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  “That's right, I'm Mike Fink! I'm half bear and half alligator, and my grandma on my mother's side was a tornado. When I clap my hands it scares lightning out of a clear sky. And if I want a bird painted, I'll pee straight up and turn the whole flock yellow!”

  “I tremble in my boots to know you are such a dangerous fellow,” said Jean-Jacques. “I am sure that when you say these things to ladies, their skirts fly up and they fall over on their backs.”

  Mike looked at him for a moment in silence. “If he's making fun of me, Alvin, I got to kill him.”

  “No, he was saying he thinks you make a fine speech,” said Alvin. “Come on, Mike, it's me you're mad at. I'm sorry I didn't get back. I found Arthur Stuart pretty quick, but then we had to stay and help Mr. Audubon paint a goose.”

  “What for?” asked Mike. “Was the old colors peeling off?”

  “No no,” said Jean-Jacques. “I paint on paper. I make a picture of a goose.”

  Before Alvin could explain that the former river rat was making a joke, Mike said, “Thanks for clearing that up for me, you half-witted tick-licking donkey-faced baboon.”

  “Every time you talk I hear how much of English I have yet to learn,” said Jean-Jacques.

  “It wasn't Mr. Audubon's fault, Mike. It was Arthur Stuart who made us stay while he talked a goose into holding still. So Mr. Audubon could paint a picture without having to kill the bird and stuff it first.”

  “Well that's fine with me,” said Mike. “I'm not all that mad about it.”

  “You get more mad that this?” asked Jean-Jacques.

  “None of you ain't seen me mad,” said Mike.

  “I have,” said Alvin.

  “Well, maybe a little bit mad,” said Mike. “When you broke my leg.”

  Jean-Jacques looked at Alvin, seeing him in a new light, if he could break the leg of a man who did indeed seem to be half bear.

  “It's Verily who's about ready to explode,” said Mike.

  “Verily?” asked Alvin, surprised. Verily Cooper hardly ever showed his temper.

  “Yeah, he drummed his fingers on the table at lunch and on the porch he snatched a fly right out of the air and threw it at the house so hard it broke a window.”

  “He did?” asked Arthur Stuart, in awe.

  “I said so, didn't l?” said Mike Fink.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot who was talking,” said Arthur.

  “Arthur and Mr. Audubon are hungry and thirsty,” said Alvin. “You think you can take them in and see if Mistress Louder can get them a slab of bread and some water, at least?”

  “Water?” said Audubon with a painted expression. “Do you Americans not understand that water can make you sick? Wine is healthy. Beer is good for you as long as you don't mind making urine all the time. But water– you will get, what you call it, the piles.”

  “I been drinking water all my life,” said Alvin, “and I don't get no piles.”

  “But this mean you are, how you say…” Then he rattled off a stream of French.

  “Used to it,” said Arthur, translating.

  “Yes! Yoost a twit!”

  “Used. To. It,” Arthur repeated helpfully.

  “English is the stupidest language on Earth. Except for German, and it is not a language, it is a head cold.”

  “You speak French?” Alvin asked Arthur Stuart.

  “No,” said Arthur, as if it were the stupidest idea in the world.

  “Well, you understood Mr. Audubon.”

  “I guessed,” said Arthur. “I don't even talk English all that good.”

  Right, thought Alvin. You can talk English any way you want to. You just like to break the rules and sound like this is your first day out of a deep-woods cabin.

  “Come on in and get something to eat,” said Mike. “And if you won't drink water, Mr. Odd Bone–”

  “Audubon,” Jean-Jacques corrected him.

  “I hope hard cider will do the trick, cause I don't reckon Mistress Louder has anything stronger.”

  “Can I have some hard cider?” asked Arthur Stuart.

  “No, but you can have a cookie,” said Alvin.

  “Hurrah!”

  “If she offers you one,” said Alvin. “And no hinting.”

  “Mistress Louder always knows what a fellow's hungry for,” said Arthur Stuart. “It's her knack.”

  Jean-Jacques laughed. “The food I am hungry for has never been served in this whole continent!”

  “What do you mean?” said Mike Fink. “We got frogs and snails here.”

  “But you have no garlic.”

  “We got onions so strong they make you fart blue,” said Mike. “And I tasted a Red man's peppercorn one time that made me think I was a fish and I woke up in the river.”

  “The food of France does nothing so wonderful. It taste so good that every day God send a saint down to Paris to bring him his dinner, but what does he know?”

  They continued the bragging contest into the kitchen. But Alvin stopped off in the small parlor, where Verily sat comfortably with a book on his lap. He glanced at Alvin and then back down at the book.

  “Oh, you're back,” said Verily. “I assumed you had been killed and Arthur sold into slavery.” He turned a page. “Next time, perhaps.” He said it with no expression at all. Mike was right. Alvin had never seen Verily Cooper so mad.

  “I'm sorry,” Alvin said.

  “All right then,” said Verily, setting down the book and rising to his feet. “Let's go.” Verily walked toward the door.

  “This late in the afternoon?” asked Alvin as he passed.

  Verily stopped and looked at Alvin in feigned surprise. “Afternoon? So late? I had no idea.”

  “I said I'm sorry,” said Alvin.

  “I'm not like Peggy,” said Verily. “I can't see your heartfire off in the distance and assure myself that everything's all right. I just sit here waiting.”

  “I can't believe this,” said Alvin. “You sound like a wife.”

  “I sound angry,” said Verily. “I think it's interesting that in your mind this translates as 'sounding like a wife.'”

  “Now you sound like a lawyer,” said Alvin.

  “But you still sound like someone who thinks his life is so much more important than anyone else's that he can worry and inconvenience other people and all will be made right if he just says 'I'm sorry.'”

  Alvin was stunned. “How can you say that? You know that's not how I feel.”

  “That's not what you say. But it's how you act.”

  “Sure, yes, maybe I do act like that. I'm on this journey trying to find out what this knack I have is for. I was told once that I'm supposed to build a Crystal City only I don't know what it is or how it's made. So I'm flailing around, changing my mind from day to day and week to week because I don't even know where to begin. Some Tennizy town calling itself Crystal City? Or maybe New England, because one of the wisest people I know tells me that's where I'll learn how to create a city?”

  “This is not about whether or not you follow my suggestion,” said Verily.

  “I know what it's about,” said Alvin. “Your knack is as remarkable as mine. On top of that you're an educated man. So why are you wandering all over America, following a half-educated journeyman blacksmith who doesn't know where he's going?”

  “That is precisely the question I've spent this whole day asking.”

  “Well, answer it,” said Alvin. “Because if you want to be the center of your own life, then get on with it. Go away. The longer you follow me around the more you're going to get caught up in my life, and pretty soon all you'll be is the fellow who helped Alvin Smith build him a Crystal City.”

  “That's if you succeed in building it.”

  “Now we're to it, ain't we, Very?” said Alvin. “It's worth it to tag along with me iffen I end up building the damn city. But what if I never figure it out? Then what's your life about?”

  Verily turned his back on Alvin, but he didn't leave the room. He walked
to the window. “Now I see,” he said.

  “See what?”

  “I sat here getting angrier and angrier, and I thought it was because you were delaying our journey and hadn't sent word, and I talked myself into resenting the high-handed way you make decisions, but that was nonsense, because I'm free to leave any time. I'm with you by my own choice, and that includes being patient while you figure things out. So why was I angry?”

  “Being angry isn't always for a reason that makes sense.”

  “Do you imagine you have to tell a lawyer that?” Verily laughed grimly. “I see now that I was really angry because I'm not in control of my own life. I've handed it over to you.”

  “Not to me,” said Alvin.

  “You're the one leading this expedition.”

  “You think just because you're not in charge of your own life right now, I must be in charge?” Alvin sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. “I didn't give myself this knack. I didn't set the Unmaker to trying to kill me a dozen times over while I was growing up. I didn't cause myself to be born where this torch girl could see my future and use my birth caul to save my life every one of those times. I didn't choose to get all caught up with Tenskwa-Tawa, either– I was kidnapped by a bunch of Reds as was in cahoots with Harrison. And when I do make a choice it's liable to blow up in my face. I figured out how to save Arthur from the Finders but what did it cost him? He can't do the voices anymore, not even the true voices of the birds. I'd give anything to put him back to rights, the way he was. And this golden plow, this living plow I found in the fire, that was the worst mistake of all, cause I don't know how to use it or what it's for. But I feel like it's got to make sense. There's got to be some purpose behind it. Some plan. Only I can't see what it's supposed to be. Not the future, not the present, not the past. And Margaret's no help neither, cause she sees too many futures and all she cares about is whether I'm dead, as if there's some future in which I don't die. Verily, you feel like you're getting led around on a string, but at least you can look at the other end of the string and see who's holding it.”

  “You,” said Verily.

  “And you can take it back if you want. You can go your own way. But me, Verily, who's holding my string? And how can I get away?”

  Verily sank to his knees in front of Alvin and put his hands on Alvin's shoulders, then pulled him into an embrace. “You need a friend, and I'm nothing but a nag, Alvin.”

  “You're the friend I need, Verily, as long as you want to be,” said Alvin.

  They held each other for a long moment, both of them rejoicing in the closeness, and both relieved that they hadn't lost it in the flaring of tempers of two strong-willed men.

  “So we stay another night?” asked Verily.

  “If Mistress Louder hasn't changed the sheets,” said Alvin.

  “She hasn't,” said Verily. “She said she wouldn't till she saw you ride off.”

  “So she knew I wouldn't get away today?”

  “She wished,” said Verily. “You know she's set her cap for you.”

  “Don't be silly. She's twenty years older than me at least, and I'm a married man.”

  “Cupid shoots his arrows where they'll cause the most mischief,” said Verily.

  “She mothers me,” said Alvin. “That's all it is.”

  “To you it feels like mothering,” said Verily, “but to her it feels like wifing.”

  “Then let's get out of here tonight.”

  “The harm's already done,” said Verily, “and she's not going to do anything about it, so why not stay tonight in a familiar bed?”

  “And eat familiar food,” said Alvin.

  “Which I smell right now,” said Verily.

  “It's not even suppertime,” said Alvin.

  “How often a woman's love comes out as cookies.”

  “One more night in Mistress Louder's house,” said Alvin.

  “You'll always come back here when you're in Philadelphia,” said Verily.

  “Why, you think I can't turn away from a good meal and a soft bed?”

  “I think you can't bear the thought of breaking her heart.”

  “I thought I was blind to other people's needs and desires.”

  Verily grinned. “I believe that the person who said that was in a bit of a snit. A rational person would never speak of you that way.”

  “So we leave for New England in the morning?” said Alvin.

  “Unless Arthur Stuart has another errand for us.”

  “And Verily Cooper, attorney-at-law, comes along with us?”

  “You never know when you might need someone to talk you out of jail.”

  “No more jails for me,” said Alvin. “Next time somebody locks me up, I'll be out before they turn around.”

  “Don't you think it's ironic that you have no idea what you're supposed to do,” said Verily, “and yet so many people have gone to so much trouble to prevent you from doing it?”

  “Maybe they just don't like my face.”

  “I can appreciate the sentiment,” said Verily, “but I think it's more likely that they fear your power. Once you made that plow, once you set Arthur Stuart free, it became known that such a man as you existed. And evil people naturally assume that you will use that power exactly as they would use it.”

  “And how is that?”

  “The greedy among them think of gold. What vault could keep you out? Since the only thing that keeps them from stealing is that they can't get into the vaults, they can't believe you won't use the power that way. By the same reasoning, the more ambitious of your enemies will imagine you have designs on public power and prestige, and they will try to discredit you in advance by tarring you with whatever charge they think might be believed. The mere fact that you've been tried taints you, even though you were acquitted.”

  “So you're saying they don't have any more idea what I'm spose to do than I have.”

  “I'm saying that your chances of never getting locked up again are remote.”

  “And so that's why you're coming along.”

  “You can't build your Crystal City from inside a jail, Alvin.”

  “Verily Cooper, if you think I'm going to believe that's why you're coming with me, think again, my friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “You're coming along because this is the most exciting thing going on and you don't want to miss any of it.”

  “Exciting? Sitting here all day in the heat while you watch a Frenchman paint?”

  “That's what made you mad,” said Alvin. “You wanted to be there yourself to see Arthur talk them birds into posing.”

  Verily grinned. “Must have been a sight to see.”

  “For the first couple of minutes, maybe.” Alvin yawned.

  “Oh, that's right, your life is so boring,” said Verily.

  “No, I was just thinking that you would have gotten a lot bigger kick out of the way we broke into the taxidermist's shop and set free a bird that wasn't quite dead.”

  Verily paced around the room, orating. “That's it! Right there! This is intolerable! This is what makes me so angry! Leaving me out of everything fun! This is why you are the most irritating friend a man could have!”

  “But Verily, I didn't know when I left the house that anything like that was going to happen.”

  “That's exactly my point,” said Verily. “You don't know what's going to happen, and given what's happened to you your whole life, it is unreasonable– indeed it is unconscionable– for you to presume that any task you set out on will proceed without dangerous and fascinating consequences!”

  “So what's your solution?”

  Verily knelt before him and rested his hands on Alvin's knees. Nose to nose he said, “Always take me with you, dammit!”

  “Even when I have to whip it out and pee into a bush?”

  “If I allow any exceptions, then sure as you're born, there'll be a talking badger in the bush who'll clamp his jaws on your pisser and won't let go till you give him
the secret of the universe.”

  “Well, hell, Verily, if that ever happens I'll just have to pee sitting down for the rest of my life, cause I don't know the secret of the universe.”

  “And that's why you've got to keep me with you.”

  “Why, do you know the secret?”

  “No, but I can strangle the badger till he lets you go.”

  “Badgers got powerful claws, Verily. Your legs'd be in shreds in ten seconds, you are such a greenhorn.”

  “There is no badger, Alvin! This was a hypothetical situation, deliberately exaggerated for rhetorical effect.”

  “You're spitting right in my face, Very.”

  “I am with you through it all, Alvin. That's what I'm saying.”

  “I know, Verily Cooper. I'm counting on you.”

  Chapter 4 – Stirred-Up

  In the cheap boardinghouse where Calvin and Honor‚ were staying, the kitchen was in the back garden. This was fine with them. Arriving home from a night of carousing, they wanted something to eat but didn't want to call the landlady's attention to their late arrival. This was Camelot, after all, in which men were expected to drink, but only with absolute decorum, and never in a way that would discommode polite ladies.

  Most of the food was in the locked pantry inside the house, on the ground floor where the slaves lived. No need to wake them up. The kitchen shed had a little food in it. There was a pot of cheap cooking molasses, some rancid butter, and leftover chickpeas stuck to the pot they had been cooked in. Honor‚ de Balzac looked at the mess with distaste. But Calvin just grinned at him.

  «You're too finicky, Monsieur Haute Soci‚t‚,» said Calvin. «This is all we need for a good batch of stirred-up.»

  “A word that I thank God I am not familiar with.”

  “It's called stirred-up because you stir it up.” In moments Calvin had the stove hot and rancid butter melting in the frying pan. He ladled in some molasses and scraped chickpeas out of the pot, adding them to the mess. Then he stiffed.

  “See?” he said. “I'm stirring.”

  «You are stirring side-to-side,» said Honor‚. «And the mixture is going steadily down in quality. The one thing you are not doing is stirring up.»