“Don’t quote scripture to me,” said the old man. “Steal from us if you want, but don’t pretend to be holy when you do it.”
She was standing on the porch now, facing the old man. She heard the door swing open behind her. She heard the click of a hammer striking the flint. She heard the sizzle of the gunpowder in the pan.
And then the plop of the bullet hitting the porch.
“Damn,” said a woman’s voice.
“You would have murdered me,” said Marie without turning around.
“We shoot trespassers around here.”
“We don’t hurt personne, but you with murder in your heart,” said Marie, and she turned to face the woman. “What is your food, that you could shoot a woman in the back for asking you to share it?” She reached out a hand toward the trembling woman, who cowered against the door. She touched the woman’s shoulder. “You have your health,” said Marie. “That’s good. Treasure it, to be so strong, no disease in you. Live a long life.”
Then she turned to the old man and reached out to him. Took his bare hand in hers. “Oh, you’re a strong man,” she said. “But you’re short of breath, yes?”
“I’m an old man,” he said. “Ain’t hard to guess I’m short of breath.”
“And you have pains in your chest. You try to ignore them, yes? But they come again in a few months, and then a few months. Put your house in order, say your good-byes, you good man. You will see God in only a few weeks time.”
He looked her hard in the eyes. “Why you cursing me?” he said. “What did I ever do to you?”
“I’m not cursing you,” she said. “I have no such power, to kill or not kill. I only touch a person and I know if they are sick and if they will die of it. You are sick. You will die of it. In your sleep. But I know you are a generous man, and many will mourn your death, and your family will remember you with love.”
Tears filled the old man’s eyes. “What kind of thief are you?”
“A hungry one,” she said, “or otherwise I would not steal, not me, not any of us.”
The old man turned and looked down onto the lawn. Marie assumed he was looking at the other two men, or at the clouds that enclosed them, but no. While they were talking, Arthur and La Tia and Mother must have opened the slaves’ quarters and now the house was surrounded by black men and women and children. The clouds no longer surrounded the two white men. Unarmed, they were standing inside the circle.
Arthur Stuart stepped forward and held out his hand. As if he expected a white slaveowner to shake with a black man. “My name is Arthur Stuart,” he said.
The old man hooted. “You trying to tell us you’re the King?”
Arthur shrugged. “I was telling you my name. I’m also telling you that none of the guns in that house is gonna work, and the man waiting just inside the door with a big old piece of boardwood to bat me or Marie in the head, he might as well put it down, because it won’t hurt nobody any more than getting hit with a piece of paper or a dry sponge.”
Marie heard somebody inside the house utter a curse, and a thick heavy piece of wood was flung out the door onto the lawn.
“Please let us come inside,” she said. “My mother and my friends and I. Let us sit down and talk about how to do this without hurting anyone and without leaving you with nothing.”
“I know the best way,” said the old man. “Just go away and leave us be.”
“We have to go somewhere,” said Marie. “We have to eat something. We have to sleep the night.”
“But why us?” he said.
“Why not you?” she answered. “God will bless you ten times for what you share with us today.”
“If I’m going to die as soon as you say, let me leave a good place to my sons and daughters.”
“Without slaves,” said Marie, “this will finally be a good place.”
Later, with the family not locked up, and everyone safely fed and sleeping, Marie had a chance to talk with Arthur Stuart. “Thank you for giving me the fog when I needed it, instead of waiting till I was in the house.”
“Can’t expect plans to work out when other people don’t know their part,” he said with a grin. “You done great, though.”
She smiled back at him. She had done a good job. But she had never before known what it felt like to be told so. Not till this trip. Not till Alvin and Arthur Stuart. Oh, they had such powers, such knacks. But the one that impressed her the most was the power to fill her heart the way their kind words did.
A group of reds took Alvin back across the Mizzippy in a canoe—a much better journey this time. They took Alvin downriver a ways, to a place just upstream of the port town of Red Stick. The river took a deep bight there, so Alvin had only a short walk through pretty dry country to get to the town. Meanwhile the reds got away without being seen by any white man. Up north in the United States, reds were a common enough sight, seeing how they were the majority of people in the states of Irrakwa and Cherriky. But they mostly dressed like white folks. And here in the deep south, where the Crown Colonies had more sway, reds didn’t show up much, specially not the ones from across river, who still dressed in the old way. It frightened the white folks to see them, those rare times they showed their faces. Savages, that’s how they looked, and people reached for their guns and began ringing church bells in alarm.
But a lone white man, dressed like what he was, a journeyman blacksmith, and carrying a heavy poke slung on his shoulder, nobody paid no mind to him.
Besides, there was bigger news afoot. The governor’s expedition had just arrived, and suddenly Red Stick was swollen with hundreds of bored militiamen, some of whom had lost their enthusiasm for slogging through back country and fighting runaway slaves. In fact, their enthusiasm waned in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol in their blood, and Colonel Adan wasn’t such a disciplinarian that he didn’t see the wisdom of keeping these men just a little likkered up. So they were in the saloons, with Spanish soldiers attempting to enforce a two-drink limit so they weren’t too drunk to march. Nobody was looking to see the leader of the very group they came to destroy walking all by himself through the streets of town.
It wasn’t much trouble for Alvin to size things up. He was pleased that none of the men from Steve Austin’s company were there. Those were hard men who knew how to kill and didn’t mind doing it. These men, by contrast, were quick to brag and boast about what they were gonna do, and what they had done, but the actual doing wasn’t all that attractive to them.
Alvin toyed with the idea of walking right in to Colonel Adan’s stateroom on one of the steamboats and telling him, you show up day after tomorrow right here and you can see us cross the river and leave you up to your necks in mud. But there was a good chance Adan would simply have Alvin hanged or shot instead of locking him up, and while Alvin could probably get himself out of it, what was the point? Fighting the Unmaker in gator form had taken a lot of the combativeness out of Alvin. The part of him that looked forward to a good rassle was pretty much used up for the nonce, and so he’d find a quieter way of doing the same job.
So he went into a saloon and leaned against the bar right by the Spanish officer who was supervising. “So you know where them runaways actually is?” he asked.
“They don’t tell me,” said the officer, his English thickly accented.
“Well, the thing is, I think I know,” said Alvin. “At least I got a pretty good rumor. But I don’t want to go tell it to Colonel Adan myself, on account of he’s bound to think I look like a soldier and try to jine me up.”
The officer looked at him coldly. “What do we care for this rumor?”
“Don’t that all depend on who’s doing the gossiping? I mean, any of these drunks in here, they can tell you the runaways is on the moon for all it matters, ’cause they don’t know squat. Me, though, I got my rumor from a couple of reds who was smuggling furs across the river upstream, and they said they seen a bunch of free blacks not far inland.”
The officer s
till looked scornful. “Smuggling furs? And they did not kill you?”
“Well, maybe they would have, except there was only two of them, and I’m not a little fellow, and besides, they wanted me to tell you what they seen.”
“And why would they care?”
“Because if them runaways is heading for the river, it might be they got it in their heads to cross it, like they crossed Lake Pontchartrain. They got some wizards with them, I hear. Queen La Tia, I hear. So maybe they can squelch that fog and get across. And them reds don’t fancy a bunch of free blacks and scum-of-the-earth Frenchmen trying to set up on their side of the river.”
“So you are, what…a messenger?”
Alvin shrugged. “I had my say. Who you tell now is none of my howdy do.”
The officer reached out and seized Alvin by the arm. The man had a strong grip. Of course, Alvin could have thrown him off without hardly even thinking about it, but he didn’t want a fight right here.
“I think you need to come outside and tell me a little more,” said the officer.
“And while you’re out there, you can bet these men will all get two more cups and then they’ll be pissing and puking the whole way upriver.”
“Come with me.”
Alvin went along peaceful enough. The officer had two other soldiers in that saloon, and they came outside, too. At once the noise level inside increased—those forbidden drinks getting ordered, no doubt. The price of rum and whiskey was bound to soar in Red Stick, on account of the scarcity they’d have by nightfall.
Outside the saloon, the officer had the soldiers hold Alvin. “I think you better come tell your story to Colonel Adan yourself.”
“I told you before, that’s what I don’t want to do.”
“If you do not lie, then he must know this.”
“I ain’t lying, and I can’t think why them reds would lie, but I’ll tell you where they said. You go around this first big bight in the river, and then take the second big curve, and where it comes east again, that’s the place.”
“Telling me is a waste of time,” said the officer.
“But you’re the only one that’s gonna get told,” said Alvin. Whereupon he pulled his arms free and elbowed both soldiers in the chin, knocking their heads back against the wooden wall of the saloon. One dropped like a rock, the other staggered away, and Alvin reached out and took the officer’s side-arm away from him.
The officer stepped back and drew his sword.
“No no,” said Alvin. “If you kill me, then what will you tell the colonel?”
In answer, the officer slashed with his sword.
Alvin sidestepped, then took the sword out of the officer’s hand and broke the blade across his knee. It pained him to do it with a blade as fine as that—Spanish steel was still a thing to be proud of—and he didn’t like smacking those soldiers, either. But he had to get away as a regular fellow might, and not with any obvious makery, or the colonel might realize he was getting set up or maybe just think he was being sent on a wild goose chase.
The officer cried out as if it had been his arm, not his sword, that was broke in two. Alvin jogged away while the officer bawled, “Siga lo! Siga lo!” But his men were in no shape to follow, and in a couple of minutes Alvin was out of sight behind buildings and heading for woodland as fast as he could go.
Arthur Stuart woke up from someone shaking him. “Who’s—”
“Shh, don’t wake the others yet.”
It was Alvin. Arthur Stuart sat up. “Boy am I glad to—”
“What part of shhhh didn’t you get?”
“There’s nobody nearby,” said Arthur. But he talked softer, all the same.
“You think,” said Alvin. “But Dead Mary, she’s only just over there.”
“She wasn’t when I went to sleep,” said Arthur Stuart.
But by now they were both up and walking away into the fog surrounding the camp.
“I just come from Colonel Adan’s army,” said Alvin. “We got us an appointment at the river tomorrow afternoon.”
“We crossing over?”
“Tenskwa-Tawa is granting us right to pass through, and they’ll help us get food and shelter without having to take over any more plantations.”
“Good,” said Arthur Stuart. “I’m sick of it already, folks being so scared of us.”
“Guess you’re not a natural bully,” said Alvin. “And after I tried so hard to teach you.”
“Well, it’s worked out pretty good so far. Dead Mary’s a natural liar, and I’m good at fogging folks and bending musket barrels.”
“And La Tia has made some charms,” said Alvin.
“They seemed to help. Not like having you march with us.”
“Well, I’m here to march with you now. I don’t want another stop. I want to get there first. And that means we need to wake everybody now and get moving.”
“In the dark?”
“We’ll see if it’s still dark by the time you get them going.”
It took less than an hour to get under way, but that was mostly ’cause Alvin wouldn’t let anybody fix any kind of meal. Nursing mothers could nurse, of course, and they could eat whatever bread and cheese and fruit they might have as they walked, but nothing that required cooking or washing or waiting.
Oh, there was plenty of grumbling and some out-and-out surliness, but the past couple of days’ marching, with La Tia’s charms giving them some good help, had left them feeling hale and ready even with only half a night’s sleep.
And now, with Alvin leading the way, the charms worked way better. It really was the greensong now, not just a dim echo of it. Since Arthur Stuart didn’t have to mind the fog now, he could join in with it, let it sweep over him.
Before dawn everybody was running along—the adults jogging, the children running full tilt, but everyone keeping up and nobody tired. In the dark they’d run without a soul tripping over a root or straying from the group. Because in the greensong, you always know exactly where you are and where everything else is because it’s all part of you and you’re part of it.
They ran all morning. They ran all afternoon. They did not stop to eat or drink. They splashed through streams, barely pausing to lift the children who weren’t tall enough to ford them. Six thousand people now, with all the slaves at each plantation who had shucked off their bondage to join them. Moving through the woods without need for trail or trace.
The last red of the sunset was just fading from the sky when they came to a low bluff overlooking an eastward curve of the Mizzippy and saw it, more than a mile wide, streaked with red from the sunset.
“We cross in the morning?” asked Arthur Stuart.
“We cross as soon as every last soul is up here on this bluff,” said Alvin.
They had spread out a bit during the long day’s run, so it was full dark and then some when the colonels reported that everyone was accounted for.
Once again Alvin had Papa Moose and Mama Squirrel and their children at the front, but this time La Tia would be leading them across instead of waiting till last. “Won’t be no bridge this time,” said Alvin to the council. “We’re gonna dam up the river and it’s going to look mighty strange, piled up on your right side. Nobody ought to look into it—we got no time for that.”
Then Alvin walked to the point of the bluff nearest the water, Arthur Stuart beside him, and raised up a torch.
On the far side of the river, the fog cleared and another torch could be seen, just a wink of light.
“Who’s on the other side?” asked Arthur Stuart.
“Tenskwa-Tawa,” said Alvin. “He’s gonna help me dam the Mizzippy.”
“Well,” said Arthur Stuart, “I say, dam the Mizzippy all to hell!”
Alvin laughed and then cut open his hand with his own fingernail and flung the blood out over the water.
It looked as if the water leaped right back up into his hand, but it wasn’t water, no sir, it was the crystal again, and as Alvin held one end of it, it
grew, stretching out like a thin sheet of glass right through the river and across it. Halfway there it was met by crystal from the other side and by then the water on the left side of the dam was flowing away, sinking down, gone.
On the upstream side of the dam, though, the water had risen, and Arthur expected it would start to flow over the top any second. But it didn’t. Because, he realized, upstream of the bluff it had spilled over the banks and was flooding the land on the white man’s side of the river.
Now Arthur Stuart knew why this spot had been chosen. The bluffs on the other side were higher and extended farther upstream. There’d be no flood on the red side of the river.
“I got a job for you,” said Alvin.
“I’m game, if it’s something I can handle.”
“Colonel Adan is coming up the river with a couple of his boats. He’s also sent another bunch of soldiers around by land. Well, those boys are gonna be scrambling to climb trees and find high ground for the next while, but what I worry about is the men on them boats.”
“Won’t they be left high and dry with the river dammed like this?” said Arthur Stuart.
“They will. But they’ll be mighty tempted to get out of them boats and come upstream on foot. And when we let go of this dam, they’ll all be drowned.”
“Like Pharaoh’s chariots.”
“I don’t want any more dead men on account of this trek,” said Alvin. “There’s just no call for it, if we give proper warning.”
“I’ll keep ’em in the boats,” said Arthur Stuart.
“I was just asking you to give them advice.”
“I’ll give them such strong advice everybody takes it.”
“Well, on your way to showing off for a bunch of men armed with muskets and artillery,” said Alvin, “you might want to dry off that bottom mud so nobody gets stuck crossing over.”
And indeed it was sloppy going for the first few people to try going down the bank into the empty river bottom. But Arthur Stuart had learned enough these past days that it wasn’t hard for him to evaporate the water in the top layer of mud, making a hard-surfaced dirt road about fifty feet wide—broad enough for a lot of people to cross at once. This would go a lot faster than crossing Pontchartrain.
The Crystal City: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume VI Page 23