“Telio. And what did you see, Macao?”
“Do you really wish to know, Telio?”
The questioner had a smashed ear. It was the same Telio he’d seen on the isthmus road what now seemed a long time ago.
“Yes,” he said. “Tell us.”
“Be aware first that I looked to the west, to the past. What’s past is done, Telio. There’s no point gazing that way.”
“So what did you see?”
“Well.” Feigning reluctance. “In the east, I saw a world filled with gleaming cities. Where our ships crossed the seas, and no part of the Intigo was hidden from us. Where travelers could find (something) wherever they went.”
Digger and Kellie were off to one side, but at the edge of the stage. They were getting everything—Macao, Telio, and the audience reaction. Dave Collingdale’s people would love this.
“Orky,” said someone in the audience. A female. “Crossed the seas to where?”
“Oh, yes,” Macao said. “That is the question, isn’t it?” She hadn’t sat down yet in the chair. She was using it instead as a prop. She circled it, gazed at her audience from behind it, leaned on its arm. Played to the expectant silence. “What do you think is on the other side of the sea?”
“There is no other side,” the questioner said. “The sea goes on forever. There may be other islands out there somewhere, but the sea itself has no end.”
“How many believe that?”
About half the hands went up. Maybe a bit more than half.
Macao fastened her gaze on the questioner. “The sea is (something),” she said. “It never stops. That sounds like a lot of water.”
Orky made the rippling sound that passed for laughter among Goompahs. A few pounded on chair arms. “If the sea has an end, what kind of end is it? Does the water simply stop? Is there a place where you can fall off, as Taygla says?” Macao, obviously enjoying herself, flowed across the stage. “It’s really an interesting question, isn’t it? It almost seems there is no satisfactory answer to these things.” She got up, opened the roll of animal skin, and withdrew a map, which she put on the frame. This was an attempt at cartography on a much larger scale than anything they’d seen at the library, which had been limited to the area in and around the isthmus. Her map showed icy regions in the south and deserts to the north, both correct. But it showed a western continent much closer than it actually was, and the big pole-to-pole continent a few thousand klicks east was missing altogether.
But the map contained a shock. “Wait here,” he told Kellie.
“What?” she whispered. “Where are you going?”
He was already up on the stage, moving behind Macao, until he stood directly in front of the map. It reminded him of those sixteenth-century charts that showed personified clouds blowing in different directions, or whales spouting. There were no whales or animated winds on this one. But it did have what appeared to be a graphic of a human being. A male.
It was at the bottom of the chart, riding a winged rhino.
It wasn’t done in sufficient detail to know for sure that it was human. But it was close. Eyes, mouth, and ears were all smaller than a Goompah’s. It had pale brown skin, and it looked a lot better than the natives. Its clothing was standard, a loose-fitting shirt and leggings. And it carried something that looked like a harpoon.
“The sad thing is,” Macao was saying, “we really don’t know whether Orky is right or wrong. We don’t know whether this map is right or wrong.” She advanced without warning in Digger’s direction and he had to scramble clear. Damned things were quicker than they looked.
“It’s one of us,” Digger told Kellie.
“What is?”
“On the chart.”
Macao paused in front of the map, pretending to study it, but they could see her eyes look away while she considered what came next. “In fact, we don’t even know what lies beyond the Skatbrones.” Digger had heard the term before and believed it referred to the mountain range that sealed off the northern continent from the Intigo.
“We come here and talk about all manner of curious beasts, some of which I’ve actually seen, and some of which not. But not one of you knows which is true and which an imagining. And I put it to you that that is not a supportable state of affairs.”
“It’s not a perfect representation,” Digger continued. “Arms are too long. Feet are too much like their own. But it’s close.”
A cup of water and an oil lamp stood on a table beside Macao. Digger decided she looked good in the glow of the lamp. Large malleable ears. Supple arms. Cute in the way, maybe, that a giraffe was cute. If her features were less than classic, they were nonetheless congenial and warm. Her eyes swept across him and seemed for a heart-stopping moment to linger. As if she knew.
More hands were going up. She recognized one.
“I’m Koller. It’s true we can’t see far, Macao; but it’s impious to talk the way you do. The gods (something, something) these things for a reason.”
“And what is the reason, Koller?”
“I don’t know. But we should (something) the will of the gods. You come here and make up these wild tales, and I wonder whether the gods laugh to hear what you say. I’m not sure I want to be sitting this close to you when we all know that a bolt could come through the roof at any moment.”
She smiled at him. “Koller, I think we’re safe.”
“Really? Have you looked at the sky recently?” And with that Koller got up, made his way into the aisle, and left the building.
“Well,” Macao said. “I hope nobody gets (something, but probably ‘singed’) when it happens.”
The audience was silent, except for a couple of nervous laughs.
“The thing is,” said Digger, “it looks like us, but not quite. And it’s sitting on one of those rhinos. But the rhino has wings.”
She had to go look for herself. When she came back she touched his arm. “Never see the day one of those things could get off the ground,” she said.
“That’s what I’m wondering about.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s obviously a mythological beast.”
“So you think—”
“—The guy that looks like us is a mythological beast, too.”
“Hey,” she said, “he looks like you, not me.”
So the next question was, what sort of mythological beast? Considering the way everyone had panicked whenever they’d caught a glimpse of Digger, he thought he could guess.
“I actually have done a fair amount of far traveling,” Macao was saying. “There are a lot of strange things out there. Some strange things in here, too.” She said it lightly, and they pounded their appreciation. “If you go out the front door of this place and turn left, and walk a few hundred paces, there’s a park. It’s called Binlo, or Boplo—”
“Barlo,” someone said from the third row.
Digger suspected she’d known all along. “Barlo.” She tasted the word on her tongue, rolled it around in her mouth, smiled, and took a coin out of her sleeve. “Later this evening, when we’re finished here, if your way home leads through Barlo Park, stop a minute, and consider that this is the world that we know.” She held the coin so it flashed in the lamplight. “This small piece of metal encompasses the entire known world. Where we live. It’s the isthmus, and the land up to the Skatbrones, and the Sunrise Islands, and the Seawards, and the Windemeres, and the shoreline as far as we can see. And south to the Skybreakers. Every place where we’ve walked.” She gazed curiously at it. “And the park is the world beyond. The great darkness into which we’ve cast no light.
“We boast of our maps, and we call ourselves (something). We pretend to much knowledge. But the truth is that we are gathered around a fire”—she lifted the lamp, and watched shadows move across the room—“in a very large and very dark forest.” She turned the stem and the light flickered and died. “I can’t bring myself to believe there’s an infinite amount of water in the world. But ma
ybe I’m wrong.” Someone was trying to get her attention. “No,” she said, “let me finish my thought. We live on an island of light. What extends beyond us in all directions is not the sea, but our own ignorance.” The lamp blinked back on, as if by magic. “Persons like me can come before you with the most preposterous stories, and no one really knows what is true and what is not. In fact, despite everyone’s (something), there really is a falloon. It doesn’t actually gulp down ships.” She moved to the edge of the stage, gazing out over her audience. “As far as I know.”
Digger and Kellie moved cautiously around the stage so they could see better.
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” she continued. “Yet when I tell you about it, you assume that I make it up. Why? Is it because you have evidence to the contrary? Or because you expect me to invent such tales?
“Each year, in the spring, the citizens of Brackel celebrate the founding of their city. Kulnar, which is, of course, older by several hundred years, celebrates in midwinter.”
Several of the audience stood to repudiate her remark. Someone flung a scarf into the air. The question of which city was older was obviously a matter in dispute, and advocates were present for both claims.
Macao let it go on for a bit, then waved them to order. “The truth is, nobody really knows which city is older. But it’s of no consequence.” Her audience quieted. “However—” She drew the word out. “—That we have been here so long, and know so little, even about our own history, is to our discredit.” Digger could hear a cart passing outside.
She held up a scroll. “This is Bijjio’s Atlas of the Known World. It’s accurate, as far as anyone knows. But it is really no more than a few introductory remarks and a lot of speculation.” She paused and took a sip of the water. “We all know the story of Moro, who sailed east and returned from the west.”
An arm went up in back. “My name is Groffel.” The speaker swelled with the significance of what he was about to say. “You’re not going to tell us the world is round, I hope?”
“Groffel,” she said, “it’s time we found out. Found out if there really are lands over the horizon. If there really are two-headed Goompahs. But we need support. We need you to help.”
There were shouts. “The Krolley mission,” someone said. And: “They’re lunatics.” And: “My honored friend should open his mind.”
A voice on the far side, near the wall: “I assume, Macao, we’re talking about contributions.”
She waited until her audience had subsided. “We are talking about an investment,” she said. “We are talking about our future, about whether we will still be wondering about these issues a hundred or six hundred years from now.” She seemed to grow taller. “I don’t say who’s right and who’s wrong. But I do say we should settle the matter. We should find out.
“Three ships will make the voyage. Like Moro, they will travel east, into the sunrise. They will record whatever islands they encounter, and eventually they will return over there.” She pointed toward the back of the auditorium. West. A murmur ran through the audience.
“But why now? When the signs are bad?”
Kellie stirred. “Signs?” she asked. “Does he mean the cloud?”
Another voice: “How long will it take?”
“We estimate three years,” she said.
“And on what is the estimate based?”
“The size of the world.”
“You know the size of the world?”
Another smile. “Oh, yes.”
“And how big is it?”
“It is a sphere, 90,652 gruden around the outside.”
“Really?” This was Orky again. “Not 653?”
“Round it off a bit, if you like.”
Someone in back stood up. “You’ve measured it?”
“In a manner of speaking. I have seen it measured.” She waited for the laughter, got it, let it die away, and added: “I am quite serious.”
“And was it done with a measuring rod?”
“Yes,” she said. “Actually it was done with two measuring rods.” She was completely in control. “Scholars placed rods of identical lengths at Brackel and at T’Mingletep. Who knows how far T’Mingletep is from here?”
“A long walk,” said someone in back. But he didn’t get the laughter he expected, and he sat down.
“That’s right. Although it’s on the western sea, it’s almost directly south of Brackel. And the distance has been measured. North to south, it is precisely 346 gruden.” Digger had seen the term gruden before, but until that moment he had no idea whether it was the length of someone’s arm or a half dozen klicks.
“The shadows cast by the rods were measured through the course of the day. The shadows are longer in T’Mingletep. And the difference in lengths between T’Mingletep and here makes it possible to calculate the size of the world.”
“It’s too much for me,” said Orky.
Whether 90,000 gruden seemed outrageously big or too small to the audience, Digger couldn’t tell. But he knew the experiment, of course. It was similar to the one performed by Eratosthenes, who got very close to the size of the Earth in 240 B.C.
They were silent for a time, and she recognized a big Goompah in the front row. “Klabit,” he said. “Macao, I don’t know whether it’s round or not. But if it really is round, wouldn’t the water run off? Wouldn’t the ships themselves fall off when they got far enough around the curve?”
Macao let them see the question had stopped her. “I don’t know the answer to that, Klabit. But the ground between here and T’Mingletep is curved. That’s established beyond doubt.” She looked out over her audience. “So the truth is, nobody really knows why the water doesn’t run off. Obviously, it doesn’t happen, or there’d be no tide tonight.” (Laughter.) “I admit I don’t understand how the world can be round, but it seems that it is. I say, let’s find out. Once and for all. Let’s send the ships east over the ocean and watch to see from which direction they return.”
Her audience had become restive. Macao left the stage and went out among them. “The mission will cost a great deal of money. The funds from this evening, after I’ve taken my expenses—”
“—of course—” said a voice on the far side.
“—of course. After that, I will contribute the proceeds to the effort. This is your opportunity to become part of the most significant (something) expedition ever attempted by our two cities.
“But they need something more than money. They need volunteers. Sailors.” She paused and looked down at Telio. “It will be a dangerous voyage. Not something for the faint of heart. Not something for the unskilled.”
“I fish for a living,” said Telio.
“Just what they need. I’ll send your name over.”
The audience laughed. Someone commented that Telio was lucky to have gotten such an opportunity.
Macao was back on her stage. She held up her hands. “Velascus talks about the defect each of us has, implanted by Taris, to prevent our being perfect. For you—” she looked at one of the Goompahs off to her left—“it is perhaps too great an affection for money. And for Telio over there, it may be a (something) toward jealousy. For me, perhaps, it is that I have no sense of humor.” (Laughter.) “But for each of us it is there. The individual defect. But there is another flaw that we all share, that we share as a community.
“You remember Haster?”
Yes. They all did.
“What’s Haster?” asked Kellie.
“No idea.”
“The colony failed within three years. As did the several attempts that preceded it. Why do you suppose that is? Why have so many efforts to move abroad been abandoned?”
There were several older children seated in the rear. One of them stood to be recognized. “It is wild country beyond the known lands,” she said. “Who would want to live there?”
“Who indeed?” echoed Macao. “And I put it to you that herein lies our fatal defect. Our common flaw. The characteristic that
deters us. We love our homeland too much.”
WHEN THE LAST of the lights had gone out, and the cafés had emptied, Kellie and Digger wandered the lonely walkways that bordered the sea at the southern edge of the city. They were wet, and the Flickinger field produced by the e-suits was notoriously slippery underfoot, especially in such conditions. It didn’t seem to matter what sort of shoes he wore. He turned it off, and gasped in the sudden rush of cold salt air.
Kellie heard his reaction and guessed what he had done. She followed his lead. “It’s lovely out here,” she said.
The sea was rough. It roared against the rocks and threw spray into the air. A sailing ship, squat and heavy, lay at anchor. Lights poured out of the after cabin, and Digger could see a figure moving about inside.
“Do the Goompahs have the compass?” asked Digger.
“Don’t know.”
“Does Lookout have a magnetic north?”
“Yes, Dig. About twelve degrees off the pole. Why? Does it matter?”
“If they don’t have a compass, how will they navigate on that round-the-world jaunt they’re talking about?”
“Sun by day, stars by night. Shouldn’t be all that difficult. Except I don’t know how they’ll get past the eastern continent. They’ll have the same problem Columbus did.”
It was too dark to be able to make out where the horizon met the sky. Digger tried to visualize the sea east of Athens. He remembered a couple of big islands out there, and a few smaller chunks of land beyond. Then it was open ocean for several thousand kilometers.
He understood why the Goompahs had never crossed their oceans. How long had it taken before Leif Eriksson and the longboats made the run across the Atlantic? But it seemed odd that there’d been no serious effort to explore the continent on which they lived. It was true there were natural barriers, but they had sail, and they had easy access by water. They weren’t in the classic Greek situation of being penned in an inland sea.
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