popularity of that particular sub-genre can be attributed to Turtledove's own hot-ticketed bestseller status.
Turtledove has published Alternate History novels such as The Guns of the South, dealing with a time line in which the American Civil War turns out very differently, thanks to time-traveling gunrunners; the bestselling Worldwar series, in which the course of World War II is altered by attacking aliens; the Basil Argyros series, detailing the adventures of a 'magistri-anoi' in an alternate Byzantine Empire (collected in the book Agent of Byzantium); the Sim series, which takes place in an alternate world in which European explorers find North America inhabited by hominids instead of Indians (collected in the book A Different Flesh); a look at a world where the Revolutionary War didn't happen, written with actor Richard Dreyfuss, The Two Georges; and many other intriguing Alternate History scenarios. Turtledove is also the author of two multivolume Alternate History fantasy series: the multivolume Videssos Cycle and the Krispes Sequence. His other books include the novels Wereblood, Werenight, Earthgrip, Noninterference, A World of Difference, Gunpowder Empire, American Empire: The Victorous Opposition, Jaws of Darkness, and Ruled Britannia, the collections Kaleidoscope and Down in the Bottomlands (and Other Places), and, as editor, The Best Alternate History Stories of the 20th Century, The Best Military Science Fiction of the 20th Century, with Martin H. Greenberg, and the Alternate Generals books-plus many others. His most recent books include the novels Settling Accounts: Drive to the East and In the Presence of Mine Enemies; and the anthologies The Best Time Travel Stories of the 20th Century, Alternate Generals III, and The Enchanter Completed. Coming up are The Bridge of the Separator, End of the Beginning, and Every Inch a King. He won a Hugo Award in 1994 for his story 'Down in the Bottomlands.' A native Californian, Turtledove has a Ph.D. in Byzantine history from UCLA, and has published a scholarly translation of a ninth-century Byzantine chronicle. He lives in Canoga Park, California, with his wife and family.
Here he invites us to voyage with pioneering ornithologist John Audubon to unknown territory in search of bird species feared to be extinct, on an Earth not quite our own…
Delicate as if walking on eggs, the riverboat Augustus Caesar eased in alongside the quay at New Orleans. Colored roustabouts, bare to the waist, caught lines from the boat and made her fast. The steam whistle blew several long, happy blasts, telling the world the stemwheeler had arrived. Then black smoke stopped belching from the stacks as the crew shut down the engines.
The deck stopped quivering beneath John Audubon's feet. He breathed a silent sigh of relief; for all the time he'd spent aboard boats and ships, he was not a good sailor, and knew he never would be. Any motion, no matter how slight, could make his stomach betray him. He sighed -a long sea voyage still lay ahead of him.
Edward Harris came up and stood alongside him. 'Well, my friend, we're on our way,' he said.
'It's true-we are. And we shall do that which has not been done, while it may yet be done.' As Audubon always did, he gathered enthusiasm when he thought about the goal and not the means by which he had to accomplish it. His English was fluent, but heavily flavored by the French that was his birth-speech. He was a good-sized man- about five feet ten-with shoulder-length gray hair combed straight back from his forehead and with bushy gray side whiskers that framed a long, strong-nosed face. Even without an accent, he would have spoken more mushily than he liked; he was nearer sixty than fifty, and had only a few teeth left. 'Before long, Ed, either the great honkers will be gone from this world or I will.'
He waited impatiently till the gangplank thudded into place, then hurried off the Augustus Caesar onto dry land, or something as close to dry land as New Orleans offered.
Men and women of every color, wearing everything from rags to frock coats and great hoop skirts, thronged the muddy, puddled street. Chatter, jokes, and curses crackled in Spanish, French and English, and in every possible mixture and corruption of those tongues. Audubon heard far more English than he had when he first came to New Orleans half a lifetime earlier. It was a French town then, with the Spanish dons hanging on where and as they could. Times changed, though. He knew that too well.
Not far from the Cabildo stood the brick building that housed the Bartlett Line. Edward Harris following in his wake, Audubon went inside. A clerk nodded to them. 'Good day, gentlemen,' he said in English. A generation earlier, the greeting would surely have come in French. 'How may I be of service to you today?'
'I wish to purchase passage to Atlantis for the two of us,' Audubon replied.
'Certainly, sir.' The clerk didn't bat an eye. 'The Maid of Orleans sails for New Marseille and Avalon on the west coast in… let me see… five days. If you would rather wait another week, you can book places on the Sea Queen for the east. She puts in at St. Augustine, St. Denis, and Hanover, then continues on to London.'
'We can reach the interior as easily from either coast,' Harris said.
'Just so.' Audubon nodded. 'We would have to wait longer to leave for the east, the journey would be longer, and I would not care to set out from Hanover in any case. I have too many friends in the capital. With the kindest intentions in the world, they would sweep us up in their social whirl, and we should be weeks getting free of it. The Maid of Orleans it shall be.'
'You won't be sorry, sir. She's a fine ship.' The clerk spoke with professional enthusiasm. He took out a book of ticket forms and inked his pen. 'In whose names shall I make these out?'
'I am John James Audubon,' Audubon replied. 'With me travels my friend and colleague, Mr. Edward Harris.'
'Audubon?' The clerk started to write, then looked up, his face aglow. 'The Audubon? The artist? The naturalist?'
Audubon exchanged a secret smile with Edward Harris. Being recognized never failed to gratify him: he loved himself well enough to crave reminding that others loved him, too. When he swung back toward the clerk, he tried to make the smile modest. 'I have the honor to be he, yes.'
The clerk thrust out his hand. As Audubon shook it, the young man said, 'I cannot tell you how pleased I am to make your acquaintance, sir. Mr. Hiram Bartlett, the chairman of the shipping line, is a subscriber to your Birds and Viviparous Ouadrupeds of Northern Terranova and Atlantis- the double elephant folio edition. He sometimes brings in one volume or another for the edification of his staff. I admire your art and your text in almost equal measure, and that is the truth.'
'You do me too much credit,' Audubon said, in lieu of strutting and preening like a courting passenger pigeon. He was also glad to learn how prosperous Bartlett was. No one but a rich man could afford the volumes of the double elephant folio. They were big enough to show almost every bird and most beasts at life size, even if he had twisted poses and bent necks almost unnaturally here and there to fit creatures onto the pages' Procrustean bed.
'Are you traveling to Atlantis to continue your researches?' the clerk asked eagerly.
'If fate is kind, yes,' Audubon replied. 'Some of the creatures I hope to see are less readily found than they were in years gone by, while I' -he sighed -'I fear I am less well able to find them than I was in years gone by. Yet a man can do only what it is given to him to do, and I intend to try.'
'If they're there, John, you'll find them,' Harris said.
'God grant it be so,' Audubon said. 'What is the fare aboard the Maid of Or leans?'
'A first-class cabin for two, sir, is a hundred twenty livres,' the clerk said. 'A second-class cabin is eighty livres, while one in steerage is a mere thirty-five livres. But I fear I cannot recommend steerage for gentlemen of your quality. It lacks the comforts to which you will have become accustomed.'
'I've lived rough. Once I get to Atlantis, I expect I shall live rough again,' Audubon said. 'But, unlike some gentlemen of the Protestant persuasion' -he fondly nudged Edward Harris -'I don't make the mistake of believing comfort is sinful. Let us travel first class.'
'I don't believe comfort is sinful, and you know it,' Harris said. 'We want to get you where you're going and keep you as healthy and happy as we can while we're doing it. First class, by all means.'
'First class it shall be, then.' The clerk wrote up the tickets.
Audubon boarded the Maid of Orleans with a curious blend of anticipation and dread. The sidewheeler was as modem a steamship as any, but she was still a ship, one that would soon put to sea. Even going up the gangplank, his stomach gave a premonitory lurch.
He laughed and tried to make light of it, both to Harris and to himself. 'When I think how many times I've put to sea in a sailing ship, at the mercy of wind and wave, I know how foolish I am to fret about a voyage like this,' he said.
'You said it to the clerk last week: you can only do what you can do.' Harris was blessed with both a calm stomach and a calm disposition. If opposites attracted, he and Audubon made a natural pair.
The purser strode up to them. Brass buttons gleamed on his blue wool coat; sweat gleamed on his face. 'You