Heartfire ttoam-5

by Orson Scott Card

  Calvin returned to the kitchen just as a Black man was carrying a stack of clean plates to put back on the shelves. The Black man had just a trace of a smile on his face from something Balzac had said, and it was just too much after all that had happened that night. Calvin got his bug inside the dishes and cracked them all, shattered them in his arms. Shards sprayed out everywhere.

  The crashing sound immediately brought the White chef and the overseer, his short, thick rod already raised to beat the slave; but Balzac was already there, throwing himself between the slave and the rod. And it was, truly, a matter of throwing himself, for the slave and the overseer were both much taller than Balzac. He leapt up and fairly clung to the slave like a child playing pick-a-pack.

  “No, monsieur, do not strike him, he was innocent. I carelessly bumped into him and dropped all the plates on the floor! I am the most miserable of men, to take a dinner I could not pay for and now I have break all these plates. It is my back that deserves the blows!”

  “I ain't going to whip no White man like a buck,” said the overseer. “What do you think I am?”

  “You are the arm of justice,” said Balzac, “and I am the heart of guilt.”

  “Get these imbeciles out of my kitchen,” said the chef.

  “But you are French!” cried Balzac.

  “Of course I am French! Who would hire an English cook?”

  Immediately Balzac and the chef burst into a torrent of French, some of which Calvin understood, but not enough to be worth trying to hear any more of it. Balzac had taken all the fun out of it, of course, and the slaves were looking at him– sidelong, lest they be caught staring at a White man– as if he were God himself come to lead them out of captivity. Even when Calvin was annoyed and tried to get even a little, it ended up making Balzac look good and Calvin look like nothing.

  Lead them out of captivity. God himself. His own thought of a moment before echoed in his mind. Margaret says they've lost their names and their heartfires. She hates slavery and wants it done away. They need someone to get their souls back and lead them out of captivity.

  Balzac can't do that for them. What is he? A prawn of a Frenchman with ink on his fingers. But if I free the slaves, what will Alvin be then, compared with me?

  For a moment he thought of striking the overseer dead and getting the slaves to run. But where would they run? No, what was needed was a general uprising. And without souls, the Blacks could hardly be expected to have the gumption for any kind of revolt.

  So that was the first order of business. Finding souls and naming names.

  Chapter 7 – Accusation

  Alvin didn't exactly doze off while Arthur Stuart told the story of his life. But his mind did wander.

  He couldn't help hearing how Arthur Stuart's voice didn't change when he spoke. No one else would have remarked upon it, but Alvin still remembered how, when Arthur Stuart was younger, he could mimic other folks' voices perfectly. No matter how high or low the voice, no matter what accent or speech impediment it had, no matter how whispery or booming it might be, it came easily from the boy's mouth.

  And then came the Slave Finders, with a sachet containing pieces of Arthur's hair and body taken when he was first born. They had the knack of knowing when a person matched up with a sachet, and there was no hiding from them, they could smell like bloodhounds. So Alvin took the boy across the Hio River, and there on the Appalachee side he made a change in the deepest heart of the tiniest parts of Arthur's body. Not a large change, but it was enough that Arthur no longer matched up with his own sachet. Alvin took him down under the water to wash away the last traces of his old skin. And when he came up out of the water, Arthur was safe. But he had lost his knack for doing voices.

  Ain't that the way of it? thought Alvin. I try to help, and I take away as much as I give. Maybe that's how God set up the world, so nobody could get no special advantages. You get a miracle and you lose something ordinary that you miss from then on. Some angel somewhere measures out the joy and misery, and whatever your portion, you get it no matter what you do.

  Suddenly Alvin was filled with loneliness. Silly to feel that way, he knew, what with these good companions alongside him. But somewhere down south there was his wife who was also his teacher and his guardian, the bright pair of eyes that watched him from infancy on, even though she was scarcely more than a baby herself when she started. Margaret. And in her womb, the start of the next generation. Their firstborn daughter.

  And, thinking of them, he began to seek for them. He wasn't like Margaret, able to leap from heartfire to heartfire with a thought, able to see just by having the wish to see. He had to send his doodlebug out, fast, faster, racing across the map of America, down the coast, passing heartfires of every living thing, through fields and bright green forests, over rivers, across the wide Chesapeake. He knew the way and never got lost. Only in the city of Camelot itself did he have to search, looking for the paired heartfires that he knew so well, that he sought out every night.

  Found. Mother and the tiny heartfire of their developing daughter. He could not see into heartfires the way Margaret could, but he could see into the body. He could tell when Margaret was speaking but had no notion what was said. He could hear the heartbeat, feel the breathing, tell if she was upset or calm, but he could not know why.

  She was eating. She was tense, her muscles held rigid, her attitude wary. Two companions at dinner. One of them unfamiliar to him. The other…

  What was Calvin doing across a table from Margaret?

  At once Alvin did a closer check on his wife and baby. Nothing interfering with the baby in the womb– her heartbeat was regular, she showed no distress.

  Of course not. Why should he even imagine that Calvin posed any threat to his family? Calvin might be a strange boy, plagued with jealousy and quick to wrath, but he wasn't a monster. He didn't hurt people, beyond hurting their feelings. No doubt his fear came from Margaret's constant warnings about how Calvin was going to get him killed someday. If he posed any danger to Margaret or the baby, she'd know long beforehand and would take steps to stop him.

  Calvin and Margaret dining together. That bore thinking about. He could hardly wait for Margaret to get some time alone and write to him.

  Then he got to thinking about Margaret and how he missed her and what it might be like, the two of them settling down without feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders, spending their time raising children and working to make a living. No Unmaker to be watched for and fended off. No Crystal City to be built. No horrible war to be avoided. Just wife, children, husband, neighbors, and in time grandchildren and graveyards, joy and grief, the rising and falling floods and droughts of the river of life.

  “You fall asleep, Alvin?” asked Verily.

  “Was I snoring?” asked Alvin.

  “Arthur finished his tale. Your life story. Weren't you listening?”

  “Heard it all before,” said Alvin. “Besides, I was there when it happened, and it wasn't half so entertaining to live through as the tale Arthur makes of it.”

  “The question is whether Miss Purity wants to be one of our company,” said Verily.

  “Then why are you asking me?” said Alvin.

  “I thought you might help us listen to her answer.”

  Alvin looked at Purity, who blushed and looked away.

  Arthur Stuart glared at Verily. “You accusing Miss Purity of lying?”

  “I'm saying,” said Verily, “that if she believed your story, then she might fear the great power that Alvin has within him, and so she might give the answer that she thinks will keep her safe, instead of the answer that corresponds to her true inclinations.”

  “And I'm supposed to know whether she's telling the truth or not?” asked Alvin.

  “Her heart isn't made of wood,” said Verily, “so I can't tell if it beats faster or slower when she answers.”

  “She's the one with the knack to tell what people feel,” said Alvin. “Margaret's the one as s
ees into folks' heartfire. Me, I just fiddle with stuff.”

  “You are too modest,” said Purity, “if what your disciples say is true.”

  That perked Alvin right up. “Disciples?”

  “Isn't that what you are? The master and his disciples, wandering about in the wilderness, hoping to recruit another.”

  “To me it looks more like a lost man and his friends, who are willing to be lost with him till he finds what he's looking for,” said Alvin.

  “You don't believe that,” said Purity.

  “No,” said Alvin. “They're my friends, but that's not why they're here. They're fellow dreamers. They want to see the Crystal City as much as I do, and they're willing to travel hundreds of miles to help me find it.”

  Purity smiled faintly. “The Crystal City. The City of God. I wonder who it is you'll end up hanging, since you can't very well hang witches.”

  “Don't plan on hanging anybody,” said Alvin.

  “Not even murderers?” said Purity.

  Alvin shrugged. “They get themselves hung no matter where they go.”

  “Once you have the gallows, you'll find new reasons to hang people from it.”

  “Why are you being so spiteful?” asked Verily. “New England hasn't added a capital crime in the two hundred years since it was founded. And some former capital crimes haven't led to the gallows in a century. You have no reason to think that a decent society will go mad with the power to kill.”

  “New England didn't need new reasons,” said Purity, “because it had such a fine catchall. No matter what someone did, if you want him dead, he's a witch.”

  “I wouldn't know,” said Verily.

  “You said it yourself,” said Purity. “Everyone has a knack. They hide it out of fear and call it humility. But if someone wants to kill a man, he only has to detect his knack and denounce him for it. So anyone can be killed at any time. Who needs new laws, when the old ones are so broad?”

  “Did you become this cynical in the past few hours?” asked Verily. “Or have you always taken the lowest possible view of human life?”

  “Human life is wicked to the core,” said Purity, “and only the elect of God are lifted above human wickedness and caught up into the goodness of heaven. To expect wickedness from human beings is the best way I know of to avoid surprises. And when I am surprised, it's always pleasantly.”

  “Ask her the question and have done,” said Alvin.

  “And if I say I don't want to travel with you?” said Purity.

  “Then we'll travel on without you,” said Alvin.

  “Doing me no harm?” asked Purity.

  Verily Cooper laughed. “Even if we wanted to, Alvin wouldn't let us. When a bee stings him, he puts the stinger back in it, heals it up, and sends it on its way.”

  “Then my answer is no,” said Purity. “People will be looking for me by now. If you want to be safe from inquiries, you'd best let me go and be about your business.”

  “No,” said Arthur Stuart. “You got to come with us.”

  “And why should I?” asked Purity. “Because you spin a good tale?”

  “I told you the truth and you know it,” said Arthur.

  “Yes,” said Purity, softening. “You did believe every word you said. But it has no bearing on me. I have no part in what you're trying to do.”

  “Yes, you do!” cried Arthur Stuart. “Didn't you get the point of my story? Somebody's in charge of all this. Somebody gave Alvin the powers he's got. Somebody led his family to Horace Guester's roadhouse, so Little Peggy would be in place to watch over him. Why did my mother fly so near to that place, so I'd be there waiting when Alvin came back? And Mike Fink, and Verily Cooper– how did they get to meet up with him? Don't tell me it was chance cause I don't believe in it.”

  “Nor do I,” said Purity.

  “So whoever led us to Alvin, or him to us, that's who led you here today. You could have walked anywhere. We could have been anywhere on the river, bathing. But here we were, and here you came.”

  “I have no doubt that we were brought together,” said Purity. “The question is, by whom?”

  “I don't know as it's a who,” said Alvin. “Arthur thinks God's in charge of all this, and I don't doubt but what God has his eye on the whole world, but that don't mean he's spending extra time looking out for me. I got a feeling that knacks get drawn together. And the power I was born with, it's right strong, and so it's like a magnet, it just naturally grabs hold on other strong people and links them up. It's not like good folks are the only ones as get drawn to me. Seems like I get more than my share of the other kind, too. Why would God send them to me?”

  Arthur Stuart didn't seem to be swayed by Alvin's argument. Clearly they'd been down this road before. “God brings some, and the other one brings the others.”

  “They just come natural,” said Alvin, “both kinds. Don't go guessing what God's doing, because them as tries to guess always seems to get it wrong.”

  “And how would you know they was wrong,” said Arthur, “lessen you thought you had a scope on God's will!” He sounded triumphant, as if he had at last landed a blow on the body of Alvin's argument.

  “Cause it works out so bad,” said Alvin. “Look at this place. New England's got everything going for it. Good people, trying to serve God as best they can. And they do, mostly. But they figured that God wanted them to kill everybody as used a knack, even though they never found out how to tell if knacks came from God or the devil. They just called all knacks witchcraft and went off killing folks in the name of God. So even if they got all the rest of God's will just right, look what they done to Miss Purity here. Killed her folks and got her brought up in an orphanage. It don't take a scope on God's will to know New England ain't got it figured out yet.”

  “You sound like professors arguing over an obscure point of Latin grammar, when the passage itself is a forgery,” said Purity. “Whether I was led to you by God or nature or Satan himself, it doesn't change my answer. I have no business with you. It's here that my destiny lies. Whatever I am and whatever happens to me, my story begins and ends with the… with New England.”

  “With the courts of New England,” said Verily.

  “So you say,” said Purity.

  “With the gallows of New England,” Verily insisted.

  “If God wills,” said Purity.

  “No,” said Verily, “you'll meet the gallows only if you will it.”

  “On the contrary,” said Purity. “Meeting you has been the most important lesson of my life. Until I met you, until I heard your story, I was sure my parents could not really have been witches and therefore a great injustice was committed. I didn't really believe that witches existed. But I have seen now that they do. You have powers far greater than God meant anyone but a prophet or apostle to have, Mr. Smith, and you have no qualms about using them. You are going about gathering disciples and planning to build a city. You are Nimrod, the mighty hunter against the Lord, and the city you mean to build is Babel. You want it to lift mankind above the flood and take men into heaven, where they will be as God, knowing all things. You are a servant of the devil, your powers are witchery, your plans are anathema, your beliefs are heresy, and if my parents were one-tenth as wicked as you, they deserved to die!”

  They all stared at her in silence. Arthur Stuart had tears streaking his cheeks.

  Finally Alvin spoke to the others, not to her. “Best be on our way, boys,” he said. “Arthur, you run and tell Audubon to dry off and get dressed.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Arthur quietly, and he was gone.

  “Aren't you even going to argue with me?” asked Purity.

  Alvin looked quizzically at her for a moment, then walked away toward where Mike Fink had gone to stand watch. Only Verily Cooper remained.

  “So you admit that what I said is true,” said Purity.

  Verily looked at her sadly. “What you said is false as hell,” said Verily. “Alvin Maker is the best man I know in all th
e world, and there's no trace of evil in him. He's not always right, but he's never wrong, if you understand what I'm saying.”

  “That is just what I'd expect a demon to say of his master the devil.”

  “There,” said Verily. “What you just said. That's why we're giving up on you.”

  “Because I dare to name the truth?”

  “Because you've latched on to a story that can capture everything we say and do and turn it into a lie.”

  “Why would I do that?” asked Purity.

  “Because if you don't believe these stupid lies about us, then you have to admit that they were wrong to kill your parents, and then you'd have to hate them, and they're the only people that you know. You'd be a woman without a country, and since you're already a woman without a family, you can't let go of them.”

  “See how the devil twists my love for my country and tries to turn it against me?” said Purity.

  Verily sighed. “Miss Purity, I can only tell you this. Whatever you do in the next few hours and days, I expect you'll have plenty of chance to judge between Alvin Smith and the law of New England. Somewhere inside you there's a place where truth is truth and lies get shed like raindrops off oil. You look in that place and see which is acting like Christ.”

  “Christ is just as well as merciful,” said Purity. “Only the wicked claim that Christ is only forgiving. The righteous remember that he denounced the unrepented sin, and declared the truth that everlasting fire awaited those who refused to choose righteousness.”

  “He also had sharp words for hypocrites and fools, as I recall,” said Verily.

  “Meaning that you think I'm a hypocrite?”

  “On the contrary,” said Verily. “I think you're a fool.”

  She slapped his face.

  As if she hadn't touched him, he went on in a mild tone of voice. “You've been made foolish by the harm that's been done to you, and by the fact that the wickedness of this place is so small compared to its goodness. But that doesn't mean it isn't real, and hasn't poisoned you, and won't kill you in the end.”

  “God dwells in New England,” said Purity.