Destiny's Road

34 The Autumn Caravan

Something about the position of the sun on his cheek brought Jeremy Winslow gently awake.

He was dozing upright in the driver's alcove. Harlow was driving. Behind them on the roof, Tanya Hearst kept watch with Steban, the new yutz they'd picked up in Haven. They weren't paying much attention.

In this territory, they needn't. There was farmland on both sides, and large houses sparsely set. People who feared bandits didn't build like this.

It was all new. This must have been wilderness when last he'd seen it. Jeremy wondered if he would recognize the New Hann Farm.

The sun: it was midafternoon, almost time to quit. A caravan doesn't hurry. If they didn't reach Warkan's Tavern tonight they'd make it tomorrow.

Some pointed structure poked up from the Road, too far ahead to make out.

Jeremy looked downslope, a mere half-klick to a strip of sand and then water dark with Destiny devilhair weed. It all looked strangely familiar. He still didn't know where he was until somebody far ahead shouted, “Warkan's Tavern!”

Angelo Hearst climbed up from the sales window to see. The word bounced down the caravan's length to Hearst wagon, and Angelo's bellow sent it on, while Jeremy stared ahead in befuddlement.

-Oh, of course, he'd been looking for Carder's Boat! which had been there forever, until-

He'd last seen Carder's Boat moored offshore of Tail Town. Haunted Bay fishermen used it as a dock. It had swarmed with children on the day the caravan rolled through.

He'd come home... but fifty meters past the just-visible façade of Warkan's Tavern, a slender triangular arch stood above the Road. In the Road. A gate, or a barrier.

Harlow was bringing the wagon to a stop. It took a while for the chugs to get the idea, but the message was welcome. Wagons behind were stopping too. The lead wagons wanted a little more space first. If you made chugs bunch up, they wouldn't bring in as much weed and wouldn't get enough to eat.

Locals were gathering on the hills above Warkan's Tavern. They knew: merchants did no business now.

Hearst wagon (#6) was at a halt. Harlow and Jeremy gave the reins the practiced flip, flip, flip that freed the chugs. A good trip: they still had all twenty.

The spring caravan had come back somewhat shot up. They'd found and obliterated a bandit nest, they said. Obliterated: maybe. Bandits hadn't bothered the autumn caravan.

The chugs drifted downslope.

Angelo dropped straight from the roof, showing off for his wife. Jeremy eased on down, then gave a hand to Harlow, who didn't need it, and Tanya, who didn't either. Wave Rider's pit chef always did that. It irritated Angelo and amused Steban.

On the roof Steban threw open the sides of the wagon, then came down to help the others deploy cookware. Miller wagon's people (#8) were doing the same.

The dark line of chugs had reached the sand.

Hearst wagon carried Tanya and Angelo Hearst, Angelo's grandfather Glen, and the Winslows. Five merchants meant room for only one yutz. Miller cookwagon carried three yutzes to make up for that. Glen Hearst made small concessions to pay off the debt.

Thus: the caravan would be here two nights. Not all could afford to dine at Warkan's Tavern or go into town, but it didn't take both cookwagons to cook dinner. Hearst wagon would cook on the first night.

The line of chugs flowed into the waves.

Jeremy and Harlow moved well together, unloading and deploying tools, hanging an ostrich and four chickens the hunters had shot. At this their steady efficiency and decades of practice made them the best in the caravan. Yutzes from all the wagons were gathering Destiny firewood and digging out the pits.

Something was bothering Glen Hearst. He spent less time supervising than in looking toward town, or the Tavern, or- Far up the Road, two electric wagons approached. Jeremy glanced that way from time to time as he worked. Atop one he picked out the glitter of Begley cloth. The wagons stopped short of the pointed structure, and men began unloading them.

The barrier stood just at the border between Warkan's Tavern and Bloocher Farm.

“Glen, what is that thing?”

“Never saw it before.”

Hearst and Miller wagons had made all reasonable preparations for dinner, and no sign of chugs. The fires in the long pits were beginning to catch.

“Mind if I go look?”

“Set up the tents first.”

Jeremy and Harlow exchanged glances. Jeremy hadn't meant now! There was time to break out the tents and set them up, but not to walk most of a klick, almost as far as Warkan's Tavern! Glen knew that. What had made him so touchy?

They busied themselves setting tentpoles and deploying tents and inflating pillows, until a long black line of devilhair weed rolled out of the sea. Then all the traders and yutzes dropped their work and returned to their wagons. As the chugs emerged pushing devilhair ahead of them, Hearst wagon's crew settled on the roof with a liter of lemonade and their guns.

The chugs fed placidly. Then they all broke off at once and rolled uphill.

Six long low shapes darted from the water, all at once and wide apart. Only six. A few guns sounded: overeager yutzes, quickly silenced. Four sharks stopped at the black weed.

Two came on. The caravan fired, one long roll of thunder. The two fell. Four sharks darted from the weed and into the next wave.

Two lay dead. Jeremy was pretty sure he'd hit one. A few yutzes were still firing into the shredded bodies.

It wasn't just Glen Hearst. The elders were in a fury. At dinner they gathered in a small, tight circle. They fell silent when yutzes came to serve them.

Harlow and Jeremy approached the circle and were rebuffed.

Yutzes did most of the work of serving dinner. Jeremy only had to get it off the fire while it wasn't yet charred. In dying orange light he stopped to look at one of the dead sharks. They were too chewed up to show detail. He'd look up LUNGSHARK if he ever reached another library.

The light was dying, and so were the coals. Jeremy set his pan of pureed cherries and gelatin where the.heat wouldn't char it. He'd practiced that, and ruined several batches during the training period. He'd brought gelatin and honey and twenty pounds of seeds to roll it in. All along the Road he'd found fruit to make jell. Every batch of festivity was different.

Harlow was watching him. She said, “I think your festivity candy was what really put us here. It made us just that extra notch more desirable.”

“You're very desirable.” He kissed her.

Harlow gestured toward the circle of elders; lifted one brow. Harlow didn't like being treated as a child.

He said, “Maybe when you're older, dear.”

“We're Glen Hearst's age! Let's eavesdrop?”

“No safe way. Love, the yutzes know how to clean up. Let's go look at that gate.”

Warkan's Tavern was full of light and activity as they strolled past. At the edge of Bloocher Farm, they stopped beside the arch. It was poured stone in a cast-iron frame. It straddled the Road, narrower than a caravan wagon.

The chair beneath it was made of iron and poured stone, though lined with pillows. As Jeremy approached the man in the chair stood up, tall and massive, though armed with no more than a stick at his belt.

Harlow asked, “Are we barred from Spiral Town?”

The man didn't respond. Jeremy touched Harlow's hand: Take it easy. He reached into his special pocket for three thumbs of candy. “Try this.”

When the man didn't react, Jeremy put one between Harlow's lips, ate one, then offered the other.

The man ate it. “Oooh. What is it?”

“Winslow's festivity candy. I'm Winslow. Are we barred from Spiral Town?”

“The caravans are. Yes, sir, merchants are too, unless you have special business. But you can go to the Tavern.”

“There's a Carolyn Hope Hearst buried in your graveyard. I was a Hearst before I married. I'd like to visit her grave.”

Harlow stared.

The guard missed that. He wasn't seeing Harlow. He said, “We haven't buried a lifegiver from outside in more than fifty years.”

Jeremy said, “More like ninety for Carolyn Hope. Way too old to visit the Tavern, sir. You have one of our men, too, more recent. Father wasn't so sure of him.”

The guard was massively embarrassed. “Sir, I don't doubt you'll be let visit your ancestors, but Ican't, and not at night.”

“When did the rules change? Since the spring caravan?”

“Yeah.”

“If they did something awful, they never told us.”

“Sir, I'm not sure I could tell you anyway.” The man was nervous. He must have watched a caravan repel sharks. Everyone did.

The poured-stone triangle and the stone chair looked very permanent for so recent a thing. Cargo lay in piles just beyond, across the Road from the huge old elms that bordered Warkan Farm. A little heap of clocks. An array of pottery and glassware. Melons and squashes and oranges. Two great stacks of Begley cloth sparking with current. They must have brought it down from Mount Apollo in sunlight, uncovered.

Jeremy turned away, leading Harlow. He murmured, “He can't talk to a woman he doesn't know.”

“It's birdfucking rude.”

“You sound like a felon.”

“I'll be one, after I murder the next birdfucker who treats me that way. What was that about a dead ancestor?”

He told Harlow, “I found her on that last trip to Medical. The programs gave me a lineage for Hearst wagon. Why not? I'm a Hearst, courtesy of Harlow Winslow. Someone in a caravan family was bound to have died in Spiral Town.”

Quicksilver still lit the night while the caravan's elders walked the length of the caravan, talking to whomever they found. They found Maiku Lall bedding down his family beside Lall wagon, the medical wagon, first in line; and Harlow and Jeremy Winslow just passing.

“You sell no speckles tomorrow,” Palava Lall said.

Maiku gaped at his mother. Glen Hearst quickly said, “That goes for us too. Harlow, Jeremy, speckles are not to enter Spiral Town tomorrow.”

Jeremy didn't speak. Harlow asked, “Might one ask why?”

“Later,” Glen said, and the group of elders turned downRoad. Jeremy noticed Govert Miller among them, back early from the Tavern. The roster of elders was complete.

The whisper of waves had a buzzing in it: the caravan was not asleep, but talking in their tents.

Glen asked, “Where have you been?”

Jeremy told Glen what they'd learned of the guarded gate.

Harlow said, “Caravans were founded to move speckles, Glen. This violates a trust.”

“And so does that gate. We do more than deliver speckles,” the old man said. “We supervise. The mainland takes risks, but these Crab shies live their lives the way evolution shaped us on Earth. Lots of farming, diet varies by season, not much medicine, not much industrial power-“

“Short life spans.”

“Yes, all right, Harlow, shorter life spans,” Glen Hearst said. “But they're safe.”

If Jeremy was going to get his say, Harlow was going to have to say it. She tried. “Glen, humanity on Destiny is two hundred and fifty years old. Do we still need a control group?”

“You never do know in advance, Harlow. That's what a control experiment is for. Anyway, it's not just one anymore. When offshoot groups started moving down the Road from Base One, the caravans transported them. Whatever hurts any of them is a warning for the rest of us.”

“We know what kills on Destiny. Speckles, lack of! The threat to Spiral Town is us!”

Jeremy feared she'd overdo it. In haste he asked, “Glen, what do we want from this?”

“They've barred us. In stages, over these past fifty years. No merchants past Peach Street. No merchants in town at night. One wagon to the market and one to Mount Apollo, then none. Now this. How the hell can we supervise a control experiment if...” He waved his arms in frustration.

“If the mice lock us out,” Jeremy murmured.

Glen glared. “It's bad for them too! They don't see any sapient creature outside their insular selves. It stunts their minds.”

Harlow said, “They're inbred, too, but that is policy-”

“So, we know what we want,” Jeremy said. “What if we don't get it?”

“Oh, we'll get it.”

“That's good. Because we're here for two nights if we get it or not. Chugs can't forage in one place more than two nights running.”

“The Spirals know it too,” Glen said. “Remember, sell anything but speckles tomorrow.” He crawled into the tent to sleep.

Jeremy kept walking, and Harlow followed.

Wagons were wide apart. Between tents they could not be overheard. Jeremy said, “Thank you.”

“It's a joy,” she said, “watching you keep your mouth shut.”

“You terrify me. Are you with Steban tonight?”

“Tanya snatched him as soon as he was on board. Don't you notice, Jeremy? Or was that a joke?”

“He'll have you both. If she's any good-?”

“Very. And beautiful. And already pregnant.”

“He'll wonder what you've got to match her. Anyway, you're mine tonight, if I can get you relaxed. So what would that take?”

She was silent.

She was thinking about all the way back to Bloocher Farm, and watching him the way an armed yutz watches the sea.

Downslope to shore, then across the overgrown fence, then up. Likely enough he'd be shot as a burglar.

Uphill would take him to the frost line. He'd crouch behind the brush like a nineteen-year-old, duckwalk past Mount Apollo and down into Spiral Town. The long way home, but Harlow couldn't guess who might give him refuge...

Or he could procure Spiral garb, recover his Spiral accent, and walk past the gate in a clump of shoppers.

“I've promised not to go home,” he told her.

“Right.”

“Harlow, do you think I'd leave these old birdfuckers alone to decide whether to turn us all into speckels-shies?”

Harlow put her fingertips over his mouth. Damn, he was getting too loud. She said, “Now who needs relaxing?”

“Me.”

“Well, come back to the tent.”

In the morning the chugs went into the sea again. Ten sharks followed them out. Three lay flopping when the rest fled.

“Six last night, then ten. They're getting smart,” Angelo said.

“Smart?”

“For sharks. The first night, there's weed close to shore. Morning, the chugs have to go deeper for it. Next night, deeper yet. Next morning, even farther. The sharks get a better and better chance to catch a chug or two.”

“They don't get smart, just hungry. The chugs are taking their food, Angelo.”

Thousands of Spirals had come to watch the shark-shooting. Now they descended on the wagons.

Yutzes were sent to fetch the clocks, pottery, glassware, fruit, and vegetables piled beyond the gate. The prices for these had been agreed. They were told to leave the Begley cloth alone. By noon it was sparking and spitting lightning, not safe to touch.

The Spirals bought what the wagons sold, and couldn't believe that they couldn't buy speckles too. Jeremy gave away handfuls of festivity to all the children. He'd cut and roll more tonight.

Merchants were expected to wear eccentric dress. Pockets were always in fashion. Jeremy had built a big pocket over his belly and lined it, and he kept a generous handful of extra seeds inside to keep the jelly candies from sticking. It gave him a lumpy-rotund look.

Come evening, the Hearsts geared up for Warkan's Tavern. As they laid out cookware and the yutzes dug their pits, Jeremy found himself crouching down behind his persona. The last time he'd seen Warkan's Tavern, he'd killed a man.

Here came a forest of black devilhair and a row of chugs pushing it. Time to board the roofs.

Far up the Road, two electric wagons approached Warkan's Tavern. Maybe Spiral Town only had two; in Jeremy's youth they'd had four. These were empty but for five men.

They stopped at the gate. Five soberly dressed Spiral Town men went into the tavern and emerged on the second-floor balcony.

The chugs left off burrowing in the black weed, and moved uphill. Sharks zipped up the sand. Bullets spattered them; two fled, seven burrowed into the weed, four sped after the chugs. A hail of bullets stopped those.

“Smarter,” Angelo grunted, and relaxed.

Seven sharks zipped out of the weed all at once, into the waves before anyone could quite react.

Harlow asked, “What would it cost to wipe out lungsharks?”

“We almost have,” Glen Hearst said. “There used to be more. It's a bad idea, though. Without sharks we'd pay less attention to shark guns. Locals tend to be respectful if they've seen shark guns in action. Bandits too.”

Tanya asked, “Harlow, don't you like shooting sharks?”

“I really do not.” Tanya laughed.

Miller wagon was cooking dinner tonight, though Hearst wagon had helped set up. Jeremy and Harlow waited for Glen. The elders seemed to be waiting for... what? But a third of the caravan walked toward Warkan's Tavern, a growing crowd that included Angelo, Tanya, and Steban.

They stopped, milling a bit, when the dignitaries came out of Warkan's Tavern and walked toward the caravan.

Glen Hearst said, “I think that's my dinner.”

Jemmy Bloocher's father had been of the Council, and the Council did usually take several wagonmasters to dinner. In his youth the car- avans had come as far as the Hub. Later... but was it nonnal for the Council to come this far?

The Councilors were picking up elders from the wagons, not all, just some. Nobody from Krupp wagon, #2. Nine men re~ched Hearst wagon. One man took Glen Hearst aside and spoke to him, a casual and genial tone, words half-heard. ”-Harry's Bar-“

Pat the special pocket: half-full. Pit chef Jeremy: obsequious, a bit effusive. First sight of Spiral Town: gape a little. Even Warkan 's Tavern is impressive. Damn, you can see buildings poking up in clusters a klick away! He felt himself wanting to overdo it.

“-And you must meet our pit chef from the finest restaurant on the Road, Jeremy Winslow.”

Not much interested, Chairman Greegry Bloocher stepped forward to shake the cook's hand.

'Jeremy, some of us have been invited to dinner by these good people, and I mentioned your dessert-“

“A recent invention, sir.” Spiral Town accentanda complacent smile. Jeremy handed his brother a thumb of festivity candy. He watched Greegiy's appreciation, and offered a handful to the rest. Harlow was watching him like a magician's hat.

“Why don't you come to dinner with us,” Glen Hearst asked, “and bring some along?”