Pathspace: The Space of Paths (2 page)

The last person out of the coach was an
unknown personage, an old man of middling height who carried a
staff. Aged like oak, older but harder, no sign yet of infirmity.
His eyes were alert and fixed on nothing, but seemed to see
everything. The gray of his beard matched his cloak, nearly
blending into it.

Lester's eyes widened at this last
apparition, for strangers came seldom to Inverness. It was a
stepping stone, a place no one lingered, save the returning locals.
No doubt the old man would orbit the coach and reenter, his legs
duly stretched. It came as some surprise, therefore, when the man
strode straight for the inn as if he meant to stay the night.
Lester's own eyes flicked a glance to Clem about the remaining
baggage, but the other just shook his head. Two of the coach's
occupants elected to remain within, which answered his unspoken
question.

Seeing his assistance was not required,
Lester followed the four into the inn, trying not to look at
Burton, who sat at a table with Nellie. Preacher and the old man
scattered to separate tables of the common room, Jones electing to
be nearer the kitchen and the stranger in the far corner. The old
man leaned his staff in the corner and sat facing the door. From
time to time he glanced at it, as if he were expecting someone to
join him.

Lester trudged into the kitchen. The sun was
still up, and dinner two hours away. But surely they were thirsty
from the road. He saw his mother cutting the carrots, her practiced
hands quick, the knife flashing in the slanted rays from the
window.

“There's a stranger, from the coach,” he
said. “Dressed in gray, with a tall staff for walking. Do you know
him? I've never seen him before.”

He almost missed her sharp intake of breath.
She set down the knife and ducked her head around the corner for a
peek. When she came back into the kitchen her face had closed like
a book. “I've seen him before, but not for a while. A long while.”
She seized a towel and kneaded it, as if her hands were sweaty from
the heat of the day, before picking up the knife again. “Go fetch
ales from the coldbox,” she said. “He'll want a little salt in his,
and don't ask him for money. The usual for the others.”

He stared at her. “Salt in his beer?” He
knew it was a hot day, but you salt the stew, not the drinks. “Why
doesn't he have to pay for his drink?”

“Or his dinner either,” she said. “No time
for questions. Just get the drinks. Maybe if we're lucky he won't
stay for dinner.”

Shaking his head, he stumped down the stairs
to the basement.
What was all that about?
The ancient
glow-tubes still had some life in them. By the dim radiance they
provided he threaded his way between stacks of boxes to where the
old coldbox squatted in the corner.

As always, he wondered how the thing could
be so warm on the outside, and forever cold on the inside. This one
was failing like the glow-tubes. No longer could it freeze water
into ice as he'd been told it had decades before. But still the fog
rolled out over the edge when he lifted the top of it, and the
bottles he lifted from it were almost cold as ice in his hands. He
pulled out six of them and took them back up to the common
room.

His mother had four wooden mugs on a tray
waiting for him when he emerged from the basement. He pulled the
cork from one of the bottles and took it out to Clem while she cut
up a couple of chickens and some potatoes for the stew.

Clem had already climbed back into his seat
when he got outside. Lester handed up the bottle. “Who's the old
man with the staff?” he asked the aging driver.

“Someone you should steer clear of, if you
know what's good for you,” Clem told him, handing him a coin. “But
don't you worry, he won't stay long. Never does.”

Lester frowned. “But you've seen him before,
haven't you?” he pressed.

The driver nodded and picked up his reins.
“Once in a while,” he admitted. “Thanks for the ale. Time for me to
get moving or I'll be late for the next stop.”

Lester stepped back and watched him drive
off before going in to get the tray of drinks for the guests. So
many questions, and no one seemed willing to part with the answers.
Like, why was the coach made of metal, instead of wood like the
houses? Why had the driver's seat been originally enclosed, then
the metal cut away from in front of it? Why were there traces of
yellow paint still peeling from the sides of the old vehicle, and
bits of colored glass on the back near the top and bottom of the
rounded, boxlike shape?

He turned and strode back into the inn to
get back to his chores. In the distance, the back of the coach
dwindled, until SCHOOL BUS could no longer be read.

Here, where flowers grew, she found her
sanctuary. Far from the sounds of soldiers drilling, far from the
noise and scuffle of the clerks, the poses and pretensions of the
supplicants, the murmurs of advisors, the lies and the evasions of
the practiced diplomats, she found her peace. Here, where flowers
grew, where the only buzzing came from bees in search of
nectar.

Aria leaned out to press her nose against
the ancient window, and gazed upon the dreaming city. Did others
gaze? She didn't know. Only the blaze of glow-tubes in their bright
but silent ranks and files ensured the growth of all that she held
dear. The building was sealed, and rain ran off the self-cleaning
glass in perfect sheets that left no streak or smear, spread out in
two dimensions by the
old titanium dioxide
coating.

Something flickered in the corner of
her eye.

She turned and frowned.
One of the tubes was failing as she watched, the brightness
dimming, faltering over a bed of daffodils. It happened, from time
to time. But she wasn't frowning over the dimming glow-tube. The
flowers would survive, even here, locked away from the sun, as she
was. It was what the faltering
implied
that made her
frown.

That…and the fact that she would have
to go tell the Governor.

She sighed, rubbed the dirt of
gardening from her pale hands, and turned to set her feet upon the
inevitable journey. Soft slippers made hardly a sound as she strode
past rows of flowers and herbs. In her mind, she imagined they
turned to watch her go, wishing her well, but of course that was
mere fancy. She was not ignorant, merely lonely.

Gliding past the long-dead elevators,
she entered and descended the corner staircase, passing the floors
of vegetables and beans, until she reached the levels of the upper
offices.

Henry and Edward straightened as they
saw her approach, their bored slouches readjusting to more proper
postures. Mentally, she shook her head. Did they really think she
cared about standing to attention? This far above street level? But
for all they knew she might be in a bad mood. Well, she was getting
there.

“
The Governor's in a meeting,” said Henry.

So? “She'll want to hear
this.”

He knew better than to argue, but he
couldn't avoid a grimace as he opened the door for her. The
Governor did not like interruptions. They all knew that. But they
also knew that Aria was a special case.

The Governor of Rado did not look
pleased with the progress of the meeting. Eyes like black diamonds
glittered angrily above her hawkish nose as she regarded the Lone
Star envoy. “Is that the best you have to offer?” she growled from
behind the marble desk.

The man fidgeting in front of her
swallowed. “Your eminence,” he protested, “I am only a messenger. I
am not empowered to negotiate new treaties. The Okla protrusion was
fairly won in battles long ago. As you know, they agreed –
“

“
But
I
did
not agree. Does Peter really think he can take us this time? Has he
learned
nothing
from the last war?”

The envoy gulped again.
Watching him, Aria was nearly moved to pity. Nearly. He was clearly
new to this. Was sending such a green diplomat to them some kind of
message? Surely they had better trained diplomats. But then, maybe
the ruler of Texas really
did
think he was ready enough for war to make only
token gestures.

“
I am not privy to the thoughts of the Honcho,” he said. “But
I have fulfilled my instructions. Do you have a reply for me to
carry back to him?”

“
I'll think on it,” the Governor said. “Now get out of my
sight.”

As he oozed from the chamber, her eyes
swung around to Aria. “Didn't they tell you I was busy? You know I
don't like to be interrupted in meetings of State
business.”

“
He's run off again,” Aria told her, without
preamble.

Kristana sighed. “I know.
Six hours ago.” She looked down at the map on her desk for a
moment, then up again. “But how do
you
know?”

She exhaled. “The same way I always
know. One of the glow-tubes started to die.” She frowned in
puzzlement. “Why does he do it? Isn't he happy here? Doesn't he
know the work he does for you is important?”

Her mother regarded her. “More
important than keeping your flowers happy. But yes, he knows. Even
so, he'll still always leave from time to time. I thought you knew
that.”

Her face clouded. “I know that he
does. I just don't know why.”

The Governor of Rado leaned back in
her chair. “It's the old dream again,” she said. “You know, of
setting up a school to pass on his knowledge.”

“
But you've told him you'd help with that, many times!” Aria
discovered her hands were clenching into fists, and forced herself
to relax them. Why was the old man so difficult?

“
I know.” Kristana took a sip from her goblet. “When things
settle down. But he gets impatient. He's not getting any younger. I
think sometimes he wonders if I keep telling him that just to
string him along.” She gazed at nothing for a moment. “He knows
he's valuable to us … but maybe, occasionally, he regrets joining
us.” She bit her lip. “Maybe he doesn't need us as much as we need
him.”

She didn't like the way this
conversation was going. “So, are we going to war with Texas again?”
she asked, to change the subject.

“
I wouldn't doubt it for a second,” her mother replied. “There
is a certain inevitability to it. He knows it, and I know
it.”

Now she didn't know if her mother was
talking about Xander again, or the Honcho of Texas. “But why? It
never solves anything. Why do people have to keep
dying?”

Kristana shrugged. “It's like
earthquakes and volcanoes, I suppose. Pressure keeps building up,
and has to be relieved from time to time. Armies have to be
exercised like muscles or they grow weak, inviting invasion.
There's always Deseret to the west, Mexico to the south, and plenty
of others looking to expand. Some have more pasture land than us,
but then again, we have more soldiers than them. You
know.”

Yes, she knew. Her tutors made sure of
it, always grooming her for the succession, an event she hoped
would never come. “I wish we could just conquer them all and make
just one country!” she said. “Then we could stop fighting them all
the time.”

“
Now you sound like your father,” said the
Governor.

“
The General? I wish I'd known him.”

Kristana had been about to
say something but appeared to catch herself just in time. “Ah, yes.
The General.
He
certainly didn't mind fighting.”

Aria's mind turned back to old Xander
again. She couldn't help herself. “What about Xander? Did you send
someone out after him?”

Her mother shrugged. “As always. No
doubt he'll be back soon, whether he finds what he's looking for,
or not. They'll find him. They always do.”

He sat in the corner, in the gathering
gloom that was his life, waiting for the inevitable pursuers. By
now they would be hot on his trail. He would not be waiting long to
hear the weary refrain of the song.

But there were always
possibilities. Even in these times of latter-day saints and devils.
Sometimes he came back empty-handed. Sometimes not. He could not
give up.
Would
not give up. The future was waiting, and it would not wait
forever. It can't end like this. Millennia of striving, then
savagery? No! It cannot end like this. The human race will rise
again. The stars still waited, still beckoned.
I won't let it end like this.

His waiting was rewarded with a cup.
He watched the lad pour beer into it. “Can you bring me a little
salt?”

He could see from the
boy's expression that the request was not entirely unexpected.
There was a shaker on the tray he was carrying.
So someone recognized me.
He
wondered idly who it was. So many little towns, all the same, but
with different people.
I can't let it end
like this.

He shook salt into his palm, then took
one tiny pinch and dropped it in the little bubbles. He wondered
how much time he had.