Pathfinder

by Orson Scott Card

  They took turns using the chamber pot and when they were done they both agreed that a tight-closed lid was an excellent idea.

  “I liked those leaves,” said Umbo. “Way more comfortable than any we used in the woods.”

  “I’ll make it a point to find out what tree they come from and pull one along behind us in a big pot on wheels.”

  Rigg spread out his blanket, folded it double thick, and then covered himself with two more while Umbo did the same. The light of the Ring came through the high window, which had apparently been angled for just that purpose. There were no branches above them to block it out.

  “The leaves outside made for softer sleeping,” said Rigg.

  “But there are no stones jabbing me,” said Umbo. “And no bugs or snakes or other vermin crawling all over me.”

  “So far,” said Rigg.

  He waited for Umbo’s retort—something like “If I don’t see them, I don’t care”—but Umbo said nothing at all.

  Can you believe it? thought Rigg. Umbo’s already asleep. And in that moment, so was Rigg.

  CHAPTER 6

  Leaky and Loaf

  It was still two days before the jump into the fold when Ram suddenly found himself strapped into his chair. The expendable was kneeling in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

  “Was I asleep?” asked Ram.

  “We jumped the fold, Ram,” said the expendable.

  “On schedule and I simply don’t remember the past two days? Or early?”

  “We generated the seventh cross-grain field,” said the expendable, “and the fold came into existence four steps earlier than predicted.”

  “Was it the fold or merely a fold?” asked Ram.

  “It was the fold we wanted. We’re exactly where we were supposed to be.”

  “What a convenient error,” said Ram. “We inadvertently trigger fold creation four steps early, and yet it still takes us to our destination.”

  “All the folds, all the cross-graining of fields, everything we did was polarized, so to speak: It always pointed us exactly where we wanted to go.”

  “So spacetime, naughty as it was, suddenly got the idea and leapt ahead of us?”

  “We got ourselves caught in the midst of a stutter,” said the expendable. “We were trying to avoid that because we didn’t know what would happen to us in a stutter—most of the computers predicted the ship would be sectioned or obliterated.”

  Ram had been scanning all the reports from every part of the ship. “But neither happened. We’re still intact.”

  “More than intact,” said the expendable.

  “How can you be more than intact?” asked Ram.

  • • •

  The floor was hard and the room was cold, but Rigg awoke feeling more comfortable than he had in many days, and he burrowed down into the blankets to see if he could sleep a little longer.

  “They took our clothes,” said Umbo.

  Rigg opened one eye. Umbo, wrapped in a blanket, was sitting on a chair looking glum in the dim light eking its way down through the shutterblind.

  “Probably having somebody wash them,” said Rigg.

  Then he realized that if their clothes were gone, it meant someone had come into the room without waking them. They could have taken anything. Rigg bounded up from his blankets and searched for his pack. It was right where he had left it, and the money was where he had tucked it when he undressed.

  “Not thieves,” he said.

  “Well, we knew that,” said Umbo.

  The key sounded noisily in the lock. Was it that loud last night? Not with the noise from the common room to drown it out. But when someone came and took their clothes?

  Leaky came in, not bringing breakfast, not carrying clean clothes. She merely stood there looking coldly at them. “Wrap yourselves in something and come with me. Right now.”

  Rigg didn’t know what to make of her attitude. She seemed furious, and yet also much more respectful than she had been last night. She averted her gaze as they rearranged their blankets to cover themselves a bit more securely, then stood aside for them to pass through the door.

  The common room was empty except for Loaf, who stood behind the counter, propping himself on it with straight arms. In front of him a white cloth was spread. At the end of the counter was a pile of rags that Rigg immediately identified as his own and Umbo’s unwashed clothing.

  As he came nearer, Rigg saw something on the cloth sparkle in the light from the half-shuttered windows. Large gemstones, of different colors. Eighteen of them.

  “Where’s the light blue one shaped like a teardrop?” asked Rigg.

  Leaky walked beyond him to the pile of clothes and slid it toward the middle of the bar. “Find it yourself, saints know we didn’t take it.” Rigg began at once examining the waistband of the trousers—which had been neatly sewn closed again in each spot where a stone had been.

  Loaf’s voice was a low growl when he spoke. “What do you mean, having such wealth on you, and talking poor as you did?” Like his wife, Loaf was angry—and yet he was also deferential.

  “Asking for our charity,” added Leaky, “when all the time you had that.”

  “We didn’t ask for your charity,” said Rigg, “we offered you money—too much money, if I recall.”

  “And acted like you were afraid of running out of it,” said Leaky sullenly, “which you couldn’t do if you live to a hundred.”

  Rigg worked his fingers along the waistband of the trousers on the counter. He found where the light blue gem had been sewn, and there it was indeed, though harder to feel because it was also involved with a vertical side seam, which thickened the cloth over it. He pulled it out and laid it on the cloth. There was no reason to hide it now. If Loaf and Leaky were thieves, they wouldn’t be laying out the stones, they’d be pretending they knew nothing about them. If they had even allowed Rigg to wake up alive.

  “It’s my inheritance from my father,” said Rigg. “He said I should take it to Aressa Sessamo and show the stones to a banker there.”

  “Inheritance?” asked Loaf, looking wary. “If your father had wealth like this, why do you dress so poor?”

  Rigg understood the question. Loaf was asking if the jewels were stolen; but even if they weren’t, the man wanted to make sense of the contradiction.

  “We lived our lives in the forest,” said Rigg. “We trapped furs for a living. I’m dressed in the clothing that was useful to me—we never needed any better. There is no better for the work we did. And as for being wealthy, the first I knew of these jewels was after my father died, and the woman who had them in safekeeping gave them to me.”

  “That was a very trustworthy woman,” said Leaky.

  “And you are no less trustworthy,” said Rigg, “or I would not be seeing these laid out on the bar.”

  Loaf snorted. “For coins such as you had,” he said, “someone might kill you and toss you in the river. But a boy who owned such jewels as these, someone would come looking for him. A man might hang. And if I turned up with such as these, who would believe that I got them honestly?”

  “Who would believe me?” asked Rigg. “Part of Father’s inheritance was the letter to the banker.”

  “Then would you mind if we saw the letter?” asked Loaf. His words were polite, but his tone was firm, as if to say, it’s time now to dispel all doubt.

  For a moment Rigg hesitated. Do they think that with the letter they might steal the jewels and prove a right to them? But he set aside his suspicion at once. If they meant him harm, he could not stop them. So why not suppose they meant well? Or at least well enough?

  “I’ll get it,” said Rigg. “It’s in my pack.”

  “No, send the other boy,” said Loaf. “I don’t want you to let these jewels out of your sight.”

  Umbo glared at Loaf and then at Rigg. “You might have told me,” he said.

  “I shared all my coin with you,” said Rigg, “and my food and all. But these couldn’t be spen
t anywhere we’ve been or anywhere we’re going. What was to tell?”

  Umbo turned his back and went for the pack. He was back in only a few steps and thrust the pack into Rigg’s arms.

  Rigg set the pack on a stool and pulled out the letter. He laid it on the bar.

  Loaf squinted over it. Leaky reached out and snatched it away. “For saints’ sake, Loaf, we all know you read as fast as a toadstool turns into a tree.” She scanned the document, moving her lips a little and humming a note now and then. “It’s an obvious fake,” she said.

  Loaf stood up straight and looked down his nose at Rigg.

  But Rigg knew the letter was genuine, and if it wasn’t, Leaky would have no way of knowing. “If it’s a fake, I didn’t fake it,” Rigg said. “The woman I got it from said my father wrote it. He never showed it to me while he was alive, but it looks like his handwriting.” Rigg looked at Leaky. “Have you ever seen his handwriting?”

  “I don’t have to,” said Leaky. “It’s signed by the Wandering Saint. That’s like having it signed, ‘The Ring.’”

  “That would be a really stupid thing to do, but he didn’t do it,” said Rigg. “Read that signature again.”

  She scowled and read it again, moving her lips even more pronouncedly. “Ah,” she said. “‘Wandering Man’ instead of ‘Wandering Saint.’ But it’s still not even a name.”

  “It’s one of the names his father went by,” said Umbo.

  “What’s his real name, then?”

  “All his names were real,” said Umbo. “He answered to them.”

  They looked at Rigg, who said, “I never called him anything but ‘Father.’”

  “Why do you think you can judge this paper?” asked Umbo. “It isn’t written to you. It’s written to a banker in Aressa Sessamo. So we’ll take it to him. Give it back.”

  It was bold of Umbo to demand “back” something that he had never held. But Leaky put it in his hand all the same. Umbo scanned it, reading quickly—for the village schoolteacher in Fall Ford did his job—and then passed it on to Rigg.

  “So your father made up names for himself and signed them on legal documents,” said Leaky. “You already know what I think of people who use false names.”

  “Doesn’t matter what you think of this boy’s dead father,” said Loaf curtly, earning a glare from his wife. “I believe the boy and the letter, and whether the father came by the money honestly or not, the son surely did.”

  “What are you going to do, then?” Leaky demanded. “Adopt him? He certainly lied to us.”

  “I never said a word to you that wasn’t true,” said Rigg.

  “You said those coins were all your money!”

  “Do those jewels look like money to you?” said Umbo.

  “Why did you take my clothes in the first place?” asked Rigg. “I’m the one whose belongings were taken by stealth in the night.”

  Flustered, Leaky said, “I was going to wash them.”

  “They don’t look any cleaner to me,” said Rigg.

  “Because I picked up your trousers and I could feel something in the waistband.”

  “And you had to rip open the seam and take it out?”

  “My wife’s no thief,” said Loaf, glowering.

  “I know she’s not,” said Rigg. “But she’s been spitting out accusations and suspicions, and I wanted her to see that those can go both ways. I have more cause of complaint here than she does—but I’m not complaining, and it’s time she stopped being suspicious of me for giving far less grounds.”

  “The boy’s a lawyer,” said Loaf to his wife.

  “Honest men don’t need lawyers,” she said huffily.

  “Honest men are the ones who need them most,” murmured her husband, and when she made as if to argue with him, without even looking at her he raised his hand as if to smack her backhand across the face. He didn’t hit her and obviously never meant to, but she rolled her eyes and fell silent. So it seemed that a hand raised for a smack was the downriver equivalent of putting a finger to your lips.

  “If you give me back my clothes,” said Rigg, “I can sew these jewels back into the waistband and we can leave.”

  “No,” said Loaf. “In Aressa Sessamo, that letter will do you good. Here it does none, and you need to turn one of those jewels into money.”

  “I thought we had a lot of money,” said Rigg. “Too much of it.”

  “I said you had enough money that rivermen would kill you for it,” said Loaf. “But prices get a lot higher the farther down the river you go. You’ll be out of money long before you get to Aressa Sessamo, no matter how carefully you eke it out.”

  “Is there a bank in this town?”

  “Not yet,” said Loaf. “But I can accompany you downriver to the first city that has one. It’s a place where I’m known well enough, and I can vouch for you. I can also keep you safe along the way.”

  “Why would you do that for us?” asked Rigg.

  “For money, you dunderheaded boy. I’m an honest man but not a rich one. We’ll get to the bank—the banker’s name is Cooper—and when he gives you the money, he’ll give a fee to me. And don’t fear I’ll cheat you—we’ll let the banker set the price. Fair value for my protecting you and leading you there.”

  “The banker is your friend, not ours,” said Umbo.

  “But you’re the one with the jewels,” said Loaf. “So that’ll make him your friend, not mine.” Then he pointed at Rigg. “Or rather, his friend, not either of ourn.”

  “What kind of banker is named ‘Cooper’?” asked Umbo. “Are the coopers around there all named ‘Banks’?”

  “The city where he lives has a law that family names are passed along father to son, husband to wife, regardless of whether the name itself still fits. He once had a distant ancestor who was a cooper, that’s all it means.”

  “It’s a very dull way of naming people,” said Leaky.

  Loaf turned to Rigg again. “I’ll make money from taking you, but it’s money fairly earned, since without me you’re so likely to be dead before you get out of Leaky’s Landing.”

  “Is that the name of this tavern?” asked Rigg, wondering why it wasn’t named for Loaf, since at least his name suggested something edible, while Leaky’s name seemed a recommendation against staying there on a rainy night.

  “It’s the name of the whole town,” said Leaky.

  “They named it for you?” asked Umbo.

  “Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t,” said Leaky.

  “This termite-supper town?” said Loaf. “They called it sixteen different things till we got here and told them that they had to settle on a name or we wouldn’t build the tavern here. I suggested they name it for me, and so they named it for her just to prove that they don’t have to do what they’re told, even though it was the best advice they’ve ever had. Population’s tripled in the fifteen years since they named it.”

  “What does having a name matter?” asked Umbo.

  Loaf rolled his eyes. “I can hear the land speculator saying, ‘Come and buy land here and build a house in a town so saint-forsaken that we don’t even know its name!’ or a traveler saying, ‘Let’s stop for the night at that inn in that town, you know the one, the town with no name?’”

  “They get the point,” said Leaky.

  Rigg wanted to know what the plan was. “So are we leaving for . . . the town with the banker named Cooper—”

  “Does that town have a name?” asked Umbo. “Or are they waiting for you to move there and name it for them?”

  “Leaky’s Landing is new,” said Loaf. “That city has had people there for twice five thousand years. It’s as old as the world. Nobody even knows the language it was first named in.”

  “It’s called ‘O,’” said Leaky.

  “And it has the Tower of O in it,” said Loaf, as if they should know all about it.

  “There must not have been many cities in the world when they named it,” said Rigg. “Are there other old cities
named for vowels?”

  Loaf looked at his wife, rolled his eyes, and said, “It’s going to be a long trip.” Then he turned back to Rigg. “To answer the question you should have asked, I’ll say that before we set out for O, we’re going to buy you some clothes that won’t attract notice. Not too rich, not too poor, definitely not of woodsy leather, and equally not the latest fashions from upriver. You,” he said, pointing to Umbo, “will pass for my son, dressed like me.”

  “I’m excited,” murmured Umbo.

  “And like a son, you’ll get cuffed in the head when your mouth gets smart like that,” said Loaf.

  “No he won’t,” said Rigg, moving closer to Umbo.

  “If I wanted to get hit,” said Umbo, “I could have stayed at home. My father did it plenty. For free.”

  Leaky laughed. “He was joking, you fools. This is a rough town with a lot of hitting, but Loaf never lays a hand on any, except when he throws troublemakers out.”

  “I had my fill of hurting people when I was in the army,” said Loaf. “I won’t lay a hand on you.”

  Umbo relaxed, and so did Rigg.

  “Umbo is my son,” Loaf went on, “and Rigg will be my wife’s brother’s boy, your cousin, and his family have a bit more money than us. He was visiting us and we’re taking him to meet his father’s men in O.”

  “Why all the lying?” asked Rigg.

  “To explain why your clothes will be nicer than ours. When we meet Cooper, he has to believe you are what you say. The letter means something but not as much as you’d like, since it wasn’t addressed to him. He doesn’t know Wandering Man any more than I do. So he has to look at you and see a boy who might come from a family with money.”

  “If the banker catches us lying about anything,” said Rigg, “then he won’t believe the jewels are mine.”

  “We’ll tell him as much of the truth as he needs to hear. The lies are for nosy people along the way, to explain why you’re dressed different from us. And why you talk so much better than your friend.”

  “He does not!” said Umbo, outraged.