But he was seen walking west through town, toward the river. Since he had only just come back from going to Ireland and to his family’s home, everybody expected that he wouldn’t travel anymore for a while. But he was walking with his long, determined traveling stride, which they had all seen before, sometimes because he was setting out across town, and sometimes because he was walking to Philadelphia or Camelot, and sometimes because the ocean was too close and he refused to be walled in, so he was going to sail across it even though everybody knew water had been bad luck for him as a boy.

  So neighbors were confabulating and speculating all along the road, and people from the high ground of the Crystal City started coming down to see what Alvin Maker was about to do. This time he didn’t turn around to tell them to go back home. Maybe he hadn’t even seen them or sensed their heartfires or maybe he just didn’t care.

  How long did Crystal City have to do without its founder? Calvin Smith had his powers but they all knew he was an envious braggity boy with an eye for women—dare we say ladies?—who were no better than they had to be. And Alvin had done the crazy thing of putting Calvin’s current bedmate in charge of the Irishmen, which was like putting a hen in charge of the foxhouse. Or so the gossips said.

  When it became clear that Alvin wasn’t going anywhere but the riverside wharf, people began to back off. The fog over the Mizzippy was mysterious and fearful. Nobody let their children near it, saying either the fog would reach out and suck them in, or some Reds would come out of the fog and cut their hands off. Margaret had no idea how such an idiotic threat could come about—there was no history of Reds cutting off hands even when Whites and Reds were at war. But pretty much all the mothers in Crystal City made that threat to keep their children away from the Mizzippy fog.

  Alvin was still fifty yards from the wharf when there began to be music. There shouldn’t be music coming from the river, specially not dancing music.

  Alvin stopped right where he was and looked downriver, because that was where the music was coming from. Then Alvin started sauntering on toward the wharf. He wasn’t in no hurry now. He just kept looking downriver for the source of that music.

  And then it hove into view, a bright-colored riverboat, all decked out in banners and bunting, with splendidly dressed women and men at the second-story railing. They were waving. And then they were singing, though nobody on shore could make out the melody or the words. Alvin reached the shore just as the riverboat was running out its gangplank to let it come to rest on the dock.

  At once two biggish men ran down that bridge carrying heavy ropes in their hands, with loops already formed at the end. They set them over the bollards and then snugged them up, so the gap between the boat and the wharf was fully covered by the heavy cloth pads along the side of the wharf. Cushions. Pillows just like on a lady’s settee.

  The rope men stood aside, presumably for somebody more important to come on down. But Alvin was quicker. Light as a deer he bounded up the gangplank and nearly ran into an in-charge looking fellow.

  “Captain,” said Alvin cheerfully. “We never thought a boat would dare come up the river.”

  “I never thought so either,” said the captain. “But we were invited by a young gentleman who said he was—”

  “My brother,” said Alvin.

  “So you are—”

  “One of Calvin’s older brothers. I can see he did a good job of joining the boards to the keel of your boat, and all the other places where it needed doing. A thorough job. I’m proud of him.”

  “So the boat really can’t sink?” asked the captain.

  “Any boat can sink, if you fill it up with water,” said Alvin. “I’m Alvin Smith—a journeyman smith, to tell the truth, though I created what I thought was good enough to be a masterwork. What are your plans on this upriver Mizzippy voyage?”

  “Your brother allowed as how the people of your gleaming city could use a little harmless entertainment. In the afternoon, a show that will please the children, a combination of ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin,’ ‘Rumpelstiltskin,’ and ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’”

  Alvin tilted his head. “You planning on putting your emperor on stage naked?”

  “Oh, no, sir, none of our actors would even think of acting onstage without clothes. The emperor is wearing underwear. Long johns. With the fanny flap buttoned up tight.”

  “And your evening show?” asked Alvin.

  “I ask your advice. The tragical story of Hamlet has a ghost in it, and lots of swordplay and practically everybody dies. Macbeth is also by the glorious bard of Avon, and it has witches and more ghosts than Hamlet and several foul murders.”

  “Cheerful,” said Alvin.

  “The bard could be a bit morose. But perhaps your citizens would prefer a comedy? We have Twelfth Night, Much Ado About Nothing, As You Like It, and The Comedy of Errors, about twins who each think their brother is dead, and when they both happen to be in the same town, people recognize the wrong one, including the wife.”

  “Sounds hilarious,” said Alvin.

  “But we haven’t done that one in a while.”

  “Maybe between the afternoon show and the nighttime show, your actors can study up on their speeches.”

  “So you want The Comedy of Errors?”

  “No,” said Alvin. “I want As You Like It, because I think the fancy of pinning love poems on trees will amuse and inspire folks to be more romantic and loving.”

  The captain had never thought of As You Like It as having such an effect. “As You Like It,” said the captain, “seeing as you like it.”

  Alvin shook hands with the man, making sure that the onlookers ashore saw him do it.

  “There’s the matter of payment,” said the captain.

  “No, no, we won’t charge you for docking here.”

  “I meant—”

  “Charge my people what you usually charge at a city this size,” said Alvin. “They have their share of coin to spend as they will.”

  “Your brother led me to believe—”

  “Calvin leads many people to believe many things, to my frequent regret but never to his,” said Alvin. “My wife, Margaret Larner, will see to it that you don’t lose money by coming here.”

  “How long you want us to stay?”

  “How many different plays do your actors know how to perform?” asked Alvin.

  “Not sure at the moment, cause the number fluctuates.”

  “Show all the plays you got in you, Captain,” said Alvin. “And then another couple on top of that.”

  “Yes sir,” said the captain.

  “I’m walking around to the other side of your ship now,” said Alvin.

  “It’s not quite as decorated as this side, but—”

  “I won’t be disappointed,” said Alvin.

  The people watching from the shore saw Alvin shake hands with the captain, and saw them jawing a while, and then watched as Alvin walked, not to the gangplank, but around the front of the boat and then along the far side, out of sight.

  The whole troupe came singing and dancing down the gangplank, including one fellow in a bear suit. Or maybe a woman. Now they could make out the words of the song, it was full of brag about how they was the finest theatrical troupe on the river.

  John Binder said to Margaret Larner, “I reckon they’re the onliest theatrical troupe on this river.”

  Margaret replied, “I think they usually work the Hio and a few of its tributaries. Whatever is navigable.”

  “What possessed them to come up the Mizzippy? They get run out of every town on the Hio?”

  “Calvin promised them good payment if they came upriver. And he sealed their boat against leaking.”

  “What’s the plan, then?”

  “The showboat puts on shows, and the people of Crystal City will pay for some fine entertainment.”

  “How do you know they’ll do a fine job?” asked John Binder.

  Margaret laughed. “Because every single one of them thinks they’re the best actor or singer or dancer in the company.”

  “They can’t all be right,” said John Binder.

  “Logic is with you, but human nature is not. They’re all in competition to be the audience’s favorite. They’ll perform better than they know how.”

  “You’re full of paradoxes, Miz Larner,” said John Binder.

  “Full twice over,” said Margaret. “But I try to let them out only one at a time, so they don’t confuse the common folk.”

  * * *

  Alvin stood at the gunwale, not far from the paddlewheel. But instead of trying to puzzle out what kind of knack was propelling the boat, he decided that if Tenskwa-Tawa didn’t know he was coming, there was no reason for Alvin to await a canoe that might never show up.

  So he swung his leg over the gunwale and lowered himself until his boots touched water. Alvin had walked on water before, but it took a great deal of concentration and he had other things on his mind. So he lowered himself without a splash into the river, then lay on his back in the water and began to swim west through the fog.

  After only a few strokes, he heard the soft plashing of paddles expertly used to drive a canoe forward. Alvin spoke as he swam. “If you were this close, why didn’t you call to me on the boat?”

  A few moments of silence, and then, “If we shout to you, we shout to all.”

  “You could have splashed louder, with your paddling,” said Alvin. “I would have heard and waited for you to reach me.”

  “You reached us here,” said the Red in the canoe.

  “You could have spared me from getting wet,” said Alvin.

  A silence. Then, one Red spoke to the other—but in English, so Alvin would definitely understand. “Did you mind seeing him all wet in the water?”

  “It did not cause me pain,” said the other.

  “Does this mean,” said Alvin, “that you’re not going to help me get into your canoe?”

  Again a pause, and one Red said to the other, “Helping Whites get up into canoes from the water causes many a canoe to turn over.”

  “Our cargo should not get wet.”

  “White man in the water, we cannot lift you into the canoe.”

  Since they knew precisely who he was, and Tenskwa-Tawa had sent them, Alvin was getting impatient with this game. So he opened a seam in the bottom of the canoe and let water squirt upward onto the paddlers.

  They didn’t say anything, but a few grunts convinced Alvin that they were trying to stop the leak.

  “May I help?” asked Alvin.

  “Yes, please,” said one of the men.

  Alvin reclosed the seam and sealed it tight. Then he caused the water in the bottom of the canoe to evaporate quickly.

  “Why did you do that, White man in the water?”

  “Why should I be the only one soaking wet in order to amuse the onlookers?”

  “We’ll pull you into the canoe,” said one of the Reds, grudgingly.

  “I would just tip you over,” said Alvin.

  “We can do it. We do it many times.”

  “I know,” said Alvin. Then he rolled over in the water and began a powerful crawl stroke across the river, leaving the canoe behind him. He could hear them paddling frantically to catch up.

  Alvin realized that if they returned to the Prophet with an empty canoe, after a dripping wet Alvin came alone out of the river, they would lose prestige and trust. Alvin didn’t intend to tell on them, but there would be no way not to tell if he went to Tenskwa-Tawa wet and alone.

  So when he reached the western shore, he found a grassy bank and sat down to take off his boots. He didn’t want to have to buy a new pair, so he drew much of the water out of the leather so the boots would remain supple. Then, lying in the grass, he dried his clothing until there was no sign they had ever been wet.

  He heard them arrive upstream of him, and he got up to go meet them. They had the stern solemn faces of Reds trying to hide shame.

  “I enjoyed the swim, lads,” said Alvin cheerfully.

  They looked him up and down, seeing that he showed no sign of having been in the river.

  “Tenskwa-Tawa knows all that happened,” said Alvin. “But I didn’t tell him. I haven’t gone to see him yet.”

  “He’s the Prophet, he knows,” said one of the men.

  “I don’t think he’ll be angry,” said Alvin. “Time was that he, under a different name, played a prank or two of his own.”

  “What was that name?” asked the younger one.

  “If he wanted you to know,” said Alvin, “you would know.”

  “He doesn’t tell us his secrets.”

  “But he sent you to fetch me,” said Alvin. “He trusts you well enough.”

  “We didn’t fetch you,” said the older one. “We refused to take you into our canoe.”

  “A bit impolite, but I didn’t mind.” Clearly they didn’t understand “impolite.” Alvin said, “I like to swim, and as you can see, I might get wet, but I don’t stay wet.”

  They seemed somewhat mollified, but when they reached the Prophet, standing among a group of young buffalos, they hung back.

  “Will it bother your friends if I come to you?” asked Alvin, indicating the buffalos.

  Tenskwa-Tawa smiled. “I don’t want them to get used to the smell of White men. They might lose their caution around you.”

  “White men don’t all smell alike.”

  “Some worse, some better. Swimming didn’t get you any cleaner.”

  “Wasn’t trying for clean. I was trying for fast.”

  “What’s the urgency?” asked the Prophet.

  “There’s a plot to kill me in Crystal City.”

  “Why? What did you do wrong?”

  “Lots of things, but they wanted to kill me already. Reverend Philadelphia Thrower.”

  “You send them to school to learn about your God and Jesus and the Spirit, but they come out of that school wickeder and stupider than they went in.”

  Alvin didn’t know enough about clerical education to know if the Prophet’s words were accurate.

  “You want to come and take shelter here among us?”

  Alvin stood and looked at him.

  “Could you live as a Red man?” asked Tenskwa-Tawa.

  “I have before,” said Alvin, this time in Tenskwa-Tawa’s own tribal language.

  “No, no,” said the Prophet. “Your accent is too raspy and whiny.”

  “It’s as good as your English.”

  “I speak English like the King,” said Tenskwa-Tawa.

  “You probably do,” said Alvin.

  “You may take shelter here,” said the Prophet. “You may be one of us.”

  “I didn’t finish,” said Alvin. “What I ask is much larger than that.”

  Tenskwa-Tawa looked at him in silence. He didn’t need to be told.

  “All of them? Because some are very bad people.”

  “They have knacks. If I’m not there to protect them, their enemies will come down on them like a tornado and fling them everywhere and melt the Crystal City.”

  “Make another.”

  “Let me bring them to an enclave. A reservation, perhaps. Not the best land, but land they can farm and grow enough to live.”

  “They will want to go back to Philadelphia.”

  “Some probably will, of course. City people like city life.”

  “They cannot cross the river eastward, once they cross to this shore.”

  “They know I have crossed and come back.”

  “You are Alvin Maker,” said Tenskwa-Tawa.

  “They are my people.”

  “They are not all trustworthy.”

  “I will keep them within bounds.”

  “So you take them from Crystal City, full of vision beyond horizons of time and space, and you will fence them into a patch of land?”

  “They’ll be alive.”

  “How long, Maker, till they forget to be grateful.”

  “Some of them, they will never forget.”

  “And some of them will be grateful half a day,” said the Prophet.

  “I’d give those folks about fifteen minutes of gratitude before they start sowing discord again.”

  “Why bring them with you?”

  “Was every Red you gave sanctuary to on this side of the river completely trustworthy?”

  “Different people, different culture.”

  “Were any of your people wicked?”

  “I work with them. I try to teach them.”

  “Me too,” said Alvin. The Prophet seemed to accept this, but Alvin wondered if it was true. He had helped them develop their knacks and maybe learn new ones. Working on power, but spending precious little time on virtue.

  “I will choose the land for them,” said the Prophet.

  “We will choose together.”

  “I already chose. Far west, in the mountains, there is an undrinkable salt lake, and a river into it from a better lake, where fish live. The land is good. You would not displace any Reds because that land is holy to them, they do not live there.”

  “They won’t like us living there, either,” said Alvin.

  “Will that place be good for your people? It’s a long walk across the prairie and the mountains.”

  “We can do it, because we have to.”

  “Great need does not confer great strength,” said the Prophet.

  “It doesn’t stop people from complaining or arguing, either, but it does help them keep going.”

  29

  IN THE WATERSPOUT on the Mizzippy, Tenskwa-Tawa led Alvin into the whirlwind and they rose up within the eye of the storm. Just as he had done, when he first taught Alvin how to see.

  This time, Tenskwa-Tawa was so at ease with this ability of his that he was able to choose what Alvin saw. It was a flat plain between high mountains, with a large lake at the northwestern corner. Must be the salt lake.

  “There’s the salt lake,” said Tenskwa-Tawa, gesturing toward the only lake they could see.

  “Thick grass, no trees,” said Alvin.

  “You people cut down all the trees wherever you go. This will save you time.”

  Alvin pointed. “There’s a tree.”