so.) “But you’re right: We could learn a lot if there were a way to take one of the highways and use it to travel back a thousand years. Or whatever it is.”
“Maybe in a way,” said Chaka, “that’s exactly what we’re doing.”
After Chaka’s bath, they dressed in clean clothes, strolled downstairs, and swept into the dining room in high spirits. A slab of beef, tended by a cook, turned slowly on a spit over an open flame. There were roughly twenty tables, each illuminated by an oil lamp. About half the tables were occupied by guests who seemed already well into their cups. Their own party had commandeered a corner stall. Quait waved, and all
three men looked their way. Their glances lingered just long enough to bring a rush of satisfaction to Chaka.
Wine and brew were flowing enthusiastically, and the place was filled with laughter and the sizzle of beef. A young man sat on a raised platform in the center of the room, one leg crossed over the other, fingering a guitar.
Quait poured wine for Chaka and Avila and refilled the other cups. They toasted the quest, and then rose, one by one, collected metal plates, and went over to the spit. The cook sliced off a large piece of meat for each, scooped some peas out of a pot, and added two ears of corn dipped in melted butter. Chaka picked up some bread and an apple.
When they’d got back to their table, Jewel entered the dining room, carrying a glass of wine. At his appearance, the musician stopped and the house fell quiet. When he had everyone’s attention, Jewel held the glass high. “This is our finest,” he said. “And tonight I want you to join me in toasting some special guests of the Crooked Man.” He directed everyone’s attention to Chaka and her companions. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have the honor to host a group of very special people this evening. Silas Glote and Flojian Endine are leading a party of explorers who are going to try to find some lost books.” He glanced back at Silas. “Do I have that right, Silas?”
The diners applauded and Silas nodded. Chaka wondered who promoted Flojian.
“The Crooked Man wishes you well.” He drained the glass.
The audience followed in kind, and applauded.
“By the way,” continued Jewel, “the wine is produced especially for us, and we are selling it tonight at a very good rate Thank you very much.”
People came over to shake their hands. One young man, congenial and slim and interested in the Haven legend, asked
Chaka how she’d become involved in the quest, how she rated their chances for success, and whether she’d actually read the Mark Twain. His eyes were hazel and he had a good smile. She couldn’t help noticing that Quait was watching them with a disapproving frown.
His name was Shorn and, at his invitation, she took her wine and they strolled out onto the veranda. She was doing the sort of thing he would have liked to do, he explained. Leaving civilization behind, getting out into the unknown to see what was there. He wished he were going along.
They talked for a while, looked out over the river, and eventually returned to the table. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said to them. And to Chaka: “How long do you expect to be gone?”
“Maybe years,” offered Quait.
“Not past autumn, we hope,” she said.
“I’ll look forward to your successful return.” Their eyes connected. Chaka smiled, and then Shorn was gone.
A crowd had gathered around one of the other tables, where a lean man with vulpine features sat with his eyes closed. “No,” he was saying to someone in the group, “there is a shadow across your star. Be cautious on the river for the next two weeks. This is not a propitious time for you.”
The man to whom he was speaking, nondescript and straw-haired, placed a coin on the table.
Chaka joined the crowd.
“That is Wagram,” said a middle-aged prosperous-looking woman behind her.
“Who’s Wagram?”
“Who indeed?” said the vulpine man.
“He’s a seer,” said the woman.
“And you, young lady, are Chaka Milana.” He clicked on a smile. “Currently bound for Haven. Or so you hope.”
One of the patrons nudged her. “He’s never wrong,” he said. The patron was an elderly man, probably in his seventies.
“And what do you foresee for us, seer?” asked Chaka.
His eyes closed. Quait got up and came over. He was looking at her curiously.
“You will be successful,” he said at last. ‘You will find your lost treasure, and you will return to Illyria with fame and wealth.”
Chaka waited, expecting to hear a catch. When none came, she bowed slightly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She fished a silver coin out of her pocket. That news, after all, was worth something.
The crowd expressed its approval, a few shook her hand happily, and a drunk tried to kiss her.
When they returned to their table, Flojian asked what the seer had said. Chaka told him and he seemed pleased.
“I wouldn’t take it too seriously,” said Quait. “They always give good news. That’s how they earn their tips.”
“Not necessarily,” said Flojian. “Some of these people are legitimate.”
“I wonder,” said Silas, “if he was here when Karik went through.”
9
Unexpectedly, a holiday atmosphere developed. Inns were strategically placed along River Road, so it was possible with good planning to sleep every night in a warm bed. They ate well, drank a little too much, and sometimes partied too late. They frequently paused and occasionally even wandered off onto side tracks to examine archeological sites. On one occasion they stopped for lunch at the home of one of Quait’s former military comrades.
They looked at the massive anchor near Piri’s Dam, sinking into a forest of sugar maples, trailing a chain that no man could lift. They viewed a restored cannon near Wicker Point, wondering what forgotten war it had seen; and visited the Roadmaker Museum in Kleska.
They passed ancient walls and foundations. Hojjies lined the sides of the road, where they’d been dragged when Argon cleared its highways more than a century before. They came in countless shapes and sizes, some small, some immense. Many were partially buried by accumulating earth.
They spent as much time walking as in the saddle, and they rested frequently. Quait, who’d had some experience with long-distance campaigning, understood how easy it would be to exhaust both horses and people, particularly in this case, where Silas and Flojian were accustomed to a sedentary existence. Silas had begun limping after the first day. But he’d fashioned a walking stick, refused to take extra time in the saddle, and by the end of the week seemed to be doing fine.
Quait enjoyed being the only young male in a company with two attractive women. Avila’s charms were by no means inconsiderable, and his appreciation for them did not replace but found a comfortable niche alongside his
