed visibly and she laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable. But
do
let me know.”

Flojian had not been with a woman for twenty years. He had always feared the consequences of giving in to his impulses outside the approved bonds of marriage, and he still remembered the mental torture that had followed his lone misstep.

He’d gotten away with it. No pregnancy. No whisper of scandal. (The girl, for she had been little more than that, had been the soul of discretion.) And he’d made a solemn vow not to travel that road again. He would keep clear of sexual entanglements until he remarried.

And so he had.

When the dinner ended, and the party was breaking up, he’d found himself oddly breathless, looking for a chance to talk alone with the Judge. The opportunity had not come, and in the end he walked away with Lottie and his two companions, with a sense of abject loss, and with the disquieting knowledge that, even had they not been present, he might have been unable to ask for the thing that he so desperately wanted.

The waterfront district consisted of two sagging docks, two
warehouses, a grain silo, a repair facility, and a broker’s office. There was also an open-air bakeshop, a smithy, a gunmaker, a carpenter, and a surgery. Most of these occupied single buildings, unlike the rows of commercial outlets back home. The buildings were quaint, with parapets, sloping dormers, oculus windows, garrets, and arched doorways.

The
Columbine
was equipped with a paddle wheel. Such vessels had plied the Mississippi during the Roadmaker era, but no one in Illyria knew what had made the wheel turn. Two stacks jutted up behind the pilothouse, leaking white smoke.

“I don’t believe this,” Flojian whispered. He was so excited, he was having trouble breathing.

Many of the hulks still lying in the Mississippi had not been equipped to carry sails. That fact had been one more enigma. An engine from one of these ships, the
America
, had been on display for years at Farroad. Examined by the League’s most eminent philosophers, its workings remained a puzzle to this day.

The last pieces of a shipment of scrap iron were being loaded, and the
Columbine
lay low in the water. One of the crewmen arrived to take charge of their horses. A pen had been prepared for them on the afterdeck.

Captain Warden was standing near the taffrail, watching the loading operation. He saw his passengers on the dock and came forward to greet them. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Captain.” Chaka led the way up the gangplank.

Flojian said, quietly, “Talley.”

“Pardon?” said Quait.

“Talley. Here’s the power source he was looking for.”

The
Columbine
was indeed a stout vessel, and, at two hundred feet from stem to stern, larger than anything they had ever seen afloat.

They shook hands all around, and Warden explained that the boat was designed to carry cargo rather than passengers. “You understand,” he said, “we have to make do with limited accommodations. But we manage. Yes sir, we manage.” His eyes, which were dark brown, invited them to admire his vessel. “Running time to Brockett’s about thirteen hours. We’ve got one cabin that you can share. You’ll have to use the crew’s bath facilities. It’s located amidships. The crew won’t mind sharing with a woman, Chaka, you need have no fear of that. We’re expecting good weather, so you’ll probably want to spend most of your time on deck anyway. Feel free to look around the boat if you like.”

“We haven’t discussed the fare yet,” said Flojian.

Warden touched the brim of his cap and signaled a crewman. “Shim, see that our passengers want for nothing. And there’s no charge, Flojian. Compliments of the Judge. And the
Columbine
.”

He excused himself, explaining that he had much to do before they got under way. Shim took Chaka’s bag and showed them to their quarters, which was a plain room with four strung bunks, a table by a porthole, and a couple of lines to hang clothes on. But it was clean, and, as Quait pointed out, it would be out of the rain.

The bulkheads vibrated with unseen power. The vessel felt
alive
. They went back out on deck, like entranced school children. Sailors cast off lines and smoke billowed out of the twin stacks. The stern wheel started to turn, lifting gleaming water into the sun, and the pier began to slide away. A horseman rode out from behind a warehouse and waved. It was Sak, and they waved back.

Shim took them belowdecks to see the power plant.

It was hot. Two men, stripped to the waist, were feeding logs to a roaring fire in the lower chamber of a boiler. “We pump water into the upper chamber,” Shim explained, having to shout to be heard. “The fire generates steam and the steam turns the wheel. It’s as simple as that.”

Flojian asked for a diagram, and Shim drew one, explaining the process again until Flojian was sure he had it right. “We’ve only had them for a few years,” Shim added. “We used to use sails, oars, poles, and it took
days
to get to Brockett.”

Shim was short, stocky, good-natured, and taken with Chaka. No matter who asked a question, he responded to her.

“Who developed the engine?” asked Quait.

“Orin Claver,” Shim told Chaka.

“Claver?” said Flojian. “The man in the balloon?”

“That’s him. Although the truth is, he doesn’t really
invent
this stuff. That’s what he wants people to think. But what he does is, he finds things in the ruins, figures out how they used to work, and then copies them.”

“That’s no mean feat in itself,” said Flojian.

Later, for the first time since Avila’s death, he looked as if the shadow might have passed. “If we get home with nothing else from this trip,
this
at least gives us some payback for what we’ve lost. It’ll become possible to open up the Mississippi. We’ve always had the problem that the current was too strong. We have a wide river and we were never really able to use it because there was no way to push boats upstream. But
this
thing, this
steam engine
, will change everything.”

The
Columbine
, exclusive of her captain, carried a crew of five, three of whom also served as rangers. “We’ve been shot at from time to time,” the captain admitted, “but we’ve never lost anybody.” Oriskany, he explained, was a Brockesian protectorate, and guarded the western frontier. “The Judge does a pretty good job of patrolling the roads. And she’s tough on robbers. They get shipped to Brockett, where they get sold off.”

“The one we helped catch,” said Chaka, “got shot.”

“That’s because he killed old Hal Rollin. The death penalty is automatic for murder. No questions asked. They publicize that fact and they carry it out within twenty-four hours.”

“What about extenuating circumstances?” asked Chaka.

“There’s no such thing. Unless you mean self-defense, in which case there’s no penalty at all. If you mean that the killer has had a tough life, it’s irrelevant. The Judge makes no exceptions. As a result her roads are reasonably safe.”

Warden didn’t smile much. It might have been the job. The old canal appeared to be comfortably wide, but it was full of debris, broken bridges, downed trees, and other hidden hazards. There was even a
house
, which had somehow come to rest in the middle of the channel. It was entirely submerged, but Chaka looked down into the still, blue depths and saw a dormer and a chimney.

She used her pack to make a cushion against the deckhouse, and enjoyed the gentle motion of the boat and the proximity of late spring. Rolling hills and furrowed fields slipped by. Deer paused along the shoreline and watched them. There were thick groves of butternuts and red cedars. Children playing in fields stopped what they were doing as the boat passed, and waved frantically.

She saw horse-drawn carriages on the roads, and fishermen in small boats. Houses grew more numerous along the canal as they proceeded east. People came out to watch them go by.

“Captain,” she asked Warden when he reappeared, “tell me about the Hudson.”

“What did you want to know?”

“Does it have an outlet to the sea?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “It’s about 180 miles south.” Flojian had fallen asleep, and Quait was off comparing notes with one of the ranger-crewmen. Warden plumped down beside her. “The Hudson
might
have been open in the north too at one time. There used to be a canal up there, like this one. Though not as long. But it’s pretty much filled in.”

So far, so good. “Captain, could we hire the
Columbine
?”

Warden grinned. “To do what?”

“I’m not sure yet. But we may need sea transportation.”

She saw immediately that he would not consider what she was proposing. “Well,” he said, “we’re on a tight schedule, and I have commitments to customers.” He looked at her quizzically. “Chaka, have you ever been to sea?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“You wouldn’t want to try it in the
Columbine
.”

“Oh.”

“In fact, I can’t think of a boat anywhere on the river that
I’d
care to take to sea.” He shook his head. “Maybe the
Packer
. But she capsized a few months ago. And that should tell you more than you want to hear.”

His eyes grew thoughtful. “I was down there once. At the river’s mouth.” His voice took on an awed tone. “I didn’t like the place much. There’s a Roadmaker city. Like nothing else you’ll ever see.”

She thought of the two she’d already visited. “High towers?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “You’d have to see them to understand.”

The countryside gave way to picturesque villages and spectacular manor houses. They made several stops, unloading handicrafts and taking on barrels of wine. Around noon they picked up more passengers. Once, they encountered a group of naked boys splashing around a raft.

It was, in sum, an uneventful ride, and shortly before sundown they transited a series of ancient fortifications and cruised into the biggest living city Chaka had ever seen: Houses and shops and public buildings and temples and parks occupied both sides of the canal. Crowds roamed the water’s edge, filled outdoor restaurants, watched ball games. Another boat was just backing out into the channel and turning east. Directly ahead the waterway flowed into a river.

The
Columbine
swung smoothly into dock and Warden came down to say good-bye to his passengers. “If there’s anything else I can do,” he said, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

The Captain’s Quarters, near the waterfront, looked somewhat rundown, but it was convenient. It was also busy and loud. In the dining room, a female singer was having trouble being heard above the general racket. The tables were too close together, and the waiters, carrying trays loaded with fried chicken and steaming carrots, had to fight their way through. A couple of big screened windows admitted cool air.

They ordered up, and beer appeared within moments. Flojian proposed a toast to the
Columbine
. “We’ve been riding the future,” he said.

Quait looked good. He had broken out the white shirt and blue neckerchief he saved for special events. “Almost there,” he said.

Flojian threw a skeptical glance his way. “That might be optimistic.”

“Why? All we have to do is find the boat that Karik hired. Then
we
hire them, and we ride the rest of the way.”

“How’s the money holding out?” Chaka whispered.

Flojian nodded. “Okay.”

“I wonder if you could spare a couple of mingos.”

Flojian reached into a pocket and passed her the coins unobtrusively.

They’d selected the inn because it obviously catered to the men and women who ran the river fleet. Chaka pocketed the silver, surveyed the room, found what she wanted, and got up. “I’ll be back,” she said.

She joined a group of mariners of both sexes at the bar and ordered a round of drinks for everybody. “We just came in on the
Columbine
,” she declared. “You people do a hell of a job.”

“Thanks,” said a young male. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and a good face, if you didn’t count a lot of missing teeth. “But we don’t crew the
Columbine
.”

“I know,” she laughed. “But they’re not here, and you are.”

Within a few minutes she’d joined them in a song, and got the first of several disapproving looks from Quait. “What’s your boat?” she asked the young man with the missing teeth.

“The
Reliable
.”

“Does the
Reliable
trade on the river? Or the canal? Or both?”

A female with dyed blue hair responded with mock indignity. “The
river
,” she said. “The canal is strictly for the water rats. Isn’t that right, Cory?”

The male shook his head, suggesting that he’d heard the joke many times before, and Chaka concluded he’d been on the canal before joining the
Reliable
. But he took the comment in good grace, and even seemed to enjoy the attention. “The canal is where the
real
sailors are,” he said.

“Right,” said one of the others and they all laughed.

“Has anybody ever been to sea?” Chaka asked casually.

They looked at one another.

“Yeah,” said a husky, older man in back. “I’ve been out past the Gate.”

Chaka raised her glass to him. “What’s it like on open water?”

He grinned. “Like nothing else you’ll ever do,” he said.

“Where’d you go?” asked Chaka.

“Yeah,” said one of the others. “Where’d you go, Keel?”

Keel had a thick black beard and arms like tree branches. He shrugged. “About a hundred miles down-coast.”

“Tell us about it,” said the woman, laughing, obviously familiar with the story.

“Back off, Blue,” he said. “The lady asked a question. Is it all right with you if I answer?” He turned to Chaka. “It’s peaceful out there. Like the whole world stands still.”

“How many times?”

“Twice,” he said. “The second time we were out for a couple of days.”

“Was that on the
Reliable
?”

“Yes,” said Keel, “although it had a different captain then.”

“Are you from the Inland Sea?” Cory asked her. “I’ve never heard the accent before.”

Chaka delivered her most ravishing smile. “That general direction,” she said, nodding toward the back of the room. She reached into a pocket and extracted her brother’s
Haven
sketch. “Reason I asked,” she said, holding it up so all could see, “I was wondering if this place is familiar to anybody? Anyone ever been there?”

“What place?” growled a flat-nosed sailor who had already swilled down his drink. “That’s nothing but rock and water.”

Keel looked at it for a long minute and shook his head. The others shrugged.

Chaka ordered a second round. “My brother came this way about ten years ago,” she said. “He was one of several people, and they leased a ship to take them to sea.”

“Where?” asked Blue.

Chaka looked at the sketch. “
Here
,” she said, “wherever that is.”