When La Tia saw what Arthur had done, she let out a whoop of delight and called out, “Everybody move quick! Quick as frogs!” And she began to jog over the new road.
Arthur took only a moment to look at the dam itself. Being such pure crystal, however, it didn’t look like any kind of dam. It just looked as if the water simply stopped. Even in the dark, he could see shapes moving in the water. At first he thought it was fish, but then he realized that it was too dark to see anything like that in the water. No, what he was seeing was in the crystal. The same kind of visions that had been so disturbing and hypnotic as people crossed over the bridge at Pontchartrain.
“Don’t look at the dam!” shouted Alvin. “Nobody look at the dam!”
Which made everybody look, of course. Look once, and then look away, because there was La Tia and Moose and Squirrel and Dead Mary and Rien, urging them on, hurrying them, hundreds and hundreds of them crossing the river bottom on Arthur’s road.
Arthur took off at a jog downriver, not running too fast because he had to dry a path before him or he’d sink. All it took was rounding one bend in the river, and there were the two big riverboats, looking pretty forlorn as they rested right on the bottom.
Already dozens of men were out of the boats, slogging along in thick mud.
“Get back in the boats!” Arthur Stuart shouted.
The men heard him, and some of them stopped and looked around to try to find which bank the voice was coming from.
“Vuelvan-se en los návios!” he shouted again, jogging nearer.
Arthur Stuart wasn’t careless. He was just starting to scan the boat for weaponry when he heard a shout of “Atiren!” and saw the flashes of a half dozen muskets on board the first boat. Wasn’t he out of range?
Well, he was and he wasn’t. The musket balls went far enough, but they had slowed considerably, and the one that hit him didn’t go into him all that terribly far. But the spot did happen to be right in the belly, just above his navel, and it hurt worse than the worst stomach ache of his life.
He doubled over and fell to the ground. Careless, foolish…he cursed himself even as he cried from the pain of it.
But pain or not, he had a mission to perform. Trouble was, with his stomach muscles torn like that, he couldn’t work up the strength to shout. Well, he had known persuasion wasn’t going to do it, and he already had a plan. When they’d been running with the greensong toward the river, Arthur Stuart had heard and felt and finally seen the heartfires of hundreds and hundreds of gators that lived in the river and its tributaries in this region.
It wasn’t hard to call to them. Come to the boats, he told them. Plenty to eat in the boats.
And they came. Whatever they might have thought in their tiny gator brains about the river suddenly disappearing like it did, they understood a supper call.
Trouble was, they had no idea what a “boat” was. They just knew they were getting called and had a vague notion of where the call was coming from and pretty soon they were all headed right for Arthur Stuart. And since he was giving off the smell of blood and looking for all the world like a wounded animal—not unnatural, considering he was wounded—he couldn’t blame the gators for thinking he was the meal they’d been promised.
This is about as dumb a way to die as I ever heard of, thought Arthur Stuart. I called the gators down on my own self. Good thing I died before I ever fathered children, because this much stupidity should not survive into the next generation.
And then the gators suddenly turned, all of them at once, and headed downstream toward the boats. They walked right past Arthur Stuart, ignoring him like he was a stump. And while they padded by on their vicious-looking gator feet, he felt something going on inside his stomach. He opened his shirt and looked down at his wound, just in time to see the lead ball nose out like a gopher and plop onto the dirt at his feet.
And as he watched, the blood stopped flowing out of his wound and the skin closed up and it didn’t hurt anymore and he thought, Good thing Alvin’s still watching out for me, because he gives me one dumb little assignment and I find a way to get myself killed twice over.
The gators were rushing toward the boat, but in the darkness it was plain some of the men hadn’t realized what was headed their way. “Gators!” he shouted. “Get back in the boats!”
His alarm made them look again, and some of the men nearest to him got a look at what was coming. Now, a man can outrun a gator on dry land, but not in thick mud, so Arthur Stuart figured his contribution would be to dry the river bottom around the boats. But it was awfully far away from him and he couldn’t be too precise. Still, it seemed to help, and he was relieved that all the men got back to the boats in time. The men onboard the boats reached down and helped haul them up, and the last few had gator jaws gaping wide right under them as they rose into the air, but not so much as a foot was lost, and only a few empty boots.
The gators remained in place, snapping and climbing over each other, trying to get up on deck. Arthur Stuart didn’t think it was fair that the gators should get killed just because he told them there was food to be had. Besides, he had something against the muskets on board those boats. So he sauntered closer to the boats and used his doodlebug to find the guns and bend their barrels as fast as he could. They were bound to try the cannons next, but they were so thick-barreled that he found it was easier to melt the fronts just enough to narrow the bore, keeping the gunners from ramming the shot down.
So the men were fighting off the gators using their muskets as clubs. Which struck Arthur Stuart as more of an even match.
With that, he headed back upriver toward the dam, following his own trail of dry ground.
By the time he got back, most of the people were already across. Running twenty or thirty abreast, with the greensong still lingering in their ears, they all ran or jogged across, and kept moving on the other side to clear the way for the ones following after. Arthur went around the flow of people and up onto the bank and in no time he was standing beside Alvin.
“Thanks for taking that ball out of my gut,” he said.
“Next time try something more subtle than standing out in the open and yelling,” said Alvin. “I’m not trying to boss you around, I just think that’s good advice.”
“And thanks for getting the gators to turn away from me.”
“I figgered you didn’t really want them coming to you,” said Alvin. “And that was nice of you to keep the men from shooting the gators. Not that there’s any particular improvement in the world because of having gators in it, but I’ve never thought it was fair to get animals killed just because they believed a lie I told them.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” said Arthur Stuart. “Plenty of meat on that boat.”
“Only a couple of gators have got over the side since you started running back,” said Alvin, “and the soldiers managed to throw them back. But I reckon they’ll be glad enough when the water starts to flow again.”
“Which is when?” said Arthur Stuart.
“Well, I don’t see any heartfires up here on the bank aside from yours and mine,” said Alvin. “And Dead Mary, seeing as how she just can’t seem to stay away from wherever you are.”
“Wherever I am!” said Arthur Stuart. But when he turned, he saw Dead Mary was indeed clambering back up onto the bank. “Everybody’s gone,” she said.
“Well, I’ll just sit tight here till they all get up on the other bank,” said Alvin. “Including, I must suggest, the two of you.”
“But I can’t leave you here alone!” said Arthur Stuart.
“And I can’t worry about you when it’s time to take down this dam,” said Alvin. “Now for once in your life, will you just do it my way and git? It’s wearing me down holding this river back and you’re making it take longer the longer you take trying to argue with me.”
“I guess I might as well obey the fellow just saved my life,” said Arthur Stuart.
“Double-saved it,” said Alvin, “so you owe me an
other obedience later.”
Arthur Stuart took Dead Mary by the hand and they skittered down the bank and ran across in front of the dam. They moved fast enough that they weren’t far behind the last of the people, and all the way as they ran Arthur Stuart looked for the heartfires of any that might have strayed. But the captains and majors and colonels had all done their job, and not one soul had been left behind.
Papa Moose extended a hand to help Dead Mary up, and La Tia laughed in delight as Arthur Stuart flat-out ran right up the steep embankment without looking for the more gentle slope that most folks had used.
There at the head of the bluff stood Tenskwa-Tawa. It was Arthur Stuart’s first sight of him, and his first thought was, he doesn’t look like all that much. And his second thought was, he looks like a mighty angel standing there holding back the river with a sheet of crystal partly made from the blood of his own hand.
Tenskwa-Tawa waved the torch he held in his other hand. Then, when he saw that Alvin, far away on the other side, had thrown down his torch and started to run, Tenskwa-Tawa dropped the torch and reached out with that hand as if drawing something toward him.
On the far bank, Arthur Stuart could not see with his eyes, but he could follow Alvin’s heartfire and observe with his doodlebug as Alvin ran down the embankment, holding his end of the dam in his hand.
He pulled the dam away from the far bank, and the water burst through behind him. Alvin ran as Arthur Stuart had never seen him run before, but the water was faster, leaping out through the newly opened gap and swirling around the edge of the dam that was now curving behind Alvin as he ran.
“Throw it to me!” cried Tenskwa-Tawa.
Whether Alvin heard with his ears or understood some other way, he obeyed, pitching his end of the dam like it was a stone or a javelin. No way would it have gone as far as it needed to, but Arthur Stuart could see how Tenskwa-Tawa drew it with that one extended hand, even though it was still half a mile away. He drew it toward him faster than Alvin could run, fast enough to outpace the water that rushed to fill the riverbed. Until finally both ends of the dam were in Tenskwa-Tawa’s hands, and Alvin was running through a narrow passage between the two walls of the dam as the pent-up river continued to hurl itself through the widening gap.
Arthur Stuart let himself take one look downriver. Again with his doodlebug rather than with his eyes, he saw the first fingers of water flow around the boats, lifting them, starting them moving downstream. But the water came faster and faster, and the boats began to spin in the eddying flood as they hurtled away, completely out of control.
Alvin reached the bank and, as Arthur had done, ran directly up, straight to where Tenskwa-Tawa was standing, and even then he didn’t stop, just hurled himself right into the waiting embrace of the Red Prophet, flinging them both to the ground. The ends of the crystal dam flew out of Tenskwa-Tawa’s grasp and almost at once the crystal broke up and collapsed and the shards dissolved and became part of the river again. And Alvin and Tenskwa-Tawa lay there in the grass, hugging each other and laughing in delight at what they had done together, taming the Mizzippy and bringing these people to freedom.
La Tia was the only person bold enough at that moment to walk up to men who had just made such a miracle and say, “What you doing acting like little boys? We give merci beaucoup to God, us.”
Alvin rolled onto his back and looked up at her. “It’s picking which God that gets tricky,” he said.
“Maybe you Christians right about God,” said La Tia, “maybe me right, maybe him right, maybe nobody know nothing, but God, he take the merci beaucoup all the same.”
She had seen Tenskwa-Tawa before, standing there holding the dam as everyone climbed the riverbank, but apparently she hadn’t had a good look at him. Because now, as he sprang to his feet—far more energetically than his years should have allowed—a look of recognition came to her. “You,” she said.
Tenskwa-Tawa nodded. “Me,” he said.
“I see you in the ball,” she said.
“What ball?” asked Alvin.
“The ball you make, the ball she carry.” La Tia pointed toward Dead Mary, who did indeed have a burden slung over her shoulders. “I see him all the time in that thing. He talking to me.”
Tenskwa-Tawa nodded. “And I thank you for helping,” he said. “I didn’t know you were with this company.”
“I didn’t know you the Red Prophet.”
“So you two met?” asked Alvin.
“He been hotting up under the earth, far away,” said La Tia. “He ask my help, wake up the earth there. Help the hot stuff find a way up. I think I figure out how.”
“Then I’m as glad to see you here in the flesh as a man can be,” said Tenskwa-Tawa.
“Many a man be glad to see my flesh,” said La Tia, “but it don’t do them no good.”
Tenskwa-Tawa smiled, which for him was like a gale of laughter.
And Arthur Stuart thought, not for the first time, that these really powerful people were like a little club, they all knew each other and people like him were always having to stand just outside.
12
Springfield
Verily Cooper’s knack wasn’t just fitting barrel staves together to make a tight keg. He could see how most things were supposed to fit, and where the irregularities were that made it so they didn’t. Most things—and most people. He could see who was friends and who was enemies, where pride or envy made a rift that few could see. The difference was that when two barrel staves didn’t fit, he could get inside them and almost without thinking—and certainly without effort—change them till they did fit.
It wasn’t quite so easy with people. You had to talk them round, or figure out a way to change what they wanted or what they believed about the world. Still, it was a good knack for a lawyer to have. He could size people up pretty readily, not as individuals, but how they fit together as families and communities.
Riding into the town of Springfield in Noisy River, Verily got a feel for the place right away.
The people that he met stopped and looked at him—what could a stranger expect, here on the frontier? Or at least what passed for frontier now. With the Mizzippy closed to white settlement, the land here was filling up fast. Verily saw the signs of it every time he traveled through this part of the west. And Springfield was a pretty lively place—lots of buildings that looked new, and some being built on the outskirts of town, not to mention the normal number of temporary shanties folks threw up for summer till they had more time to build something just before the weather got cold.
But these folks didn’t just stop and look at him—they smiled, or waved, or even called out a “howdy do” or a “good afternoon” or a “welcome stranger.” Little kids would follow along after him and while they were normal children—that is, a few of them could not resist throwing clods of dirt at his horse or his clothes (depending on whether Verily figured they hit their target or missed it)—none of them threw rocks or mud, so there wasn’t any meanness in it.
The town center was a nice one, too. There was a town square with a courthouse in it, and a church facing it in each direction. Verily wasn’t a bit surprised that the Baptists had to face the back of the courthouse, while the Episcopalians got the front view. The Presbyterians had the north side and the Lutherans had the south. And if Catholics or Puritans or Quakers showed up, they’d probably have to build their churches outside the town. Verily enjoyed the cheerful hypocrisy of American freedom of religion. No church got to be the established one, but you sure knew which ones were way more disestablished than others.
It was the courthouse, though, where Verily figured he’d have the best luck finding out the whereabouts of Abraham Lincoln, erstwhile storekeeper and river trader.
The clerk knew a lawyer when he saw one, and greeted Verily with an alert smile.
“I was hoping you could help me locate a citizen of this town,” said Verily.
“Serving papers on somebody?” asked the clerk cheerfu
lly.
So much for thinking I look like a lawyer, thought Verily. “No sir,” said Verily. “Just a conversation with a friend of a friend.”
“Then that ain’t legal business, is it?”
Verily almost laughed. He knew what type of fellow this was right off. The kind who had memorized the rule book and knew his list of duties and took pleasure in refusing to do anything that wasn’t on the list.
“You know,” said Verily, “it’s not. And I’ve got no business wasting your time. So what I’ll do is, I’ll remain here in this public space where any citizen of the United States is permitted to be, and I’ll greet every person who enters this courthouse and ask them to help me locate this citizen. And when they ask me why I don’t just ask the clerk at the desk, I’ll tell them that I wouldn’t want to waste that busy gentleman’s time.”
The man’s smile got a little frosty. “Are you threatening me?”
“Threatening you with what?” said Verily. “I’m determined to locate a citizen of this fair town for reasons that are between me and him and a mutual friend, doing no harm to him or anyone else. And since this building is at the very center of town—a fine building it is, too, I might add, as good a courthouse as I’ve seen in any county seat of comparable size in Hio or Wobbish or New England, for that matter—I can think of no likelier place to encounter someone who can help me find Mr. Abraham Lincoln.”
There. He’d got the name out. Now to see if the man could resist the temptation to show off what he knew.
He could not. “Old Abe? Well, now, why didn’t you say it was Old Abe from the start?”
“Old? The man I’m looking for can’t be thirty yet.”
“Well, that’s him, then. Tall and lanky, ugly as sin but sweet as sugar pie?”
“I’ve heard rumors about his height,” said Verily, “but the rest of your description awaits personal verification.”
The Crystal City: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume VI Page 24