didn’t get in one another’s way. Flojian assumed navigation duties while the others tended to the lines and the animals.
As they drew out into the river, Chaka acquired a better sense of the breadth of the waterway, and consequently of the level of engineering skill required to throw a bridge across it. The bridges, like so much else, had given way to the centuries. The towers still stood, trailing cables. But the spans had fallen into the water, where they lay half submerged.
The scale of Roadmaker civilization was much greater than anyone in Illyria dreamed. The accepted wisdom was that the wilderness contained numerous sites like Memphis and the city in the swamp and Little Rock, near Farroad, and Vicks-burg at Masandik and the nameless ruins at Argon and Makar But knowing it was not the same as walking through it: The wreckage just went on and on, buried in hillsides, sinking into forest floors, scattered along riverbanks, occasionally exploding into impossible dimensions as here in this second giam city.
Nobody back home really understands. They think in terms of a handful of relatively small cities. But look at this. There’s a whole world out here that died. Where does it end? How big is the corpse?
The scale of the disaster left them awed. What kind of plague could have taken down this civilization? On Monday, April 10,2079, the trains came in empty.
“Mista’s having trouble.” Avila indicated a black mare. It was beginning to struggle to keep its head up.
They were approaching midstream.
A mild current was pushing them downriver. Avila was kneeling at the stern and Quait joined her. He looked at the animal’s frightened eyes and shook his head. “Take some sail off, Flojian,” he said, hunkering down beside her. “You okay?”
She nodded.
The raft slowed. “The problem,” said Flojian, “is that we’re going to drift farther downstream. We might have some trouble picking up the trail.”
“Why don’t we worry about that after we’re across?” said Chaka. They were now directly south of the island. It was heavily wooded. She could make out a coastal road and a stone house. Roadmaker style, still standing watch.
“We’re going to lose her,” said Avila.
Chaka had deliberately avoided looking back at the struggling animal. Now she saw that it was having trouble keeping us head up.
“Take more sail off,” Avila said. “We need to slow down.”
Flojian shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We can’t go slow enough for her. Turn her loose.”
Avila’s eyes went wide. “She’ll drown.”
“She’ll drown no matter what we do. Turn her loose, and maybe she’ll be the only one that does.”
Avila looked at Quait and tears stood out in her eyes.
“It’s only a horse,” said Flojian. “We couldn’t really expect to get them all across.”
“Turning it loose makes no difference,” Chaka told her. “If it can make shore on its own, it will. If it can’t, there’s nothing you can do.”
Mista’s line had tightened. They were beginning to drag her. Avila let it slip out of her hand, watched it trail into the water.
Quait meantime had turned his attention upstream. “Ship,” he said. It had been hidden by the island and the downed bridge. Now it was coming fast.
Flojian swore. “It’s got guns,” he said. It was low in the water, with a prow that looked like a wolf’s head and six cannons jutting through ports. It had two masts and a lot of sail and it looked flat-bottomed. A pennant with a white rifle emblazoned on a field of green fluttered in her rigging.
Quait could see sailors on deck. They were a ragged bunch, but they moved with disciplined precision. Some were manning one of the forward weapons. Flojian was trying to rig a blanket to get more speed. “Release the horses,” he said. “We’ll try to make shore.”
Quait watched it come. “No chance,” he said. But they let the horses go. Chaka slid her rifle out of the baggage. Quait caught her arm and shook his head. Put it down.
The Reluctant was picking up speed. The ship’s gun fired and water erupted in front of them. A man in a blue coat and hat put a megaphone to his mouth and told them to heave to. He was about eighty yards away and closing fast. “I think we better do it,” said Flojian.
But Chaka was looking at the master and his crew and her expression told Quait she’d already decided she didn’t want to fall into their hands. “We won’t have much of a chance with those sons of bitches,” she said. “I’d rather fight.”
“With what?” grumbled Flojian. “Holy One, preserve us.”
Avila’s dark eyes pinned him. “Don’t look for help,” she snapped. “We’re alone, and we better realize it.”
“It was just an expression,” he stammered. Quait was surprised at the outburst.
But Chaka was right. He could see that nobody was going to walk away unmarked from this crew.
“Who are they?” asked Chaka.
“Pirates. Or maybe there’re naval powers along here somewhere. Who knows?”
The men on the ship were laughing and making obscene gestures. Quait sighed. “Your call, ladies. We can make a stand. Or we can turn ourselves over to them.”
“Won’t be much of a stand,” said Avila.
“I don’t care,” said Chaka. “They’re not going to take me.”
The ship was turning slightly to port, moving alongside. The master lifted his megaphone again. “Guns down,” he ordered.
Chaka’s hand was still on the rifle stock.
“Don’t,” said Avila, removing her holster and laying it on the deck. “Flojian, let them get closer.”
Quait frowned at her. She patted her pocket, the one where she kept the wedge. “It’s a chance,” she said.
Chaka nodded. “Try it. It’s all we have.”
Flojian struck the sails. The marauder’s prow slipped past and ran down two of the horses.
Avila eased the wedge into her palm, held out both hands as if she were welcoming the ship, and frowned. “Nothing,” she whispered.
“It has no range,” said Quait. “We’ve got to be up close.”
“How close do we need?” growled Chaka. “I can smell them now.”
A rope ladder came over the side. The master was giving instructions in a peremptory half-screech. His eyes were dark and cruel and he was appraising the two women with relish.
“Why don’t you folks get your hands up?” he said laconically. “And prepare to come aboard.”
The crew roared.
Avila raised her hands.
Quait, who had edged close to his rifle, said, “Do it.”
“No,” she said. “Too many guns up there. Wait for a better chance.”
Avila was right: It would have to take everyone out, bow to stern, at one shot. Because the people on the raft would be easy targets afterward for anyone left standing.
The pirates used gun barrels to wave them toward the ladder. One leaped over the rail and landed beside them, rocking the Reluctant. He was one of the dirtiest creatures Quait had ever seen, grinning, with missing teeth and stringy black hair and whiskers that looked like strands of wire. He poked Chaka in the ribs and sent her sprawling. “Juicy, this one,” he grinned.
A portion of the ship’s rail swung open to accommodate them. Quait started up the ladder. Hands reached down, gripped his shoulders and hauled him roughly on deck. He was knocked down, kicked, and searched for concealed weapons. While this was happening, he heard cheers and obscene roars.
They dragged him back to his feet and threw him into line with his companions. Flojian had also been roughed up; and Chaka’s face was red with fury and humiliation. Avila surprised him: She managed to retain a calm demeanor and stood coolly among her captors.
The ship’s master confronted them. He was a short, ugly thug, five and a half feet of belly, jowls, and beard. He had a limp and a missing ear and a scar across his throat where somebody’d opened him up. A pistol was jammed into his belt. “Welcome to the Peacemaker,” he said. “Ship of the line of the Ki of Hauberg.” He tipped his
