Singer from the Sea (34 page)

Finally, he went back inside and wrote a note to Zebulon saying that he was going to look for valuables in the farther stacks away west—the opposite direction from where the girl was hidden—not to worry if he didn’t return that night.

After which he went back the way he had come, stopping at intervals to listen for sound. When he came to less-traveled ways, he followed his own tracks into the same dead end where he had parked earlier. He put the mesh inside his shirt and went up the tottery stack again, and over the top. The new barrier was much higher than it had been, and if he had come upon it from the front, it would have effectively stopped his looking farther. Now, however, Zebulon was gone, along with his machine, so Jeorfy climbed down into the blind alley where the girl lay.

“Come girl,” he said roughly, shaking her. “That old dog has you buried like a bone, and he’ll eat you for breakfast if we let him.”

“Who. Oh, Jeorfy! How did you find me?”

“More or less by accident, Henrietta or Imogene—though I’m sure those aren’t your real names—but discover you I did. Here’s your hands free; now rub them to life while I untie the rest of you. Damnation. Have to cut it. I won’t leave it here, either. Let him wonder, the old mule—stubborn lazy, mule that’s what he is. Let him wonder where you are, where the ropes went. Come now, we have to climb over, not to leave tracks. Take what you can carry, I’ll bring the rest.”

He stopped as they went up the side, shoveling dust from hidden areas into the mesh with his hands, sprinkling it over their tracks, again and again until they reached the top, where he looked down to be sure he had obscured any evidence of their climb. They crossed the pile and went down the other side. At the vehicle, he said, “Did he feed you?”

She shook her head, saying shamefacedly, “And there’s no toilet in there. I’m all …”

He flushed, saying indignantly, “It’s all right, girl. We’ll stop a little way along and you can change your clothes. Just now, we need to get well away from here.”

He took the cart out of the blind alley, winding among the stacks and coming at last to a much-traveled intersection where one more set of tracks would not betray them. He drove slowly, listening for any sound.

“Where is he?” whispered Genevieve.

“He hasn’t worked that hard in years,” murmured Jeorfy. “My guess is, he’s asleep. Probably back at the dwelling.”

They came to one of the way-stations Zeb had built and Jeorfy filled water bottles while Genevieve washed herself and her clothing, wringing it out and bundling it up to dry at some later time. They ate a quick bite, but took no more time than needed. Now Jeorfy headed for the corner of the caverns he had already selected, swerving again and again onto arteries less and less traveled, sometimes circling briefly, though always returning to the direction he had predetermined.

They came upon a key station and stopped once more while Jeorfy tapped away for an hour or more. Genevieve yawned on the cart and tried to stay awake, though she
couldn’t give herself any good reason for doing so. The dust became thinner and less disturbed the farther they came, the lighting gloomier, the vault lower until at last they reached an aisle leading into darkness that bore no evidence of travel at all. After circling here and there, leaving tracks in all directions, Jeorfy pulled into the way and climbed the nearest pile to tumble an avalanche of cartons behind them, a barrier that looked accidental. Now theirs were the only tracks left behind them.

“Do you know where we are?” she begged.

“More or less. I brought the map of the caverns with us. I also erased all the other maps, which means Zebulon doesn’t have one. He can find his way around the places he’s familiar with, but I don’t think he’s ever explored the rest of it. This tunnel leads out, at least on the map it does. If all goes well, you’ll be near the Tail of Merdune in time to catch your friend.”

“How did you know Zebulon was holding me like that?” Genevieve asked. “He seemed almost crazy. Did you know he killed the other man that was down here with him?”

“I heard him say so,” said Jeorfy.

“You’re not talking in rhymes anymore.”

“That was when life was uninteresting,” he said with a sharp laugh. “When life is really interesting, trifling amusements can be dispensed with. That’s Zeb’s trouble. He can’t get interested in anything, not really. He’s gone crazy, I think, from being down here so long. Well, as anyone would! Life here had no purpose! Somebody likes the idea of having this stuff. Somebody cared enough to have made or equipped this place to put it. But nobody cares enough to see that it’s done properly! The Lord Paramount sits up there, buying all kinds of things for centuries, piling it up for centuries, and he doesn’t even know what he’s got, much less use it for anything.”

“That’s true,” murmured Genevieve. She stretched, moaning a little at the stiffness in her back. “When we get out, are you coming back here, Jeorfy?”

“There’s a fortune here, for the right man. Those army machines are worth a king’s ransom. They can be programmed to fight any foe one has in mind! And the animals!
Ah, I’d love to set them loose. More important, there’s a way here to find things out. At that last key station, I tried an idea I had about getting through the block they put in the archives, and it worked. I didn’t take time to use it much, but now that I know it works, I’ll be back to find things out.”

“Like what?”

“Like what coin the Lord Paramount uses to buy all this stuff. And why some of the worlds His Majesty used to buy from aren’t there anymore. And what’s going on, out there, on other worlds. I get tired of Haven, don’t you?”

“I haven’t had a chance to get tired of it yet,” she said. “I’ve hardly seen any of it.”

“It’s frozen, Haven. I know it’s supposed to be tranquil, but by deepsea, girl, it’s more like moribund, soulless!”

She gave him a long, level look, somewhat troubled. “Jeorfy, when you say that word, soulless, what do you mean?”

“I mean this place has no soul to it. No … change. No growth. In nature, nothing stays the same, but here in Haven, it’s like we’re frozen in time.”

She frowned. “Are you religious, Jeorfy?”

“Well, as we’re nigh on required to be, yes.”

“Do you think you have a soul?”

“The churchmen say so, don’t they, though I’ve never figured out quite what it’s supposed to be.”

“I have a little book, written by Stephanie, you know Stephanie? The Dark Queen.”

“I’ve seen the name in the archives. She was the second wife of the Lord Paramount before Marwell. She bore him so many daughters he threatened to do away with her if she didn’t produce a son.”

Genevieve shifted on the hard seat, making herself more comfortable. “Stephanie said each living world has a soul that includes all the creatures in it. And if we kill all the other creatures, you know, like they did on Old Earth, then the spirit departs.”

“It dies?”

“No, it goes away. Somewhere else. And once that
happens, the world has no soul. Do you think that could be true?”

He nodded to himself, thinking. “Well, if everything on a world is tied together, if each thing is part of something else and you can’t take it away without changing the other thing, then
if
there are souls, it stands to reason the souls would apply to the whole rather than to the part. Wouldn’t it?”

She nodded, slowly. “That’s what I thought. Partly because of the way I feel sometimes, looking at a sunset or during a storm of rain when the trees move and sigh, and I get this feeling, this kind of ‘wholeness’ feeling, as though I was feeling the whole world moving in me. I don’t get that feeling in cities, or just from other people. So, it could be, you know, that the world has a soul and we’re part of that, and when we’re right with it, we can feel part of it, too …”

“Besides,” said Jeorfy, “all of us humans are pretty much alike, aren’t we, so if we all had souls, our souls would be very much alike. You read old, old books, and the people in them are just like the people now. Same emotions, same hopes and fears. Same sins. Same virtues. But worlds … now worlds are unique and they’re always changing.”

“Right. And then there’s what’s happening to Chamis … and Ares.”

“What about Chamis and Ares?”

“Chamis was one of those worlds where the settlers killed off all the native life right away, and it was one of the first worlds that Marwell bought from. But, lately it doesn’t have anything to sell and the population is dropping like a stone. And Ares is another one they pretty much stripped when they settled. Within a few centuries, it was mostly bare. And now it’s losing so much population that they called in experts from other worlds to try and find out why, but no one knows why. If Stephanie was right, the world spirit probably left both places.”

Jeorfy stared at her. “Did you know,
our
population is decreasing?”

Genevieve blinked slowly at him. “Decreasing? I suppose
it goes up and down a little, all the time. It’s supposed to, isn’t it?”

“It’s supposed to, yes. But it doesn’t. It went up when we first settled. Then it reached the plateau at about a million three, just as everyone expected, and it was more or less flat for a long time. The last several hundred years, though, it’s gone down. At first just a little. Lately, more.”

“How much down is it?”

“About ten percent.”

“Is that a lot?”

“Of course it’s a lot, because the rate of decline is increasing. Say it took ten years to lose ten percent, another two years we’ll have lost another ten percent.”

“Maybe it’s just that people are moving around. They’re coming down from the mountains to live by the rivers, I know that.”

“They’re coming down from the mountains because there are too few of them left up there to handle things. Living on the mountains is labor intensive. It takes a lot of hands.”

Now Genevieve sat up. “Jeorfy, are you sure?”

“That’s what the files say. They keep track of population. The Tribunal’s got a system of registering births and deaths that tells them how many people there are. Each little area registers its own births and deaths, and then the books come into the archives and are entered there. It’s slow, but it’s accurate.”

“Ten percent,” she mused. “How strange. Is it in one place? Or everywhere? Is it fewer babies? Or fewer old people?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t have time to look at the details, my dear. But I shall, when I return.”

By this time they had come far beyond the storage areas, and the way was too narrow for anything but the level path on which they rode, a sinuously endless lane that was always the same at the edge of their lights, always the same behind them: pale gray dust and dark gray stone. The dust-fall was much lighter, a veil instead of a carpet. Genevieve drove while Jeorfy rested, and vice versa. Once they stopped so both could sleep, turning off the lights to save the fuel and curling up in their blankets on the cart
itself, for fear of losing it in the dark. Several times, Jeorfy changed the fuel cell on the little cart.

“Zeb didn’t even know they could be changed,” Jeorfy said, shaking his head. “The designer didn’t make the job simple, and Zeb’s no mechanic. He won’t have any idea we could get this far. What I’m hoping is that he thinks I fell in the chasm and you escaped. That’d be best. And I pray there’s enough fuel to take us to the end. If the maps are right, there should be, just.”

They saw light filtering in among the rocks above them shortly before the fuel ran out. Trudging the last few paces of the tunnel, they made a left turn, and another, to see a bright vertical sût between two rock columns, a narrow eye of light through which they pushed into the outside world after feeding their luggage out piece by piece. Behind them the sun rose over the mountains of Merdune. Below them a narrow trail ran along the edge of the forest.

“We’re facing west,” said Jeorfy, “looking back at the way we’ve come. We’re right into the edge of the Merdune forest. That trail ahead of us runs north and south along the forest edge, and if the map is right, there should be two trails through the mountains down to the shore of Merdune, one north of us and one south of us, which is your shorter route. I’m afraid your friend will be ahead of you, but I packed plenty of food and water to get you to Midling Wells. If you don’t meet up before, you’ll meet him where he planned.”

He assembled their packs, carefully balancing the one Genevieve was to carry. He patted her shoulder, smiling. “You go south, and I’ll go north. I’ll know the man by name or voice, and if I find he has delayed, awaiting you, I’ll send him after his daughter Imogene. Go with heaven.”

“What are you going to do, Jeorfy? I don’t like leaving you like this.”

“Well, I created myself a new identity at that key station,” he said. “And now my new self is going to recruit some helpers. And when I’ve got a few men and materials together, I’m going back into the caverns!”

“Who is the new man you are?”

“Jeorfy Bliggard, from Bliggen.”

“And where will you be recruiting?”

“Somewhere. Haven’t decided yet. Somewhere that people aren’t totally happy with the way things are. Dania, maybe. I hear there’s lots of malcontents in Dania.”

“But if
I
need you, Jeorfy …”

“Ah, well, if you need me, lady, just use the archive machine. Leave a message for someone named Jeorfy Bliggard and sign it Imogene. Wherever I am, I won’t be far from the machines.”

He turned away from her, trudging northward and looking only once over his shoulder. Genevieve put the pack on her back, already arranged with the light saddle on top, and started away down the trail to the south. An hour later, she heard horses approaching from that direction and stumbled into the trees to hide from whoever it might be. Between two mossy boles she saw a disconsolate rider with his chin on his chest and a spare horse trailing behind.

Weary and distracted, she let him go on by, unthinking. Only as he retreated from her did she realize who it was and burst from the trees, crying, “Garth! Papa! It’s Imogene.”