Alvin didn't really know that much about the Unmaker, but with years in which to speculate and reason about it, he had come to a few conclusions. He didn't really think of the Unmaker as a person anymore, though sometimes he still called it “him” in his own thoughts. Alvin had always seen the Unmaker as a shimmering of air, as something that retreated toward his peripheral vision; he believed now that this was the true nature of the Unmaker. As long as a person was engaged in Making, the Unmaker was held at bay; and, in fact, most people weren't particularly attractive to it. It was drawn only to the most extraordinary of Makers– and the most prideful destroyers (or destructively proud; Alvin wasn't sure if it made a difference). It was drawn to Alvin in the effort to undo him and all his works. It was drawn to others, though, like, Philadelphia Thrower and, apparently, Vilate Franker, because they provided the hands, the lips, the eyes that would allow the Unmaker to do its work.
What Alvin guessed, but could not know, was that the people to whom the Unmaker appeared most clearly had a kind of power over it. That the Unmaker, having been drawn into relations with them, could not suddenly free itself. Instead, it acted out the role that its human ally had prepared for it. Reverend Thrower needed an angelic visitor that was ripe with wrath– so that was what the Unmaker became for him. Vilate needed something else. But the Unmaker could not withhold itself from her. It could not sense that there was danger in being exposed, unless Vilate sensed that danger herself. And since Vilate was unable to be rational enough to know there even was a salamander-s– omething Alvin had learned from Arthur Stuart's report– there was a good chance that the Unmaker could be led to expose itself to the whole courtroom, as long as Alvin worked carefully and took Vilate by surprise.
So he watched as the bailiff finally took the calm– well, calmer, anyway– salamander from the collar of his shirt, whither it had fled, and set it gently on the table. Gradually Alvin withdrew his doodlebug from the creature, so that the Unmaker could come back into possession of it. Would it come?
Would it speak again to Vilate, as Alvin hoped?
It did. It would.
The column of sound arose again.
Everyone could see the salamander's mouth opening and closing, but of course they heard nothing and so it looked like the random movements of an animal.
“Do you see the salamander?” asked Verily.
Vilate looked quizzical. “I don't understand the question.”
“On this table in front of you. Do you see the salamander?”
Vilate smiled wanly. “I think you're trying to play with me now, Mr. Cooper.”
A whisper arose in the courtroom.
“What I'm trying to do,” said Verily, “is determine just how reliable an observer you are.”
Daniel Webster spoke up. “Your Honor, how do we know there isn't some trick going on that the defense is playing? We already know that the defendant has remarkable hidden powers.”
“Have patience, Mr. Webster,” said the judge. “Time enough for rebuttal on redirect.”
In the meantime, Alvin had been playing with the double column of sound coming from the salamander and leading straight to Vilate. He tried to find some way to bend it, but of course could not, since sound must travel in a straight line– or at least to bend it was beyond Alvin's power and knowledge.
What he could do, though, was set up a counterturbulence right at the source of one of the columns of sound, leaving the other to be perfectly audible, since there would be no interference from the column Alvin had blocked. The sound would still be faint, however; Alvin had no way of knowing whether it could be heard well enough for people to understand it. Only one way to find out.
Besides, this might be the new thing he had to Make in order to get past the dark place in his heartfire where Peggy couldn't see.
He blocked one of the columns of sound.
Verily was saying, “Miss Franker, since everyone in the court but you is able to see this salamander–”
Suddenly, a voice from an unexpected source became audible, apparently in midsentence. Verily fell silent and listened.
It was a woman's voice, cheery and encouraging. “You just sit tight, Vilate, this English buffoon is no match for you. You don't have to tell him a single thing unless you want to. That Alvin Smith had his chance to be your friend, and he turned you down, so now you'll show him a thing or two about a woman scorned. He had no idea of your cleverness, you sly thing.”
“Who is that!” demanded the judge.
Vilate looked at him, registering nothing more than faint puzzlement. “Are you asking me?” she said.
“I am!” the judge replied.
“But I don't understand. Who is what?”
The woman's voice said, “Something's wrong but you just stay calm, don't admit a thing. Blame it on Alvin, whatever it is.”
Vilate took a deep breath. “Is Alvin casting some kind of spell that affects everyone but me?” she asked.
The judge answered sharply. “Someone just said, 'Blame it on Alvin, whatever it is.' Who was it that said that?”
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” cried the woman's voice– which was obviously coming from the salamander's mouth. “Ah! How could he hear me? I talk only to you! I'm your best friend, Vilate, nobody else's! They're trying to trick you! Don't admit a thing!”
“I… don't know what you mean,” said Vilate. “I don't know what you're hearing.”
“The woman who just said, 'Don't admit a thing,'” said Verily. “Who is that? Who is this woman who says she's your best friend and no one else's?”
“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” cried the salamander.
“My best friend?” asked Vilate. Suddenly her face was a mask of terror– except for her mouth, which still wore a pretty grin. Sweat beaded on her forehead. On impulse, Verily strode to her and took hold of her shawl. “Please, Miss Franker, you seem overwarm. Let me hold your shawl for you.”
Vilate was so confused she didn't realize what he was doing until it was done. The moment the shawl came from her shoulders, the smile on her mouth disappeared. In fact, the face that everyone knew so well was gone, replaced by the face of a middle-aged woman, somewhit wrinkled and sunburnt; and most remarkable of all, her mouth was wide open and inside it, the upper plate of her false teeth were clicking up and down, as if she were raising and lowering it with her tongue.
The buzz in the courtroom became a roar.
“Verily, dammit,” said Alvin. “I told you not to–”
“Sorry,” said Verily. “I see you need that shawl, Miss Franker.” Quickly he replaced it.
Aware now of what he had done to her, she snatched the shawl close to her. The clicking false teeth were imme diately replaced by the same lovely smile she had worn before, and her face was again thin and young.
“I believe we have some idea of the reliability of this witness,” said Verily.
The salamander cried out, “They're winning, you foolish ninny! They trapped you! They tricked you, you silly twit!”
Vilate's face lost its composure. She looked frightened. “How can you talk like that to me,” she whispered.
Vilate wasn't the only one who looked frightened. The judge himself had shrunk back into the far corner of his space behind the bench. Marty Laws was sitting on the back of his chair, his shoes on the seat.
“To whom are you speaking?” asked the judge.
Vilate turned her face away from judge and salamander both. “My friend,” she said. “My best friend, I thought.” Then she turned to the judge. “All these years, no one else has ever heard her voice. But you hear her now, don't you?”
“I do,” said the judge.
“You're telling them too much!” cried the salamander. Was its voice changing?