“How’d you know I’m an American?” asked Alvin, pretending to be a little hurt.

  “Because you don’t sound Irish, so I know you’re not a native of this land, nor any part of the island. And you don’t sound English, so I’m willing to rent you a room and sell you some bowls of stew. But what you do sound isn’t Scottish or Welsh, and yet not foreign like Germans or Dutch as comes through here on rare occasions.”

  “Well, a man talks how he talks,” said Alvin.

  “Aye,” said the publican. “And stays silent when he wants, as well.” The publican nodded his head toward Measure, or maybe toward the man by the window.

  “I reckon I can get that long fellow to jump to his feet and shout,” said Alvin, knowing perfectly well that Measure had enough of a makering knack in him to hear every word he said.

  “I saw him look at you when you came in, and I figured you for friends, so I’m not taking your wager.”

  “Wasn’t a wager,” said Alvin. “It was a boast.”

  The publican smiled for the first time. “So I’ve heard about you Americans. Always full of brag.”

  “I’m proud to say I’m not the worst braggart in America, but I can safely say I’ve met several who were in the running.”

  “Go talk to your friend. And those girls standing in the doorway, bring them in, we have a room for them tonight, next to the room you’ll be in, so if they need anything they can call out and you can come protect them.”

  “Please promise me that you don’t have ruffians who come here regular to frighten children,” said Alvin.

  “I don’t think anybody needs to be afraid with you and your brother watching over them,” said the publican.

  “Who said anything about brothers?” asked Alvin.

  “Who needs to say it, unless they’re blind?” said the publican. “You don’t seem twinny to me, but if you have a different mother or father I’ll give you a double portion of stew.”

  “Let me taste it before you start doubling up on me,” said Alvin.

  Measure chuckled as he rose to his feet. “He’s figured us out, Al,” he said. “No secrets from him, not today.”

  “Can’t help it that we both got beat by the same Ugly Stick,” said Alvin.

  “You took the worse licking,” said Measure.

  Alvin led him over to the girls, Rosheen and Love O’ Jesu, and introduced them to his older brother. Measure showed his best manners, bowing over their hands when they offered them to him. “My brother seems to have acquired two nieces from the pretty side of the family,” said Measure.

  By which he was telling them, We’re pretending you’re our nieces and don’t you contradict us.

  “Uncle Alvin didn’t pick us,” said Rosheen, the elder one.

  “We picked him,” said Lovey.

  “You’re the only ones on God’s green Earth who ever would,” said Measure. “’Lessun they was drinking. Here, come set at my table and let’s make friends. I think the publican is just about to dip a bowl into his stew for each of you.”

  Alvin saw the publican head back into the kitchen, where he was no doubt complying with Measure’s implied request.

  Alvin did not join them at Measure’s table, though, even when the publican came back with bowls for the girls and a bowl each for Measure and Alvin. Instead, Alvin set his bowl on the table, took a few steps toward the old man at the west window, and sat down across from him.

  The old man looked at him, and nodded.

  “I see your nod and raise you a grin,” said Alvin. Then he grinned.

  The old man smiled at him. “I call your grin, my friendly traveler,” said the man. “Show me what’s in your hand, sir.”

  Alvin cocked his head. “I never thought a priest of the Church would be one for gambling games, least of all poker. That’s a game for ruffians and rivermen.”

  “I’m lately come from Portugal,” said the man, “where the game is played under another name but still impoverishes men with no skill for bluffing.”

  “I think you can bluff the antlers off a mule,” said Alvin.

  The old man looked startled, then grinned. “I must have bluffed them off of all the mules I’ve seen around here,” he said.

  “My name’s Alvin Miller,” said Alvin. “Or, rightly, Alvin Smith, since smithery is my trade, while milling was my father’s.”

  “I’ve heard stories about a wandering American smith or miller named Alvin,” said the man. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance.”

  “I’d wager that somewhere along the line, a body gave you a name, too.”

  “In my native land, I was named Lukasz, after the evangelist. But people here call me Luke, because it sounds more natural to them.”

  “But they never call you by the name of your trade,” said Alvin.

  “Not often,” said Luke.

  Alvin leaned forward and spoke more quietly. “I think nobody would give you a surname, like Priest. I think they’d be more likely to call you Father Luke, except that name might get you arrested and killed.”

  Luke showed no sign of startlement. “I didn’t expect to fool you, Alvin Smith, because from what I hear of your knacks, you already knew before you sat down that I have worn the vestments of my trade.”

  “You’re a brave man,” said Alvin. “These are parlous times.”

  “As much for witches as for priests of the Church,” said Luke.

  “What do you tell folks you’re doing here?” asked Alvin.

  “I’m a Methodist preacher, now that the Archbishop of Canterbury has declared us to be members of the Church of England, and not heretics or dissenters.”

  “Do you know anything about Methodist teachings?” asked Alvin. “Cause we got a powerful lot of Methodists in my part of America, and they can’t stop preaching except to teach, and don’t stop teaching except to preach.”

  “The only people who talk more than Methodists are Quakers, but the Church of England has no patience with them, since they go out of their way to point out the hypocrisy of the English Church.”

  “Why are you here?” asked Alvin. “Surely you’re not joining in the witch hunting of the Church of Ireland.”

  “I can’t stop fools from dancing, but I don’t have to join their jig,” said Luke.

  “Now, you sounded almost Irish when you said that,” said Alvin.

  “I’m working on trying to acquire the lilt of their language.”

  “And the native accent of every language you speak, as well, I think,” said Alvin.

  “I can only do it if I live in the country with native speakers for a while,” said Luke. “I’m glad to know that I’m progressing a little in Ireland.”

  “Let me guess other languages you speak,” said Alvin. He thought through what he knew about Catholics from Peggy’s teaching. “You were in Portugal, and I assume you also know French and Italian, since they’re close kin of Latin.”

  “Do you speak Latin, sir?” asked Luke.

  “Not a lick of it,” said Alvin. “My wife would tell you—she’s a schoolteacher—my wife would say I’m still only halfway to learning English.”

  “Me too,” said Luke. “But it’s coming back to me.”

  “You spoke it before,” said Alvin.

  “I go many places,” said Luke.

  “But not just following your nose,” said Alvin.

  “Sometimes a godly man will come to me and give me ideas about where I might be able to do some good.”

  Alvin nodded. “So the Pope sends you on errands,” said Alvin.

  Luke winced. “Best not to mention his holy office aloud in this place.”

  “You’re on his errand here, right now, waiting for me to arrive at this public house,” said Alvin. He was only guessing, but Luke’s reaction told him that he was right.

  “How would I know you would come this way?”

  “Because my brother was here,” said Alvin.

  “And how was I to know he was your brother?” asked Luke.

  “Because he was waiting for someone, but showed no impatience or urgency. He knew I would come, so you knew I would come.”

  Lukasz just smiled.

  “We both know more about each other than is good for us,” said Alvin.

  “Alvin Smith—or, perhaps I should say, Alvin Maker—have you heard of the Inquisition?”

  Alvin’s heart sank. “I heard of Jews being put to the question, and dying no matter what they said.”

  “Father Torquemada made the name of the Inquisition stink throughout Europe,” said Luke regretfully. “That was well before my time, but we still pay heavily for his excesses.”

  “He did to the Jews what the Church of England does to the witches,” said Alvin.

  “He thought he was purifying the Church in Spain,” said Luke. “And I notice you didn’t ask me if I spoke Spanish.”

  “Didn’t cross my mind,” said Alvin. “But I’ve seen enough Portuguese and Italians, French and Croatians in Nueva Barcelona, to know that you aren’t native to any of those lands.”

  “Another land, farther east and north, where snow covers the ground all winter.”

  “Bohemia,” said Alvin.

  “Good guess. If your wife taught you geography, she did well.”

  “Poland,” said Alvin.

  “The language that terrifies foreigners because it has few vowels,” said Luke.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” said Alvin.

  “But it’s not as bad as Hebrew and Arabic,” said Luke, “because they never write their vowels at all, just the consonants.”

  “Brother Luke,” said Alvin, choosing a title safer than Father, “why did you want to meet me here?”

  The priest took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. “I have been appointed Grand Inquisitor of Ireland.” Alvin got the sense that he was the first person the priest had told of his office. Alvin gathered that he was not an Inquisitor in order to persecute people.

  “Are you going to rouse the people in rebellion against the Church of Ireland, so called?”

  “So many of the Irish would die, and still not have their freedom at the end of it.”

  “When has that ever stopped a crusade?” asked Alvin.

  “I was sent here to save the witches,” said Luke.

  Alvin sat back on his bench and grinned. “You’re funnin’ with me now,” he said.

  “Here’s my plan. See what you think of it.”

  Alvin listened with growing understanding when Luke explained that he would hold Church trials of witches, find them guilty of something, and then sentence them to transportation to America. “To the part of America where knacks are welcome, or at least tolerated.”

  “What shipmaster would take a witch aboard?” asked Alvin.

  “A shipmaster who has knacks of his own,” said Luke.

  “I have no power over the sea, and precious little influence over anything else.”

  Luke grinned. “I admitted my power and authority, my friend. Be honest with me, and admit your own.”

  “I have no ecclesiastical authority, either, except what I officiously take upon myself, and I try to avoid that.”

  “You aren’t here to make war on the Church of Ireland, either,” said Luke. “From all I’ve heard of you warning people of the famine and how to rid their land of the blight, you’re here to carry away to America as many Irishmen as are in danger of dying here.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll do it,” said Alvin. “The miracle of the parting of the Red Sea isn’t in my power, and it would be a long walk in any case, crossing the Atlantic that way, with miles of water looming above us on both sides.”

  “I assumed,” said Luke, “that you would search for Irishfolk with knacks to stay afloat, and knacks for navigation, and the skill to make boats.”

  “How could I hope to find them, when everybody is so fearful to be caught out as a witch?” asked Alvin.

  “That’s how I thought we could help each other. When people know I was sent by the Holy Father in order to find the so-called witches and sentence them to exile in America—”

  “They’ll step forward and face your Charitable Inquisition.”

  “They trust the Mother Church,” said Luke. “I won’t betray that trust.”

  “Nor will I,” said Alvin.

  Luke grinned. “I think that stew is calling our names louder and louder.”

  “I think we can make a good meal of this,” said Alvin, “by eating it together.”

  “Christ redeems the people from their sins. But perhaps the Inquisition and the Master of Knacks can save at least a few of the people from the pious ministrations of the Church of Ireland.”

  Alvin rose to his feet, and gave Luke a hand up, too. They walked over and joined Measure and the girls at their table. The publican rushed over with freshly served bowls of stew, steaming so much that Alvin knew it would be a while before either of them could take a bite.

  “Measure, my brother, let me introduce you to my friend Luke, who plans to make common cause with us.”

  Measure smiled at Luke. “If Alvin sees that you’ll be a help to us, then I’m your friend, too.”

  Luke reached out his hands and covered one hand of each of the brothers. “God bless you,” he said. “And if it doesn’t offend you, as heretics, I will pray to the Holy Mother to take you under her protection.”

  Alvin nodded. “I’ll take all the protection we can get.”

  Rosheen cocked her head. “What by all the saints are you going on about?”

  “We’re working out how to be friends,” said Alvin.

  “You don’t work things like that out,” said Rosheen. “You just say you’re friends and then live up to the covenant.”

  “An educated girl,” said Luke.

  “An eager learner,” said Alvin.

  “I’m sleepy,” said Lovey.

  “Try to stay awake till I’ve eaten my stew,” said Alvin, “and I’ll take you up to your room.”

  “No need to wait,” said Measure. He stood, scooped up Lovey into his arms, and then followed Rosheen as she led the way, even though she had never been inside a public house before.

  The publican’s wife intercepted them at the top of the stairs and showed the girls to their room. “I’ll tuck them in,” she said. “And see to other matters as they come up.”

  Measure was a little surprised when Alvin came upstairs soon after.

  “I thought you and Luke would have more to discuss,” said Measure.

  “Oh, we have plenty to talk about. But the good Father can’t bless folks and say Mass and baptize babies while an American is sprawled all over the chairs downstairs.”

  “I didn’t think you held with all that Catholic mumbo-jumbo,” said Measure.

  “I hold with the folks who believe in it, and I show them respect.”

  Measure nodded. “Good enough for me.”

  13

  ALVIN SURVEYED THE Quay in Westport and was astonished all over again about how quickly word of the lenient Irish Inquisition had spread through western Ireland, and how many people were showing up. Most of Alvin’s time was taken up with teaching people how to strengthen and control their knacks. But he was aware of how John Binder and Father Lukasz spent their days, finding housing for these “witches” and bringing food into Westport so they could eat.

  Naturally, the food was also intended to provision many boats large and small for the long voyage across the Atlantic. Sometimes Alvin wished that they could arrange some of the new steamboats that were beginning to brave the ocean swells, but so far it took so much coal to get across the ocean that the ship had little room for cargo and passengers. Pretty soon they’d find a way to make the ships a lot bigger and the paddlewheels more efficient. But for now, the wind was the best and cheapest tool for moving ships across water.

  One of the people Alvin was working with most closely was Jedediah O’Something—Alvin could hardly tell an O’ from a Mac with the Irish names, since almost everybody had one or the other. Jedediah’s knack for clearing the air showed potential for the voyage. Not that smells would be a problem. But however he managed to keep smells in one place and not another had to have something to do with moving air around, and air that moved was called “wind.”

  There were too many people for Alvin to know all their names, but he remembered many and never forgot a knack or how much progress had been made with it. Parents with knacks would let their children sit in on their sessions, and Alvin figured that even though it was pretty unlikely that they’d develop the same knacks as their parents, they might learn something about how to think about a developing knack.

  Father Lukasz learned all their names and never forgot them or made a mistake. Alvin challenged him once, sure that this was Lukasz’s knack.

  “Oh, no, my son, that’s nothing I was born with,” said Lukasz. “When I joined the Jesuits, one of the first things we did was construct a memory palace.”

  Alvin immediately wondered if such a thing could be built out of the blocks of water that made up the walls of the vision building in Crystal City.

  “It’s not a physical palace,” said Lukasz. “I saw that glint in your eye. It exists only in your own mind. You build it with lots of details, so that no two rooms are even similar to each other. You learn the plan of it, which room leads to which others, and what you can see from all the windows.”

  “Sounds complicated,” said Alvin.

  “Very,” said Lukasz. “But you don’t have to do it all at once—it keeps growing your whole life. And with practice it becomes almost automatic. There are times I sit back and simply wander through my memory palace, seeing all those familiar rooms and sights, and remembering all the things I’ve put in there so I’ll never forget them.”

  Alvin thought he understood. “So when you learn somebody’s name, you put your memory of their face and name into that palace?”

  “Close,” said Lukasz. “But the idea is to make it so you don’t have to imprint them on your memory, you have to involve them in a room. So I took your name, Alvin, and I broke it into ‘all the vines.’ That would make me think of ‘Alvin,’ so I had you in my palace. I have a room with all kinds of machinery in it, a thing I saw in a factory in Bretagne, a candy-making factory. So I had your vines of every different kind growing and twining around the machinery. The machinery reminds me that you’re a smith and as the machine plops out candy onto trays, I think of you making the world a sweeter place.”