Eternity Road

by Jack McDevitt

  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.

&
nbsp; 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.”

  “Every once in a while,” said Keel, “some damned fool wants to go out. Usually they’re looking for somebody to trade with. But there’s no one out there along the shores except damn Tuks. If people want to go to sea, they ought to build a strong enough boat. You say this was ten years ago. We’ve had several boats during that period put to sea on one damn fool job or another. They don’t always come back.”

  “These people were looking for Haven,” Chaka said. “They were led by an older man whose name was Karik Endine. Gray hair. Medium size. Sort of ordinary-looking.”

  “That should make it easy,” laughed Keel. “But as it happens, yes, I know about Endine. I suspect everybody around here knows the story.”

  “What story?”

  “Actually a lot of stories, most of them conflicting. Depends on who you get it from, I guess. They were treasure-hunting, as I understand it. Cut a deal with one of the captains. Man named Dolbur. He took them downriver and north up the coast. But they ran into something they weren’t expecting.”

  “What?”

  “Something. I don’t think anybody’s ever been sure what. Ghost. Water demon. Something. Again, it depends on who you talk to. They lost a lot of people. None of the ship’s crew. But everybody who was with Endine. There was only one of them came back.”

  “That was Endine himself,” contributed one of the others.

  Keel gazed a long time at Chaka.

  “Where can I find Dolbur?”

  Keel’s teeth showed through the beard. “Finding him’s easy enough, but talking to him would be tricky. He’s dead. I’m trying to think who else was on that boat.”

  “Knobby,” said the woman.

  Keel nodded. “Yeah. That’s right. Knobby was part of that crew.”

  “Who’s Knobby?”

  “First mate. You want to talk to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be here tomorrow.”

  26

  Knobby’s real name was Mandel Aikner. While Chaka was too polite to ask the origin of the nickname, she didn’t need much imagination to guess that it derived from a bald skull that looked as if it had been rapped several times with a club. Knobby’s features were prominent: a large, bulbous nose pushed to one side in a long-ago fight; big ears; narrow, suspicious eyes; and a chin like the flat side of a shovel. A mat of wiry gray hair pushed out of the top of his drawstring shirt.

  “I don’t know what I can tell you that you don’t probably already know, Chaka,” he said, while they waited for their steaks. (Chaka was alone with him, on the theory that he would speak more freely to a woman.)

  “Assume I don’t know much of anything, Knobby. Karik Endine and his people arrived in Brockett and wanted to charter a ship. Why don’t you take it from there?”

  Knobby picked up the c
arafe, studied the dark wine, refilled his cup, and refilled hers. “Before we get into any of this,” he said, “I want you to understand, I won’t go back up there. Okay? I’ll tell you what I know, but that’s all.”

  “Okay,” she said. She described her brother and asked whether Knobby had seen him.

  “Yes,” he said. “I knew Arin.”

  Her heart raced briefly.

  “He was a good-looking boy. Didn’t talk much. I knew them all. Shay. Tori. Mira. Random. Axel. Even after all these years, I remember them. And Endine.” He drummed on the table with his fingertips. “It’s hard to forget.”

  Chaka had met only Tori, who had been a friend of her brother’s. And Mira. Other than Karik, the others were just names.

  “Endine’s the one who sticks in the mind,” said Knobby. “He was hostile.” She saw that he wondered whether he’d gone over a line. “He wasn’t your father or anything, was he?”

  “No.” She smiled encouragingly. “I knew him, but not well.” I’m beginning to think no one knew him well.

  “He didn’t seem to want to talk to anybody. On a boat the size of the Mindar, that isn’t easy.”

  It was early. The entertainment wouldn’t start for an hour or so, and the dining room hadn’t begun to fill up. They were seated at a corner table. Knobby drank more of his wine, wiped his lips, and leaned forward confidentially, although there was no one close enough to overhear. His breath was strong, and he spoke with a wheeze.

  “I was second officer on the Mindar at the time. We hauled mostly coal, iron, wheat, and liquor into Brockett, and manufactures out. And whatever else needed to be moved. We were commanded by Captain Dolbur. Dead now these three years.

  “The first time I heard of Karik Endine was when the captain called me and Jed Raulin into his quarters. Jed was the first officer. We were dockside, between jobs, and the captain explained that there were some people in town, foreigners who wanted to lease the boat, wanted him to take it down the Hudson and out into the Atlantic.

  “You’ve seen the boats around here. The Mindar’s downriver right now so I guess maybe you haven’t seen her. But she’s no bigger than any of the others, and none of these has any business going near the sea. But there was a lot of money in it, he said. And we’d stay within sight of land the whole way. Endine had shown him a pouch of gold coins. Anybody who went along would collect almost a year’s pay for a couple weeks’ work. If the captain said yes to Endine, would Jed and me go along?