ALVIN JOURNEYMAN

by Orson Scott Card

  “Trick!” She was mortified. “False teeth! What a terrible thing to say!”

  “Do you or do you not have false teeth?”

  Marty Laws was on his feet. “Your Honor, I can’t see what relevancy false teeth have to the case at hand.”

  “Mr. Cooper, it does seem a little extraneous,” said the judge.

  “Your Honor has allowed the prosecution to cast far afield in trying to impugn the veracity of my client. I think the defense is entitled to the same latitude in impugning the veracity of those who claim my client is a deceiver.”

  “False teeth is a bit personal, don’t you think?” asked the judge.

  “And accusing my client of seducing her isn’t?” asked Verily.

  The judge smiled. “Objection overruled. I think the prosecution opened the door wide enough for such questions.”

  Verily turned back to Vilate. “Do you have false teeth, Miss Franker?”

  “I do not!” she said.

  “You’re under oath,” said Verily. “For instance, didn’t you waggle your upper plate at Alvin when you said that he was a beautiful young man?”

  “How can I waggle an upper plate that I do not have?” she said.

  “Since that is your testimony, Miss Franker, would you be willing to appear -in court without those four amulets you’re wearing, and without the shawl with the hexes sewn in?”

  “I don’t have to sit here and...”

  Alvin leaned over and tugged at Verily’s coattail. Verily wanted to ignore him, because he knew that Alvin was going to forbid him to pursue this line any further. But there was no way he could pretend that he didn’t notice a movement so broad that the whole court saw it. He turned back to Alvin, ignoring Vilate’s remonstrances, and let Alvin whisper in his ear.

  “Verily, you know I didn’t want—“

  “My duty is to defend you as best I—“

  “Verily, ask her about the salamander in her handbag. Get it out in the open if you can.”

  Verily was surprised; “A salamander? But what good will that do?”

  “Just get it out in the open,” said Alvin. “On a table in the open. It won’t run away. Even with the Unmaker possessing it, salamanders are still stupid. You’ll see.”

  Verily turned back to face the witness. “Miss Franker, will you kindly show us the lizard in your handbag?”

  Alvin tugged on his coat again. Mouth to ear, he whispered,

  “Salamanders ain’t lizards. They’re amphibians, not reptiles.”

  “Your pardon, Miss Franker. Not a lizard. An amphibian. A salamander.”

  “I have no such—“

  “Your Honor, please warn the witness about the consequences of lying under—“

  “If there’s such a creature in my handbag, I don’t have any idea who put it there or how it got there,” said Vilate.

  “Then you won’t object if the bailiff looks in your bag and removes any amphibious creatures he might find?”

  Overcoming her uncertainty, Vilate replied, “No, not at all.”

  “Your Honor, who is on trial here?” asked Marty Laws.

  “I believe the issue is truthfulness,” said the judge, “and I find this exercise fascinating. We’ve watched you come up with scandal. Now I’ll be interested to see an amphibian.”

  The bailiff rummaged through the handbag, then suddenly hooted and jumped back. “Excuse me, Your Honor, it’s up my sleeve!” he said, trying to maintain his composure as he wriggled and danced around.

  With a flamboyant gesture, Verily swept his papers off the defense table and pulled it out into the middle of the courtroom. “When you retrieve the little fellow,” he said, “set him here, please.”

  Alvin leaned back on his chair, his legs extended, his ankles crossed, looking for all the world like a politician who just won an election. Under his chair, the plow lay still inside its sack.

  Alone of all the people in the court, Vilate paid no attention whatever to the salamander. She simply sat as if in a trance; but no, that wasn’t it. No, she sat as if she were at a soiree where something slightly rude was being said, and she was pretending to take no notice of it.

  Verily had no idea what would come of this business with the salamander, but since Alvin wouldn’t let him try any other avenue to discredit Vilate or Amy, he’d have to make it do.

  Alvin had been watching Vilate during her testimony—watching close, not just with his eyes, but with his inner sight, seeing the way the material world worked together. One of the first things he marked was the way Vilate cocked her head just a little before answering. As if she were listening. So he sent out his doodlebug and let it rest in the air, feeling for any tremors of sound. Sure enough, there were some, but in a pattern Alvin had never seen before. Usually, sound spread out from its source like waves from a rock cast into a pond, in every direction, bouncing and reverberating, but also fading and growing weaker with distance. This sound, however, was channeled. How was it done?

  For a while he was in danger of becoming so engrossed in the scientific question that he might well forget that he was on trial here and this was the most dangerous but possibly the weakest witness against him. Fortunately, he caught on to what was happening very quickly. The sound was coming from two sources, very close together, moving in parallel. As the sound waves crossed each other, they interfered with each other, turning the sound into mere turbulence in the air. When Alvin listened closely, he could hear the faint hiss of the chaotic noise. But in the direction where the sound waves were perfectly parallel, they not only didn’t interfere with each other, but rather seemed to increase the power of the sound. The result was that for someone sitting exactly in Vilate’s position, even the faintest whisper would be audible; but for anyone anywhere else in the courtroom, there would be no sound at all.

  Alvin found this curious indeed. He hadn’t known that the Unmaker actually used sound to talk to his minions. He had supposed that somehow the Unmaker spoke directly into their minds. Instead, the Unmaker spoke from two sound sources, close together. Then Alvin had to smile. The old saying was true: The liar spoke out of both sides of his mouth.

  Looking with his doodlebug into Vilate’s handbag, Alvin soon found the source of the sound. The salamander was perched on the top of her belongings, and the sound was coming from its mouth—though salamanders had no mechanism for producing a human voice. If only he could hear what the salamander was saying.

  Well, if he wasn’t mistaken, that could be arranged. But first he needed to get the salamander out into the open, where the whole court could see where its speech was coming from. That was when he began to pay attention to the proceedings again—only to discover, to his alarm, that Verily was about to defy him and try to take away Vilate’s beautiful disguise. He reached out and tugged on Verily’s coat, and whispered a rebuke that was as mild as he could make it. Then he told him to get the salamander out of the bag.

  Now, with the salamander in a panic, trapped in the bailiff’s dark sleeve, it took Alvin a few moments to get his doodlebug inside the creature and start to help it calm down—to slow the heartbeat, to speak peace to it. Of course he could feel no resistance from the Unmaker. That was no surprise to Alvin. The Unmaker was always driven back by his Making. But he could sense the Unmaker, lurking, shimmering in the background, in the corners of the court, waiting to come back into the salamander so it could speak to Vilate again.

  It was a good sign, the fact that the Unmaker needed the help of a creature in order to speak to Vilate. It suggested that she was not wholly consumed by the lust for power or Unmaking, so that the Unmaker could not speak to her directly.

  Alvin didn’t really know that much about the Unmaker, but with years in which to speculate and reason about it, he had come to a few conclusions. He didn’t really think of the Unmaker as a person anymore, though sometimes he still called it “him” in his own thoughts. Alvin had always seen the Unmaker as a shimmering of air, as something that retreated toward his per
ipheral vision; he believed now that this was the true nature of the Unmaker. As long as a person was engaged in Making, the Unmaker was held at bay; and, in fact, most people weren’t particularly attractive to it. It was drawn only to the most extraordinary of Makers—and the most prideful destroyers (or destructively proud; Alvin wasn’t sure if it made a difference). It was drawn to Alvin in the effort to undo him and all his works. It was drawn to others, though, like, Philadelphia Thrower and, apparently, Vilate Franker, because they provided the hands, the lips, the eyes that would allow the Unmaker to do its work.

  What Alvin guessed, but could not know, was that the people to whom the Unmaker appeared most clearly had a kind of power over it. That the Unmaker, having been drawn into relations with them, could not suddenly free itself. Instead, it acted out the role that its human ally had prepared for it. Reverend Thrower needed an angelic visitor that was ripe with wrath—so that was what the Unmaker became for him. Vilate needed something else. But the Unmaker could not withhold itself from her. It could not sense that there was danger in being exposed, unless Vilate sensed that danger herself. And since Vilate was unable to be rational enough to know there even was a salamander-s- omething Alvin had learned from Arthur Stuart’s report—there was a good chance that the Unmaker could be led to expose itself to the whole courtroom, as long as Alvin worked carefully and took Vilate by surprise.

  So he watched as the bailiff finally took the calm—well, calmer, anyway—salamander from the collar of his shirt, whither it had fled, and set it gently on the table. Gradually Alvin withdrew his doodlebug from the creature, so that the Unmaker could come back into possession of it. Would it come?

  Would it speak again to Vilate, as Alvin hoped?

  It did. It would.

  The column of sound arose again.

  Everyone could see the salamander’s mouth opening and closing, but of course they heard nothing and so it looked like the random movements of an animal.

  “Do you see the salamander?” asked Verily.

  Vilate looked quizzical. “I don’t understand the question.”

  “On this table in front of you. Do you see the salamander?”

  Vilate smiled wanly. “I think you’re trying to play with me now, Mr. Cooper.”

  A whisper arose in the courtroom.

  “What I’m trying to do,” said Verily, “is determine just how reliable an observer you are.”

  Daniel Webster spoke up. “Your Honor, how do we know there isn’t some trick going on that the defense is playing? We already know that the defendant has remarkable hidden powers.”

  “Have patience, Mr. Webster,” said the judge. “Time enough for rebuttal on redirect.”

  In the meantime, Alvin had been playing with the double column of sound coming from the salamander and leading straight to Vilate. He tried to find some way to bend it, but of course could not, since sound must travel in a straight line—or at least to bend it was beyond Alvin’s power and knowledge.

  What he could do, though, was set up a counterturbulence right at the source of one of the columns of sound, leaving the

  other to be perfectly audible, since there would be no interference from the column Alvin had blocked. The sound would still be faint, however; Alvin had no way of knowing whether it could be heard well enough for people to understand it. Only one way to find out.

  Besides, this might be the new thing he had to Make in order to get past the dark place in his heartfire where Peggy couldn’t see.

  He blocked one of the columns of sound.

  Verily was saying, “Miss Franker, since everyone in the court but you is able to see this salamander—“

  Suddenly, a voice from an unexpected source became audible, apparently in midsentence. Verily fell silent and listened.

  It was a woman’s voice, cheery and encouraging. “You just sit tight, Vilate, this English buffoon is no match for you. You don’t have to tell him a single thing unless you want to. That Alvin Smith had his chance to be your friend, and he turned you down, so now you’ll show him a thing or two about a woman scorned. He had no idea of your cleverness, you sly thing.”

  “Who is that!” demanded the judge.

  Vilate looked at him, registering nothing more than faint puzzlement. “Are you asking me?” she said.

  “I am!” the judge replied.

  “But I don’t understand. Who is what?”

  The woman’s voice said, “Something’s wrong but you just stay calm, don’t admit a thing. Blame it on Alvin, whatever it is.”

  Vilate took a deep breath. “Is Alvin casting some kind of spell that affects everyone but me?” she asked.

  The judge answered sharply. “Someone just said, ‘Blame it on Alvin, whatever it is.’ Who was it that said that?”

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” cried the woman’s voice—which was obviously coming from the salamander’s mouth. “Ah! How could he hear me? I talk only to you! I’m your best friend, Vilate, nobody else’s! They’re trying to trick you! Don’t admit a thing!”

  “I... don’t know what you mean,” said Vilate. “I don’t know what you’re hearing.”

  “The woman who just said, ‘Don’t admit a thing,’” said Verily. “Who is that? Who is this woman who says she’s your best friend and no one else’s?”

  “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” cried the salamander.

  “My best friend?” asked Vilate. Suddenly her face was a mask of terror—except for her mouth, which still wore a pretty grin. Sweat beaded on her forehead. On impulse, Verily strode to her and took hold of her shawl. “Please, Miss Franker, you seem overwarm. Let me hold your shawl for you.”

  Vilate was so confused she didn’t realize what he was doing until it was done. The moment the shawl came from her shoulders, the smile on her mouth disappeared. In fact, the face that everyone knew so well was gone, replaced by the face of a middle-aged woman, somewhit wrinkled and sunburnt; and most remarkable of all, her mouth was wide open and inside it, the upper plate of her false teeth were clicking up and down, as if she were raising and lowering it with her tongue.

  The buzz in the courtroom became a roar.

  “Verily, dammit,” said Alvin. “I told you not to—“

  “Sorry,” said Verily. “I see you need that shawl, Miss Franker.” Quickly he replaced it.

  Aware now of what he had done to her, she snatched the shawl close to her. The clicking false teeth were imme diately replaced by the same lovely smile she had worn before, and her face was again thin and young.

  “I believe we have some idea of the reliability of this witness,” said Verily.

  The salamander cried out, “They’re winning, you foolish ninny! They trapped you! They tricked you, you silly twit!”

  Vilate’s face lost its composure. She looked frightened. “How can you talk like that to me,” she whispered.

  Vilate wasn’t the only one who looked frightened. The judge himself had shrunk back into the far corner of his space behind the bench. Marty Laws was sitting on the back of his chair, his shoes on the seat.

  “To whom are you speaking?” asked the judge.

  Vilate turned her face away from judge and salamander both. “My friend,” she said. “My best friend, I thought.” Then she turned to the judge. “All these years, no one else has ever heard her voice. But you hear her now, don’t you?”

  “I do,” said the judge.

  “You’re telling them too much!” cried the salamander. Was its voice changing?

  “Can you see her?” asked Vilate, her voice thin and quavering. “Do you see how beautiful she is? She taught me how to be beautiful, too.”

  “Shut up!” cried the salamander. “Tell them nothing, you bitch!”

  Yes, the voice was definitely lower in pitch now, thick in the throat, rasping.

  “I can’t see her, no,” said the judge.

  “She’s not my friend, though, is she,” said Vilate. “Not really.”

  “I’ll rip your throat out, you...” The salamander let
fly with a string of expletives that made them all gasp.

  Vilate pointed at the salamander. “She made me do it! She told me to tell those lies about Alvin! But now I see she’s really hateful! And not beautiful at all! She’s not beautiful, she’s ugly as a... as a newt!”

  “Salamander,” said the judge helpfully.

  “I hate you!” Vilate cried at the salamander. “Get away from me! I don’t want to see you ever again!”

  The salamander seemed poised to move—but not away from her. It looked more as if it meant to spring from the table, leap the distance between it and Vilate, and attack her as its hideous voice had threatened.

  Alvin was searching carefully through the salamander’s body, trying to find where and how the Unmaker had control of it. But however it was done, it left no physical evidence that Alvin could see. He realized, though, that it didn’t matter. There were ways to get a person free of another person’s control—an off-my-back hex. Couldn’t it work for the salamander, if it was perfectly done? Alvin marked out in his mind the exact spots on the table where the hex would need to be marked, the order of the markings, the number of loops that would have to be run linking point to point.

  Then he sent his doodlebug into that part of the salamander’s brain where such sense as it had resided. Freedom, he whispered there, in the way he had that’animals could understand. Not words, but feelings. Images. The salamander seeking after food, mating, scampering over mud, through leaves and grass, into cool mossy stone crevices. Free to do that instead of living in a dry handbag. The salamander longed for it.

  Just do this, said Alvin silently into the salamander’s mind. And he showed it the loops to make to get to the first mark.

  The salamander had been poised to leap from the table. But instead it ran the looping pattern, touched one toe on the exact point; Alvin made it so the toe penetrated the wood just enough to make a mark, though no human eye could have seen it, the mark was so subtle. Scamper, loop, mark, and mark again. Six tiny prickings of the table’s surface, and then a bound into the middle of the hex.