"How did you know Zebulon was holding me like that?" Genevieve asked. "He seemed almost crazy. Did you know he killed the other man that was down here with him?"
"I heard him say so," said Jeorfy.
"You're not talking in rhymes anymore."
"That was when life was uninteresting," he said with a sharp laugh. "When life is really interesting, trifling amusements can be dispensed with. That's Zeb's trouble. He can't get interested in anything, not really. He's gone crazy, I think, from being down here so long. Well, as anyone would! Life here had no purpose! Somebody likes the idea of having this stuff. Somebody cared enough to have made or equipped this place to put it. But nobody cares enough to see that it's done properly! The Lord Paramount sits up there, buying all kinds of things for centuries, piling it up for centuries, and he doesn't even know what he's got, much less use it for anything."
"That's true," murmured Genevieve. She stretched, moaning a little at the stiffness in her back. "When we get out, are you coming back here, Jeorfy?"
"There's a fortune here, for the right man. Those army machines are worth a king's ransom. They can be programmed to fight any foe one has in mind! And the animals! Ah, I'd love to set them loose. More important, there's a way here to find things out. At that last key station, I tried an idea I had about getting through the block they put in the archives, and it worked. I didn't take time to use it much, but now that I know it works, I'll be back to find things out."
"Like what?"
"Like what coin the Lord Paramount uses to buy all this stuff. And why some of the worlds His Majesty used to buy from aren't there anymore. And what's going on, out there, on other worlds. I get tired of Haven, don't you?"
"1 haven't had a chance to get tired of it yet," she said. "I've hardly seen any of it."
"It's frozen, Haven. I know it's supposed to be tranquil, but by deepsea, girl, it's more like moribund, soulless!"
She gave him a long, level look, somewhat troubled. "Jeorfy, when you say that word, soulless, what do you mean?"
"I mean this place has no soul to it. No... change. No growth. In nature, nothing stays the same, but here in Haven, it's like we're frozen in time."
She frowned. "Are you religious, Jeorfy?"
"Well, as we're nigh on required to be, yes."
"Do you think you have a soul?"
"The churchmen say so, don't they, though I've never figured out quite what it's supposed to be."
"I have a little book, written by Stephanie, you know Stephanie? The Dark Queen."
"I've seen the name in the archives. She was the second wife of the Lord Paramount before Marwell. She bore him so many daughters he threatened to do away with her if she didn't produce a son."
Genevieve shifted on the hard seat, making herself more comfortable. "Stephanie said each living world has a soul that includes all the creatures in it. And if we kill all the other creatures, you know, like they did on Old Earth, then the spirit departs."
"It dies?"
"No, it goes away. Somewhere else. And once that happens, the world has no soul. Do you think that could be true?"
He nodded to himself, thinking. "Well, if everything on a world is tied together, if each thing is part of something else and you can't take it away without changing the other thing, then if there are souls, it stands to reason the souls would apply to the whole rather than to the part. Wouldn't it?"
She nodded, slowly. "That's what I thought. Partly because of the way I feel sometimes, looking at a sunset or during a storm of rain when the trees move and sigh, and I get this feeling, this kind of 'wholeness' feeling, as though I was feeling the whole world moving in me. I don't get that feeling in cities, or just from other people. So, it could be, you know, that the world has a soul and we're part of that, and when we're right with it, we can feel part of it, too..."
"Besides," said Jeorfy, "all of us humans are pretty much alike, aren't we, so if we all had souls, our souls would be very much alike. You read old, old books, and the people in them are just like the people now. Same emotions, same hopes and fears. Same sins. Same virtues. But worlds now worlds are unique and they're always changing."
"Right. And then there's what's happening to Chamis... and Ares."
"What about Chamis and Ares?"
"Chamis was one of those worlds where the settlers killed off all the native life right away, and it was one of the first worlds that Marwell bought from. But, lately it doesn't have anything to sell and the population is dropping like a stone. And Ares is another one they pretty much stripped when they settled. Within a few centuries, it was mostly bare. And now it's losing so much population that they called in experts from other worlds to try and find out why, but no one knows why. If Stephanie was right, the world spirit probably left both places."
Jeorfy stared at her. "Did you know, our population is decreasing?"
Genevieve blinked slowly at him. "Decreasing? I suppose it goes up and down a little, all the time. It's supposed to, isn't it?"
"It's supposed to, yes. But it doesn't. It went up when we first settled. Then it reached the plateau at about a million three, just as everyone expected, and it was more or less flat for a long time. The last several hundred years, though, it's gone down. At first just a little. Lately, more."
"How much down is it?"
"About ten percent."
"Is that a lot?"
"Of course it's a lot, because the rate of decline is increasing. Say it took ten years to lose ten percent, another two years we'll have lost another ten percent."
"Maybe it's just that people are moving around. They're coming down from the mountains to live by the rivers, I know that."
"They're coming down from the mountains because there are too few of them left up there to handle things. Living on the mountains is labor intensive. It takes a lot of hands."
Now Genevieve sat up. "Jeorfy, are you sure?"
"That's what the files say. They keep track of population. The Tribunal's got a system of registering births and deaths that tells them how many people there are. Each little area registers its own births and deaths, and then the books come into the archives and are entered there. It's slow, but it's accurate."
"Ten percent," she mused. "How strange. Is it in one place? Or everywhere? Is it fewer babies? Or fewer old people?"
He shook his head. "1 didn't have time to look at the details, my dear. But I shall, when I return."
By this time they had come far beyond the storage areas, and the way was too narrow for anything but the level path on which they rode, a sinuously endless lane that was always the same at the edge of their lights, always the same behind them: pale gray dust and dark gray stone. The dust-fall was much lighter, a veil instead of a carpet. Genevieve drove while Jeorfy rested, and vice versa. Once they stopped so both could sleep, turning off the lights to save the fuel and curling up in their blankets on the cart itself, for fear of losing it in the dark. Several times, Jeorfy changed the fuel cell on the little cart.
"Zeb didn't even know they could be changed," Jeorfy said, shaking his head. "The designer didn't make the job simple, and Zeb's no mechanic. He won't have any idea we could get this far. What I'm hoping is that he thinks I fell in the chasm and you escaped. That'd be best. And I pray there's enough fuel to take us to the end. If the maps are right, there should be, just."
They saw light filtering in among the rocks above them shortly before the fuel ran out. Trudging the last few paces of the tunnel, they made a left turn, and another, to see a bright vertical slit between two rock columns, a narrow eye of light through which they pushed into the outside world after feeding their luggage out piece by piece. Behind them the sun rose over the mountains of Merdune. Below them a narrow trail ran along the edge of the forest.
"We're facing west," said Jeorfy, "looking back at the way we've come. We're right into the edge of the Merdune forest. That trail ahead of us runs north and south along the forest edge, and if the map is right, there should
be two trails through the mountains down to the shore of Merdune, one north of us and one south of us, which is your shorter route. I'm afraid your friend will be ahead of you, but I packed plenty of food and water to get you to Midling Wells. If you don't meet up before, you'll meet him where he planned."
He assembled their packs, carefully balancing the one Genevieve was to carry. He patted her shoulder, smiling. "You go south, and I'll go north. I'll know the man by name or voice, and if I find he has delayed, awaiting you, I'll send him after his daughter Imogene. Go with heaven."
"What are you going to do, Jeorfy? I don't like leaving you like this."
"Well, I created myself a new identity at that key station," he said. "And now my new self is going to recruit some helpers. And when I've got a few men and materials together, I'm going back into the caverns!
"Who is the new man you are?"
"Jeorfy Bliggard, from Bliggen."
"And where will you be recruiting?"
"Somewhere. Haven't decided yet. Somewhere that people aren't totally happy with the way things are. Dania, maybe. I hear there's lots of malcontents in Dania."
"But if I need you, Jeorfy..."
"Ah, well, if you need me, lady, just use the archive machine. Leave a message for someone named Jeorfy Bliggard and sign it Imogene. Wherever I am, I won't be far from the machines."
He turned away from her, trudging northward and looking only once over his shoulder. Genevieve put the pack on her back, already arranged with the light saddle on top, and started away down the trail to the south. An hour later, she heard horses approaching from that direction and stumbled into the trees to hide from whoever it might be. Between two mossy boles she saw a disconsolate rider with his chin on his chest and a spare horse trailing behind.
Weary and distracted, she let him go on by, unthinking. Only as he retreated from her did she realize who it was and burst from the trees, crying, "Garth! Papa! It's Imogene."
17: Merdune Lagoon
Garth Sentith stood in his stirrups to look over the top of the last rise that separated him and his weary charge from the sloping meadows leading down to the shore of Merdune Lagoon and the town of Midling Wells. He was so long silent that the quiet penetrated Genevieve's fog of exhaustion.
She looked up and murmured, "Have the wells run dry, the town blown away or been flooded by the lagoon?"
He turned with a little smile. "No, Imogene. The weather is good, the way is clear, and the town looks its usual sleepy self. I'm merely being cautious. Normally, I come here in midsummer during the flower harvest. There are many roses and tuberoses upon these long, sunny slopes, along with lavender and fragrant thyme, and many of my most popular scents derive from them, at least in part."
"So they'll be surprised to see you now."
"A little surprised, but not shocked, for I've occasionally visited here out of season. And they won't be shocked at you, either, for I've often spoken of my children."
"What do we do now?"
"We ride down into the village and stop at Fentwig's house, which is where I usually stay."
The horses stepped to the top of the rise, and for the first time, Genevieve saw the sea. It foamed like lace at the edge of the long meadows, receding into blue haze, endless, eternal. The wind in her nostrils came from it, bringing an odor she had never smelled before: something deep, briny, primal. Her eyes remained fixed on that blue as the horse started down the long slope, and she came to herself with a start and an exclamation only when Garth took her by the shoulder.
"I asked if you were looking forward to a good night's rest?" he said, peering into her face. "Were you asleep already?"
"Daydreaming," admitted Genevieve. "I could use a bed, and a bath."
"Fentwig's House is near the bathhouse, which is clean and well maintained. I suggest you make do with a sponge bath tonight, and tomorrow visit the baths before we set sail."
"We sail tomorrow?"
"Possibly. Or as soon as we find a boat we can hire or rent or borrow. During this cold and windy season, many of Merdune's fishermen neglect their traps and nets in favor of work by the fireside or in the barns."
They rode down the long slope, where flat rosettes of green showed amid the dried stalks of summer flowers. "The green stuff is called Icefern or Evergrow," said Garth. "It has a resinous, sharp smell that goes well with other scents."
"How did you get into the perfumery business?" asked Genevieve.
"It was my grandmother's, then my mother's, then mine," he said. "It provides a good living."
As they neared the village, a few people out on the streets stopped and stared at them. "Few visitors come from this direction," murmured Garth. "But, considering everything, I think it was best to avoid the trails. If that dusty villain in the caverns figured out where you and your friend went, he might have sold the information to someone who would come after you."
"I think Zebulon Coffin would have let me die of hunger or thirst while he was making up his mind what to do with me."
"I've met people like him." Garth nodded sagely. "Men of customary inaction who can be spurred to sporadic excess. Such men often start ill-planned projects that they lack either energy to complete or the wit to abandon."
"That's Zeb," she agreed.
Garth nodded, murmuring, "I'm disturbed by what you tell me about those caverns. Knowing that the Lord Paramount has great stockpiles of extravagant goods, many of them simply rotting away, would bother many citizens of Haven. Is this what the taxes levied by the Council are actually spent for?"
He grimaced and laid a cautionary finger across his own lips. "Still, caution is in order. All we will say to Fentwig is that we lost our way in the dark and missed the trails."
They had come close enough to the town to catch the sound of voices and the honking of geese, near enough to smell wood-smoke and roasting meat. Genevieve was suddenly ravenously hungry, and she clucked to her tired horse who put his ears forward and hastened his steps, no doubt in equal anticipation of food and rest.
A narrow livestock gate at the upper or western end of town led to a short street that debouched upon a paved square, and on the north side of the square was a sprawling timber-and-wattle building with a thatched roof and a curly sign above the door, "Fentwig's House." When they dismounted, the stocky, white-haired innkeeper came bustling out, breaking into a smile when he saw Garth.
"You must have lost yourself good and proper," cried the host. "What are you doing coming down from the woods that way? You're miles from either of the passes!"
"Went astray in the dark," admitted Garth, with a moue and a shake of his head. He turned to Genevieve, bowing in Fentwig's direction. "Fentwig, my friend, this is my daughter, Imogene. I've told her all about your delectable food and comfortable beds."
"She looks tired out," said the innkeeper's wife, also stout and white haired, who had just emerged onto the stoop. "Come in, both of you. Miss Sentith, it's good to meet you. You'd like a bath, I daresay."
"Gar... Papa suggested I visit the baths tomorrow," said Genevieve as she stepped through the open door into a neat little foyer, and from that into a large room with a warm stove in its middle.
"Aha," cried Mrs. Fentwig. "He hasn't been here for months, so he doesn't know! We now have a bath-room, two, in fact, one for ladies and one for gentlemen. We already had water piped in for other things, so Fentwig decided to bring water from the nearest hot spring uphill. We built a room, all nicely tiled, and the cooper made us half a dozen comfortable tubs. It's all clean and toasty warm in there, so you have a bath, dear, you look as though you could use one. Nothing like hot water to soothe away a long day on a horse!"
"Go along, Imma," said Garth, waving her away in Mrs. Fentwig's care. "Take your packet with you. Meantime, I'll see to getting us some rooms."
"Roast leg of lamb for supper tonight," Fentwig cried after Genevieve's departing form. "Boned and rolled around a stuffing of dried mushrooms, mint, basil, thyme, and parsley, with roa
st garlic and sea-potatoes on the side."
"Oh," said Garth, rubbing his hands together and turning with his back to the fire. "How fortunate I feel."
"Up at the Highlands, were you? Did you buy those bottles you were set on?"
"I did. Lovely little things they are, too. Here's a sample." And again, he dug out the little bottle and presented it for inspection. "Wouldn't any woman, old or young, like a dear bottle like that, sitting before the mirror on her pretty-shelf?"
"Well, Mrs. Fentwig would, for sure, and our daughters no less. When you come this way next, Sentith, bring one for each of my womenfolk."
So they chatted about nothing very much while Genevieve lay in a curtained cubicle, warm water up to her chin, half floating, the scented steam gathering on her face, for Mrs. Fentwig had come in to whip the bathwater with a bundle of herbs that had lent a soft, clean smell, like rain in a garden. Though Genevieve had been careful not to think of Aufors during all the miles she had ridden for the last two days, the warm water loosened all her constraints and her mind flew to him like iron to a magnet, clinging. Oh, Aufors! The touch of the water was the warmth of his mouth, the embrace of the flannel was the touch of his hands, and there was a tremor inside her, a molten feeling, as though she had become a little fire mountain, flowing with white hot stone, no longer rigid and hard but liquid, shapeless, capable of running over or around everything, anything in its path. Oh, this was a twitch of the loins indeed!
Sheri Tepper - Singer From The Sea Page 28