The Crystal City

14

Plow

"Why won't you look in the crystal ball, Alvin?" asked Dead Mary one morning.

"Nothing there that I want to see," said Alvin.

"We look into it and see important things," she said.

"But you can't trust it, can you?" said Alvin.

"It gives us an idea of what's coming."

"No it doesn't," said Alvin. "It gives you an idea of what you already expect is coming. Distorted by what you fear is coming and what you hope is coming. But if you don't already know what you're looking for..."

"For someone who refuses to look," said Dead Mary, "you know a lot about it."

"I don't like what I see there."

"Neither do I," said Dead Mary. "But I think that is not why you refuse to look."

"Oh?"

"I think you do not look because it is your wife who sees the future, not you. And if you ever looked into the ball, then you would not need her any more."

"I think you're talking about things you don't know anything about," said Alvin, and he turned away to leave.

"I also don't like what I don't see," said Dead Mary.

Alvin had to know. He could not leave yet. "What don't you see?"

"A good husband for me, for one thing," she said. "Or children. Or a happy life. Isn't that what crystal balls are supposed to show?"

"It ain't no carnival fortune telling ball."

"No, it's made of water from the swamps of Nueva Barcelona," said Dead Mary. "And it shows me that you love your wife and will never leave her."

He turned around to face her again. "Does it show you that it's wrong of you to toy with Arthur Stuart and lead him to think you're in love with him?"

"It is not wrong," said Dead Mary, "if it's true."

"True that you're toying with him? Or true that you're in love with him?"

"True that I am drawn to him. That I like him. That I wanted to kiss him before he left."

"Why?"

"Because he's a good boy and he shouldn't die Without ever being kissed."

"The crystal ball showed you he was going to die, is that it?"

"Isn't he?"

"The ball tells back to you what you already believe," said Alvin. "That's why I don't look in it."

"Let me tell you what the ball shows me," said Dead Mary. "A city on a hill over a river, and in the center of the city, a great palace of crystal, like the ball, water standing up and shining in the sunlight so you cannot bear to look on it."

"Just one building made of crystal," said Alvin. "And the rest of them are just ordinary city buildings?"

She nodded. "And the name of the city is The City of Makers, and The City Beautiful, and Crystal City."

"That's a lot of names for one dream."

"This is where you are leading us, isn't it?" said Dead Mary.

"So maybe the ball doesn't show you only your own dream," he said.

"Whose dream did I see, then?"

"Mine."

"Let me tell you something, Monsieur Maker," said Dead Mary. "These people don't need some fancy building made of crystal. All they need is some good land where they can set a plow, and build a house, and raise a family, and they'll do just fine."

In Alvin's poke the plow trembled.

When Verily Cooper met up with Abe Lincoln in Cheaper's store at noon, there was someone else waiting for him. The precise little clerk from the courthouse.

"Out of your territory, aren't you?" asked Verily.

"I'm on duty, as a matter of fact," said the clerk.

"Then your list of duties is longer than I thought," said Verily.

The clerk walked up to him and handed him a folded and sealed paper. "That's for you."

Verily glanced at it. "No it's not," he said.

"Are you or are you not the attorney for one Alvin Smith also known as Alvin Miller, Jr., of Vigor Church, state of Wobbish?"

"I am," said Verily Cooper.

"Then in that capacity papers to be served on Mr. Smith can be served on you."

"But," said Verily, touching the man on the shoulder to suggest that he should not rush out of the store as he seemed to be in quite a hurry to do. "But, we are not in the state of Hio, where I am licensed to practice law, or the state of Wobbish, where I am licensed to practice law. In those states, I am indeed Mr. Smith's attorney. But in the state of Noisy River, I am an ordinary citizen, engaged in private business with Mr. Abraham Lincoln, and nobody's attorney at all. That's the law, sir, and these papers have not been legally served."

He handed them back to the clerk.

The clerk glared at him. "I think that's pure horse piss, sir."

"Are you a lawyer?" asked Verily Cooper.

"Apparently you aren't either, in this state," said the clerk.

"If you're not a lawyer, sir, then you should not be offering a legal opinion."

"When did I do that?"

"When you said that what I said was pure horse piss. It would take a lawyer to offer an opinion on the degree of purity of any particular sample of horse piss. Or are we to assume you are practicing law without having been accepted at the bar in the state of Noisy River?"

"Did you come here just to make my life a living hell?" asked the clerk.

"It's you or me," said Verily. "But let me tell you something that it was my pleasure once to say to the Lord Protector and all his legal officers in England."

"What's that?"

"Good-bye."

Verily clapped his hat on his head and strode out the door into the street.

The clerk stomped out immediately after him, and kept on stomping, which raised something of a dust cloud behind him, the day being quite dry and hot.

Then Abe Lincoln sauntered out, followed by his faithful companion, Coz. "What do you think, Coz? I think we got to agree that was sharp lawyering. But then again, any time a lawyer says he ain't a lawyer, isn't that some kind of improvement to the general condition of humanity?"

Coz grinned and then spat into the dirt, which made a little ball of mud that actually rolled a few inches before it settled down and disappeared. "But we like Mr. Cooper," said Coz. "He's a good lawyer."

"He's a good man," said Abe. "And he's a good lawyer. But is it possible for him to be both at the same time?"

"You keep this up," said Verily, "and I won't teach you any more about lawyering."

"I think Abe is already a fine lawyer," said Coz.

"What do you mean?" said Verily.

"Well, look at you," said Coz. "You're just walking around, right? And nobody's paying you, right?"

"Right," said Verily.

"That's what Abe does most of the time."

"You know I'm a hardworking man, Coz," said Abe. "I split half the fence rails in Springfield, working odd jobs to pay off my store debt. And dug ditches and hauled manure and any other work that I could get."

"Aw, come on, Abe," said Coz. "Can't you let another man have his joke?"

"Just wouldn't want Mr. Cooper to think I was a lazy man."

Since Verily had spent the last few days trying to keep up with the long-legged, fast-walking Mr. Lincoln, he really hadn't got the impression of laziness from him.

Today, though, they were not walking. At Lincoln's request, Verily had hired two horses for him and Coz to ride, though in truth Verily could not think why Coz's company was worth the rent of a second horse. But Lincoln wanted it, and so Verily paid for it out of a dwindling wallet. They checked the saddles and harnesses, and then Verily checked Coz's and Lincoln's again, because from the look of it, they had no idea what to look for when checking a horse's saddle and harness. "You two don't ride much, do you," said Verily.

"We're poor men," said Abe.

"I'm poorer," said Coz.

"Because you spend every dime you make on riotous living."

"A man in love is inclined to buy gifts for his lady."

"And drinks."

"She was thirsty."

"And then she was unconscious," said Abe. "And then you paid for a room in the tavern for her to sleep it off, hoping no doubt that her gratitude in the morning would be greater than her headache, only in the morning..."

"My love life ain't none of Mr. Cooper's business."

"Your love life is imaginary, except for the amount of money you lose at it," said Abe.

And so it went all the way from Springfield to the Mizzippy.

They left the cornfields behind them after a couple of hours and forded Noisy River itself, and then passed along an ever-narrowing track through prairie land dotted with trees, where nobody was farming except here and there. A reminder that this was the frontier after all. And also that farmers tended to prefer not to locate near the foggy Mizzippy.

They reached a tree-covered bluff overlooking the great river just before dark. There wasn't much to see. A lot of trees below them, and beyond the trees, a glimpse of the river reflected scattered moonlight. And then the fog that obscured all vision of the land on the other side.

"Here's where we spend the night," said Lincoln.

"And eat supper, I hope," said Coz.

"Supper?" said Verily.

Abe looked at him sharply. "I said we'd need provisions."

"You didn't say we'd need food," said Verily.

"Well I'm blamed if provisions don't mean food!" said Abe, sounding a little cross.

"If you meant food," said Verily, "you should have said food."

"If you think I'm going to hunt for rabbit this time of night on an empty stomach, you're looney," said Coz.

"Myself," said Abe, "I'm thinking of maybe turning cannibal."

Verily grinned. "Now I know why you brought Coz along."

Coz put his hands on his hips and glared at them both by turns. "Now see here, there ain't nobody going to eat nobody, least of all me. I may look stout, but I assure you it's all fat, every bit of it, not a scrap of muscle on me, so if you tried to fry me up like bacon you'd end up gagging on account of there being no lean in it."

Verily sighed. "It's hard to play a joke on men who refuse to notice the jest."

"We were joking back," said Coz. "We knowed you had food all along."

"Oh, no, I don't have food," said Verily. "The joke was the part about eating you."

They both uttered disgusted noises and then Verily laughed. "All right, then, I suppose I might have something left over from my journey here in my saddlebags."

He was getting the waybread and corned beef out of the saddlebag when Abe said, "You know, I'm a mite uncomfortable that the campfire that was going down by the river when we got here has since been put right out."

"Maybe they got done eating," said Coz.

"I didn't see a campfire," said Verily.

"Maybe they don't want a fire 'cause it's a hot night," said Coz.

"Or maybe they took note of some travelers on horseback coming out of the wood at the crown of this bluff and decided that we looked like easy folk to rob."

A powerful voice came from the brush off behind the horses. "Fine time to think of that, sir." And out from the bushes stepped a big man, who looked like he'd been in a lot of fights but hadn't lost any of them. And he had pistols and knives all over him, it seemed, with a cocked musket in his hands.

It was the first time Verily had seen Abe Lincoln look scared. "If you were hoping to rob somebody easy," said Abe, "you're half right. We'll be easy, only we ain't got nothing to steal."

"Speak for yourself, Abe," said Coz. "I bet Mr. Cooper's got everything he owns on that horse."

Abe gave Coz a shove. "Well, ain't that a fine thing, drawing this man's attention to our friend Mr. Cooper!"

"Well Mr. Cooper was planning to fry me up like bacon!" said Coz, shoving Abe back.

"That was a joke, Coz," said Abe, shoving him harder.

"He says now," said Coz, shoving Abe back, even harder.

But when Abe flung himself forward to shove again, it wasn't Coz he shoved. He took a flying leap at the stranger and down they tumbled into the bushes.

"Don't you worry, none, Mr. Cooper," said Coz. "Abe's a pretty bad fighter, but he puts his whole self into it and he don't give up early."

"Verily!" called the big man from the bushes. His voice sounded like somebody was pounding on his chest.

"He knows your name?" said Coz.

"Verily, are you going to say something, or am I going to have to kill your big ugly friend!"

"He oughtn't to call Abe ugly like that," said Coz.

"Abe," said Verily, "this man is not here to rob us."

The fight quieted down. "You know each other," said Abe.

"Abe Lincoln, meet Mike Fink. Mike Fink, vice versa."

"Leave off that legal talk, Mr. Cooper," said Mike. "It just riles me up and then I have to kill somebody."

"Well, don't kill Mr. Lincoln," said Verily. "He hasn't yet told me why he brought me to this godforsaken spot."

"I don't know either," said Mike, "but this is where Peggy said you'd be on this very evening, so this is where I came to meet you."

"Don't tell me you rowed upstream the whole way from Hatrack River," said Verily.

"I'd never tell such a lie," said Mike Fink, "but it's kind of flattering you'd think it was a possibility. Also kind of stupid, since half the journey would have been down the Hio, which ain't upstream."

"Ah. You didn't start in Hatrack River," said Verily.

"Vigor Church, and I took the train west to Moline and then I got a boat and came down the river. Got here this morning. You took your time coming. Springfield ain't that far."

"My butt says it was far enough," said Coz. "They made me ride the uncomfortable horse."

"Any horse with you on it's gonna be uncomfortable," said Abe.

"So Peggy knew that we'd be here," said Verily.

"Who is this Peggy," said Abe, "and how did she supposedly know days ago a thing I didn't find out about till yesterday?"

"A man who fights like a big-armed baby oughtn't to imply that a man that just whupped him is a liar," said Mike.

"Didn't accuse a soul," said Abe. "I asked a question."

"Peggy is Margaret Larner," said Verily. "Alvin's wife. I told you about her."

"She didn't happen to say," said Abe, "whether the plan that brought us here is a good idea."

"I'm not here for you," said Mike. "No offense. Nor for Verily Cooper, neither."

"Well I sure hope you ain't here for me," said Coz, "cause I peed my pants just looking at you, and if you rassle me it'll get all over you."

"I appreciate the warning," said Mike. "But I'm here for Alvin."

"I thought Peggy sent you," said Verily.

"Peggy sent me," said Mike, "to meet Alvin here. And Alvin's coming here because you're here."

Coz was delighted. "Alvin's a-coming here! Did you have any idea of that, Abe? Or was that your plan?"

"That makes this a right propitious spot," said Abe.

"No it doesn't," said Verily. "Margaret wouldn't have sent Mike Fink unless Alvin was in danger."

"What Peggy says is, when neither Alvin nor his lawyer showed up in court, the judge put out a summer judgment against Alvin and demanded that he be arrested for theft and brought back to Carthage City where he will either produce the gold item in question or be jailed for attempt of court."

"Let me guess," said Verily. "Is there a reward?"

"Somebody put up five hundred dollars," said Mike.

"And you're here to help Alvin resist arrest?"

"I'm here to take anybody who tries to earn that reward and grind him into flour and bake him like bread."

"We ain't looking to do that," said Coz.

"Five hundred dollars is a lot of money," said Abe.

Mike took a step toward Abe-who, to his credit, did not flinch.

"Calm down, Mike," said Verily. "Abe Lincoln is a man who likes his joke. He's a trusted friend of Al's."

"Ain't trusted by me" said Mike.

"My question is," said Coz, "if he's got you willing to protect him, how come he runs around all the time with that scrawny brother-in-law of his?"

"He don't need me to protect him from the kind of danger you meet on the road," said Mike. "He can defend himself just fine against that. It's when they come to him with legal papers and he gets all honorable and starts believing that he should let them haul him off to jail and then he stays there even though we know there ain't no jail can hold him-that's when he needs me. Because I don't mind beating in the face of a man who's just doing his job."

"Or biting off his ear," added Coz, hopefully.

"Gave up ear-biting long ago," said Mike. "And eye-gouging. Alvin made me promise."

"Made you?" asked Abe.

Mike looked embarrassed. "He's a blacksmith, don't you know. Look at them shoulders he's got. Not to mention that he could just look at my leg and break it."

"I think the fight, which is legendary, was equally unfair on both sides," said Verily.

"Oh, that's so," said Mike. "I wasn't accusing Alvin of nothing, I was just explaining how he could beat a fellow as mean as me." He took a step and loomed over Coz. "I am mean, you know. It ain't all show. I like that scrinchy sound a man's face makes when I'm grinding it into the ground."

"Ha ha," said Coz lamely. "You're such a joker, you are."

"When's Alvin getting here?" said Verily.

"Well, you know how Peggy gets kind of vague when it comes to Alvin's doings. I don't think she knows, except he'd get here while you were here, so here I am."

"Came by train," said Verily. "Would've been nice if I could've done that."

"So I wondered if you folks already et," said Mike. "Because I just couldn't see no point in hotting up a pot just for me, and I also didn't much care to eat my beans cold."

Soon they had a fire going right on the bluff, with two pots beside it, one full of stew, the other full of water, waiting to come to a boil.

"I reckon we're putting this fire right out in the open like this," said Abe, "so anybody seeking a reward won't waste time tripping over foxes and beavers in the dark."

"Alvin ain't here yet," said Mike, "so there's no reward, is there?"

It wasn't that Mike Fink was completely incautious, though. He volunteered for the first watch of the night, and warned Verily that he was next.

So it was that a groggy Verily Cooper was the one leaning against a tree looking out over the river when suddenly there was a man standing beside him. "River's beautiful at night," said Alvin softly.

Verily didn't even bat an eye. "Someday I'd like to see it with no fog."

"Someday," said Alvin. "When there ain't no need for it."

"Glad to see you," said Verily.

"Glad to be seen."

"Where's your company of five thousand?"

"Six thousand now. They're coming north. I ran on ahead to meet you and see if you're doing what I hope you're doing."

"Finding a place for your people to come."

"Have you? Found a place?"

"Abe Lincoln and I have been up and down, here and there," said Verily. "There are abolitionist towns that'll take a hundred or so. But I don't think there are sixty such towns in the whole state."

"Bad news," said Alvin.

"So tell me some good news, Alvin," said Verily. "Tell me that there's nobody near us, so we don't have to keep watch and I can go back to sleep."

Alvin grinned. "There's nobody near us," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"Before I do," said Verily, "tell me this. Did you come here tonight because this is the right place for us to be?"

"I came here tonight because tomorrow I need you to make the handles for my plow."

When Dead Mary told Alvin about her vision of the Crystal City, it filled him with hope. He hadn't told her about the Crystal City, had he? And what she described, it wasn't like what he saw in Tenskwa-Tawa's whirlwind. Or rather, it was more than what he saw.

All he had ever seen or thought of was the part of it that was made of crystal, the part of it that would be filled with dreams and visions like the ball, like the bridge, like the dam. And he had always thought that to live in such a place, all the citizens would have to be makers, like him. That's why he had been teaching them, or trying to teach them, all these eager people who simply couldn't do it. All had accomplished something, some slight increase of awareness or ability. Verily Cooper, of course, already had something of makery in his knack, and Calvin was a maker, after his fashion. And Arthur Stuart-now, he was a marvel, all these years and suddenly he makes his breakthrough and he sees it. But that's what, four people? And Calvin none too reliable. You don't make a Crystal City out of that.

But that's why Dead Mary's vision of the Crystal City changed everything. Because they weren't all living in the palace, as she called it. In fact, probably nobody was living there. They lived in regular houses on regular streets, and most of them did regular jobs and had regular lives, except that for a few hours a week they helped to build this extraordinary palace or... or library, or theater, or whatever the building was supposed to be... and when it was built, then for a few hours a week you go inside and look at what you see there, what the walls of it show you, and you learn from it what you can and try to understand what it means. Not some grand, earthshaking thing, maybe just... who your wife really is, or what your children might be, or some danger to avoid, or why the suffering in your life is bearable after all. Or why it isn't. Not everything would be happy. But you'd know things that you didn't know otherwise. Even if all you saw was your own hopes and dreams and fears and guilt and shame thrown back in your face, even that would be worth going inside to see, because how else can you come to know yourself, unless you have some kind of faithful mirror that can show you more than just your face?

It's a city of makers, not because everyone in it is a Maker, but because the whole city cooperates in making the Making possible, and the whole city participates in the good thing that they have made.

So obvious now. Who is the builder of a great cathedral? The architect can truly say, I built this, even though he never lifts a stone. The stonecutters can say, I built this, even though it was not their hands that put the stones in place. The masons, the glassmakers, the carpenters, the weavers of rugs, they are all part of the building of it. And the bishop who caused them to build it, and the rich people who donated the money, and the women who brought the food to the workers, and the farmers who grew the food they serve, all the people of the city caused that building to exist. And fifty years later, when all the people whose hands did the work, they're all dead now, or old and doddering, their grandchildren can walk inside that building and say, "This is our cathedral, we built this," because it was the city that built the building, and the city that goes inside to use it, and each new generation that keeps the city alive, and walks into the building with veneration and pride, the cathedral is theirs as much as anyone's.

I can still teach makery to those who want to learn, thought Alvin. But I don't have to wait until they master it. Because I can make the crystal blocks one by one, and others can set them into place. Verily Cooper can set them into place, because he'll know how to make them fit. And other people, with other knacks, they can help. It might even be that Arthur Stuart can make some of the building blocks.

And since everyone will have contributed in one way or another to the crystal edifice, then they are part of it, aren't they? Part of the Crystal City. And a maker is the one who is part of what he makes. So... they are all makers, then, aren't they? Makers of the Crystal City.

Which means the Crystal City will truly be the City of Makers.

Through the morning he watched and then tried not to watch and then watched again, as Verily Cooper stroked the wood and with his bare hands made it into what it needed to be. Verily did not set a tool to the wood. Nor did he choose a fallen log or fell a tree. He found two saplings that were of a size, and stroked them until they separated from the tree. He didn't exactly knead the wood like clay, but the effect was the same. Bark stripped away from the living wood, and the wood shaped itself, bent itself until each of the saplings was now the shape of a plow handle.

Abe and Coz and Mike watched too, for a while. In awe, at first. But miraculous as it might seem, it was a slow and repetitive process, and after a while they wandered off to do other things-survey the area, Abe said.

So it was that when Verily was done, it was just him and Alvin there. The two saplings were now joined at the base as completely as if they had grown that way.

"Time to take that plow out of the sack," said Verily.

"The wood is still alive," said Alvin.

"I know," said Verily.

"Have you made anything out of living wood before?" asked Alvin.

"No," said Verily.

"Then how did you know how?"

"You asked me to do it, and I didn't have any tools," said Verily. "But all this work you've had me doing, learning how to actually see and understand what was going on inside the wood when I made barrel staves and hooped them-well, Al, did you think I wouldn't learn anything!"

Alvin laughed. "I knew you were learning, Very. I just... didn't know it would happen like this."

"So let's see if it'll fit."

Alvin set down the poke and rolled back the top until it made a thick cloth circle around the top of the golden plow. Then he picked up the plow and knelt down before the handles that Verily had made.

"Gold is soft," said Verily. "It'll wear away quickly in hard ground, won't it?"

"A living plow don't fit into the world the way ordinary ones do, and I expect it'll be as hard as I need it to be." Alvin rotated the plow this way and that, trying to figure out how to do the job with only two hands. "So do I fit the plow to the handles, or the handles to the plow?" he asked.

Verily laughed. "I'll hold the handles in place, and you work it out from there."

Alvin laughed, too. Then he brought the plow closer to the end where it was supposed to fit. His intention was to see how close a fit it was, and how exactly to insert it into place. But this was a living plow, and the handles were made of living wood, and when they got near enough, it was as if they recognized each other the way magnets do, lining themselves up in exactly the right way and then leaping together.

Leaping together, joining, the plowshare sliding into exactly the right spot, the wood flexing a bit to let it in, then closing back down over it, so it looked as if the handles had been carved from a tree that had the golden plow already embedded inside it.

Neither of them had a chance to marvel and admire, though, for the moment the plow leapt into place, there came such a music as Alvin had never heard before. It was the greensong-the song of the living wood, the living world, he recognized it, and felt how the handles vibrated with it. And yet it was another music, too. The music of worked metal, of machinery, of tools made to fit human needs and to do human work. It was the beating throb of the engine in a steamboat, and hissing and spitting of a locomotive, the whine of spinning wheels, the clatter and clump of power looms. Only instead of the cacophony of the factory, it all blended together into a single powerful song, and to Alvin's joy it fitted perfectly with the greensong and became one music that filled the air all around them.

Even then, he scarcely had time to realize what the music was before the plow started bucking and bouncing. It was clear that it no longer intended to be still, and Verily, far from controlling it, was barely able to hang on as the plow lurched forward-no ox or horse pulling it, nothing at all but its own will. It skipped a few feet and then dug into the thatch of the meadowgrass, cut through it like a hot knife through butter, then raced forward, Verily hanging on for dear life, running and twisting to keep up with it.

Whatever else this plow might want, it had no respect for the idea that the best furrow is a straight one. It twisted and turned all around the meadow, as if it were a dowser's stick searching for water.

Which, when Alvin thought about it, it very well might be. Not searching for water, but a dowser's wand all the same. Hadn't Verily shaped it into a single piece of living wood? Wasn't it shaped like a dowser's wand, with the two handles joined at the base?

"I can't hold on any longer!" cried Verily, and he fell to the ground as the plow lurched forward another yard and then ... stopped.

The plow just stood there in the ground, unmoving.

Alvin ran over as Verily got up off the ground.

Gingerly, Verily reached a hand out to it. The moment his skin touched it, the plow bucked again and moved forward.

"I have an idea," said Alvin. "You take the right handle, I'll take the left."

"Both at once," said Verily.

"One," said Alvin. And Verily joined in on "two" and "three."

"Wait a minute," said Verily. "How high are we counting?"

"I was thinking of three, but looks like that won't be it after all."

"When we say three, or when we would have said four?"

"When we say three, we should be grabbing right then," said Alvin.

One.

Two.

And away they went.

Only this time there was no bucking. The plow moved, all right, cutting deep into the ground and turning up the soil just like a plow should do. But its path was no longer so crooked.

And its purpose seemed to be to get out of the meadow, move through the trees, and climb back up onto the bluff.

It was steep going-this wasn't all that gentle a slope- and there were low branches that looked like they were designed to take the head right off anyone foolish enough to be hanging on behind a living plow.

But the greensong in the music of the plow was powerful, and the branches seemed to rise up or bend back, and neither Alvin nor Verily suffered so much as a scrape or scratch or bump. Nor did they get weary as they ran up the hill behind the plow.

When it reached the top, the plow turned a little and ran across the face of the bluff. That was when Alvin became vaguely aware of the voices of Mike and Abe and Coz, somewhere in the distance, whooping and hollering like little boys. But there was no waiting for them to catch up. For the plow was zeroing in on its destination and speeding up as it grew closer.

Closer to a stony outcropping some twenty yards back from the front of the bluff, a spot where no trees grew because the stone continued under the meadow, leaving too little soil for any tree to root deep enough to withstand a storm.

They headed straight for the bare rock in the middle of the clearing, and Alvin was not altogether surprised when the plow cut right through the stone without so much as a stutter. It cut a furrow into the rock just as it had with the soil, only where the soil behind the plow had been loose and warm, the upturned stone hardened in place, like a sculpture of a furrow.

And when the plow got to a spot where a puddle of water had formed in a depression in the stone, it went straight to the middle of the puddle and stopped.

The water drained down the furrow the plow had made. A thin stream of pure water being guided by the stone furrow, and then the furrow in the soil, to the edge of the bluff and along it down to the meadow where Verily had made the handles.

The plow did not move.

Alvin and Verily took their hands from the handles.

The music faded.

"I think we're done here," said Alvin.

"What is it we did?" said Verily.

"We found the spot for the Crystal City," said Alvin.

"Is that what we've been looking for?" asked Verily.

"I think it's what this plow has been looking for since it was first made."

Alvin knelt beside the plow that he had carried for so long. All these years of toting it, and now its work was done, and wild and joyful as the trip up the hill was, it hadn't taken long. Just a few minutes. But when Alvin reached out and touched a finger to the golden face of the plow, the thing quivered, and the handle came loose and fell away. Fell to the ground.

Verily picked it up. "Still alive," he said.

"But no longer part of the plow."

The music was gone, too. The greensong still lingered, as it always did in Alvin's mind. But the music of machinery was completely still.

Alvin tugged on the plow and it slid easily out of the stone. He put it back in the poke. It still quivered with life, no more nor less than it always had. As if it had no memory of what it had just done.

They all drank from the spring that now welled up from the end of the furrow. The water was sweet and clean. "We could keg this up and sell it for wine," said Abe, "and nobody'd say we cheated them."

"But we won't," said Verily.

Abe gave him an I'm-not-an-idiot look. "So you reckon this plow of yours has picked this spot for your city."

"Might be," said Alvin. "If we can figure out who owns the land and figure out a way to buy it."

"Well, you're in luck," said Abe. "It's why I brought you here. This is part of what the Noisy River government calls River County. It's the wild land along the Mizzippy between Moline and Cairo. There's an old law from territory days that offers to make a county out of any part of River County that can prove it has two thousand settlers and at least one town of three hundred people."

"A county?" asked Verily.

"A county," said Abe.

"But a county has the right to elect its own judges," said Verily.

"And its own sheriff," said Abe.

"So when somebody comes into Furrowspring County with a warrant from some court in Hio," said Verily, "the Furrowspring County court can vacate the warrant."

"That's how I figured it," said Abe.

"You were really listening when I explained about the law."

"And I remember my old dad trying to farm boggy land along the Hio, and somebody come along and told him all about River County, and how the land was there for the taking if just two thousand folks would join up and go, and Dad said he had a hard enough time farming a swamp, the last thing he needed was fog on top of it."

"If we have our own county," said Alvin, "then we can build a city here, and populate it with black people and French people and anybody else we want to invite, and nobody can stop us."

"Well," said Abe, "it's not that simple."

"You mean there's some law against folks moving in here?"

"There is against runaway slaves," said Abe, "but I think we got that solved, since the same judge can vacate a lot of other orders, and the same sheriff can run any slave-catchers out of town or at least make it real hard to find any former slaves. Hut what I was getting at was, anybody can move in. Not just folks that you invite."

"Well, we invite everybody," said Alvin.

Abe laughed. "Well, shoot, word gets out about this golden plow that cut right through stone and brought water out of the rock like Moses, and your six thousand won't be but a drop in the bucket for all the thousands of gold hunters and miracle seekers who'll be tramping all up and down this country. And I reckon they'll be the ones electing the sheriff and the judge and maybe somebody'll get that reward after all."

"I see," said Alvin. "It ain't all that easy after all."

"If I kill you all," said Mike, "won't be nobody to tell about this place."

"Except you," said Alvin.

"Well, I didn't say it was a perfect plan."

"What we need," said Verily, "is a charter from the state. Granting us the boundaries that we want for our county, and then we got to make sure we control all the land so it only gets sold to people we choose. People who are with us and won't cause trouble."

"People who are willing to help build this place as a city of makers," said Alvin.

"I know how to write such a charter," said Verily. "But I don't know that I'll be able to find my way around the state government."

"Well don't look at me," said Abe. "I'm no politician."

"But you're from around here," said Verily. "You don't talk like a highfalutin Englishman. And you have a way of making people like you."

"So do you," said Abe.

"You know everybody hates him," said Coz.

"Well, yes," said Abe, "but only because they know Englishmen are smarter than other folks and they resent it."

"Will you help me get that charter for Furrowspring County?" said Verily.

"I notice you took it upon yourself to name the place," said Abe.

"Do you have a better one?" said Verily.

"I was partial to Lincoln County," said Abe.

"How about Lincoln-Fink County?" suggested Mike.

"Now that's pure vanity," said Abe. "Naming the county after yourself."

"What were you doing?"

"Naming it for the county in England, of course," said Abe.

"Furrowspring it is, then," said Alvin. "The voting is unanimous." He turned to Abe. "But in the meantime, settlers can come freely into River County lands, right? And farm and build wherever they want?"

"That's the law," said Abe. "Don't need permission. As long as you don't step on somebody else's farm, and I don't see any around here."

"You know," said Alvin, "I was wondering why there wasn't at least one or two farmsteads, belonging to the kind of folks who think six houses make a city too big to enjoy living in."

"Maybe because this is land meant for something better than a stumpy little farm," said Verily.

"And who's doing the meaning?" asked Alvin.

"Maybe the stone itself was ambitious," said Verily. "Or maybe it was the water, begging to be let out from under the rock."

"Or the sun that wanted this patch to have no trees to make shade," said Alvin. "Or the wind, needing a little meadow to blow across. Gentlemen, I don't think any of the elements have a plan."

"The plow did," said Verily.

Alvin had to concede the point.

They put the plow handles on the back of one of Verily's steeds and instead of anyone riding they led the three horses back to Springfield together. They moved with the greensong, all of them, and got there in only an hour of steady running, and the horses weren't lathered or winded, and the men weren't hungry or tired, and as for thirsty, they had all drunk from that clear spring, and they were loath to taste any other water, because they knew it would taste like tin or mud or nothing at all, instead of sweet, the way they knew now water ought to be.