“Peggy,” he whispered. He opened his eyes.
There she was, looking just as she would if he had conjured her up, only she was real, he hadn't done no conjuring.
He remembered his manners and stood up. “Miss Larner,” he said. “It was kind of you to come and visit me.”
“Not so much kind as necessary,” she said, her tone businesslike.
Businesslike. He sighed inwardly.
She looked around for a chair.
He picked up the stool that stood inside the cell and impulsively, thoughtlessly handed it right through the bars to her.
He hardly even noticed how he made the bits of iron bar and the strands of woodstuff move apart to let each other through; only when he saw Peggy's wide, wide eyes did he realize that of course she'd never seen anybody pass wood and iron right through each other like that.
“Sorry,” he said. “I've never done that before, I mean without warning or nothing.”
She took the stool. “It was very thoughtful of you,” she said. “To provide me with a stool.”
He sat down on his cot. It creaked under him. If he hadn't toughened up the material, it would have given way under his weight days ago. He was a big man and he used furniture kind of rough; he didn't mind if it complained out loud now and then.
“They're doing pretrial motions in court today, I understand.”
“I watched part of it. Your lawyer is excellent. Verily Cooper?”
“I think he and I ought to be friends,” Alvin said. He watched for her reaction.
She nodded, smiled thinly. “Do you really want me to tell you what I know about the possible courses your friendship might take?”
Alvin sighed. “I do, and I don't, and you know it.”
“I'll tell you that I'm glad he's here. Without him you'd have no chance of getting through this trial.”
“So now I'll win?”
“Winning isn't everything, Alvin.”
“But losing is nothing.”
“If you lost the case but kept your life and your life's work, then losing would be better than winning, and dying for it, don't you think?”
“I'm not on trial for my life!”
“Yes you are,” said Peggy. “Whenever the law gets its hands on you, those who use the law to their own advantage will also turn it against you. Don't put your trust in the laws of men, Alvin. They were designed by strong men to improve their power over weaker ones.”
“That's not fair, Miss Larner,” said Alvin. “Ben Franklin and them others as made the first laws–”
“They meant well. But the reality for you is that whenever you put yourself in jail, Alvin, your life is in grave danger every moment.”
“You came to tell me that? You know I can walk out of here whenever I want.”
“I came so I could tell you when to walk away, if the need comes.”
“I want my name cleared of Makepeace's lies.”
“I also came to help with that,” she said. “I'm going to testify.”
Alvin thought of that night when Goody Guester died, Peggy's mother, though he hadn't known that Miss Larner was really Peggy Guester until she knelt weeping over her mother's ruined body. Right till the moment they heard the first gunshot, he and Peggy had been on the verge of declaring their love for each other and deciding to marry. And then her mother killed the Finder, and the other Finder killed her, and Alvin got there way too late to heal her from the shotgun blast, and all he could do was kill the man that shot her, kill him with his bare hands, and what did that do? What good did that do? What kind of Making was that?
“I don't want you to testify,” he said.
“I wasn't looking forward to it myself,” she said. “I won't do it if it's not needed. But you have to tell Verily Cooper what and who I am, and tell him that when he's all done with his other witnesses, he's to look to me, and if I nod, he's to call me as a witness, no arguments. Do you understand me? I'll know better than either of you whether my testimony is necessary or not.”
Alvin heard what she said and knew he'd go along, but there was a part of him that was seething with anger even though he didn't know why– he'd been longing to see her for more than a year now, and suddenly she was here and all he wanted to do was yell at her.
Well, he didn't yell. But he did speak up in a voice that sounded less than kind. “Is that what you come back for? To tell poor stupid Alvin and his poor stupid lawyer what to do?”
She looked sharp at him. “I met an old friend of yours at the ferry.”
For a moment his heart leapt within him. “Ta-Kumsaw?” he whispered.
“Goodness no,” she said. “He's out west past the Mizzipy for all I know. I was referring to a fellow who once had a tattoo on an unmentionable part of his body, a Mr. Mike Fink.”
Alvin rolled his eyes. “I guess the Unmaker's assembling all my enemies in one place.”
“On the contrary,” said Peggy. “I think he's no enemy. I think he's a friend. He swears he means only to protect you, and I believe him.”
He knew she meant him to take that as proof that the man could be trusted, but he was feeling stubborn and said nothing.
“He came to the Wheelwright ferry in order to be close enough to keep an eye on you. There's a conspiracy to get you extradited to Kenituck under the Fugitive Slave Law.”
“Po Doggly told me he wasn't going to pay no mind to that.”
“Well, Daniel Webster is here precisely to see to it that whether you win or lose here, you get taken to Kenituck to stand trial.”
“I won't go,” said Alvin. “They'd never let me get to trial.”
“No, they never would. That's what Mike Fink came to watch out for.”
“Why is he on my side? I took away his hex of protection. It was a strong one. Near perfect.”
“And he's suffered a few scars and lost an ear since then. But he's also learned compassion. He values the exchange. And you healed his legs. You left him with a fighting chance.”
Alvin thought about that. “Well, you never know, do you. I thought of him as a stone killer.”
“I think that a good person can sometimes do wrong out of ignorance or weakness or wrong thinking, but when hard times come, the goodness wins out after all. And a bad person can often seem good and trustworthy for a long time, but when hard times come, the evil in him gets revealed.”
“So maybe we're just waiting for hard enough times to come in order to find out just how bad I am.”
She smiled thinly. “Modesty is a virtue, but I know you too well to think for a minute you believe you're a bad man.”
“I don't think much about whether I'm good or bad. I think a lot about whether I'm going to be worth a damn or not. Right now I reckon myself to be worth about six bits.”
“Alvin,” she said, “you never used to swear in front of me.”
He felt the rebuke but he rather liked the feeling of annoying her. “It's just the bad in me coming out.”
“You're very angry with me.”
“Yes, well, you know all, you see all.”
“I've been busy, Alvin. You've been doing your life's work, and I've been doing mine.”
“Once upon a time I hoped it might be the same work,” said Alvin.
“It will never be the same work. Though our labors may complement each other. I will never be a Maker. I only see what is there to be seen. While you imagine what might be made, and then make it. Mine is by far the lesser gift, and mostly useless to you.”
“That's the purest nonsense I ever heard.”
“I don't speak nonsense,” she said sharply. “If you don't think my words sound true, then think again until you understand them.”
He imagined her as he used to see her, the severe-looking teacher lady at least ten years older than Peggy really was; she still knew how to use her voice like a rap acrossihe knuckles. “It ain't useless to me to know what's coming in the future.”