The water was clear and cold. Chaka knelt on a rock and scooped it into her hands. It tasted good, and in fact, the day tasted good. She still hoped for Raney’s appearance, but a strange thing was happening: She was anxious to be far enough away from Illyria to be certain that he would not come.
“Not having second thoughts, are you?” Silas had come up behind her. He pushed his hands into his jacket and assumed the mien of confident leader. She wondered how he really felt.
“No, Silas,” she said. “No second thoughts. I’m glad we’re finally on our way.”
“Good.” He produced a cup and dipped it into the stream.
“I’d feel better, though, if we had a map.”
“Me too.” He drank deeply and stared thoughtfully at the horizon. “We’ll find our way. Meantime, I’m going to start a journal. We won’t make the same mistake Karik made.” A smile spread across his features. ‘We’re going to create the travel book of the age. Once we get beyond the frontier, we’ll record everything: foliage, wildlife, weather, topography, ruins, you name it. And charts.” A mile ahead, the road crossed planking and entered the swamp. “If there’s another expedition after this, they won’t have to play guessing games.”
“The Great Geographer,” smiled Chaka.
“Yes.” He laughed. “They’ll put my statue in the Imperium, left hand shielding my eyes, right pointing to the horizon.” He demonstrated the pose.
Chaka gave him a thumbs up, in her own style, both hands.
They arrived at the Crooked Man just before sunset. The main building was three stories tall, a massive, rambling structure with turrets, balconies, bay windows, glass-enclosed porches, sloping dormers, and parapets. A marble sundial that also served as a fountain guarded the approach. Grooms took their horses, and a liveried doorman welcomed them into the opulent interior. Chaka admired the thick carpets and shining hardwood floors. Murals depicting hunting scenes covered the walls. Stylish furniture from an earlier age filled the lobby and hallways, and lush red curtains framed the windows.
All of the travelers had stayed there at one time or another. The host of the Crooked Man was a four-hundred-pound giant whose name was Jewel. Jewel’s speech was polished and his manners impeccable. His luxuriant black beard spilled onto a white shirt. His arms were thick as beefhocks. He had great shaggy eyebrows and thick black hair streaked with gray and teeth that looked able to take down a horse. He was capable of ferocious grimaces when dealing with stewards, grooms, and tradesmen. But he was absolutely correct with guests, and called four of the five travelers by name, even though he had not seen some for years. He missed only Avila, apparently thrown into confusion at seeing her in nonclerical dress.
“It’s good to have you back at the Crooked Man,” he said. “I’d heard that a quest was going out, and if we can do anything. please don’t hesitate to ask.” Unfortunately, he explained, the inn was quite busy just now, and they would have to share rooms. He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. Since they had intended doing that anyhow, it wouldn’t. Nevertheless, Flojian contrived to look inconvenienced.
Jewel directed their bags be taken care of, and personally showed them to their quarters, expressing his desire that they enjoy their stay and come again soon to see him. They thanked him and agreed to meet in the dining room at the seventh hour.
The rooms were single compartments; but they were nevertheless spacious and comfortable, almost as grand as Chaka remembered. The curtains had been opened to admit the last of the sunlight.
A low fire heated a pair of water pots in the chamber she would be sharing with Avila. Oil lanterns burned on either side of an enormous bed with large down pillows and a quilt. A freshly scrubbed wooden tub gleamed invitingly near the fireplace, on a raised wood platform designed to draw off excess water.
Two serving boys arrived with buckets of fresh water. Avila gave them coins. “Thank you, Mistress,” said the taller one. “Just ring the bell when you want more.”
Both women were covered with dust from the road, and a bath would be the first order of business. But Chaka shrank from the task. There were no modesty curtains in the room, and the prospect of removing her clothes in the presence of one who had been ordained to Shanta was daunting. She loosened her neckerchief and hesitated, suddenly aware that Avila was watching her. “If you don’t mind,” said Avila, with a hint of amusement, “I’ll claim the privilege of the older and go first.”
There is nothing quite like nudity to strip away titles, pretenses, and reservation. Before twenty minutes had passed, Chaka found herself admitting to her companion what she had not admitted to herself: She felt rejected by Raney, and she was at that moment recognizing that the future she’d thought they would have together lay in ruins.
“You may be fortunate,” Avila said. “If you truly loved him, I don’t think you’d be here at all. So maybe you’ve learned something about yourself.”
“Maybe,” Chaka said. All the same, it hurt.
“Why are you here?” asked Avila. “The cost seems to be higher for you than for anyone else.”
Chaka explained about her brother and Avila listened without comment.
“How about you?”
“It’s a chance to escape,” Avila said. “And the Roadmakers are interesting. If this Haven really exists, I wouldn’t want to miss my chance to see it.”
Chaka was seated in the window, watching the western sky turn purple. “I expect,” she said, “that if we do find it, it’ll be a ruin. Like everything else.” She described the time travel concept in Connecticut Yankee and said how she wished such a thing were possible. “I would love to have seen their cities when they were whole. And to have traveled on their roads before the forest took them. To have seen how the hojjies actually worked.”
“Wagons that needed no horses,” said Avila. “I’m still not sure I believe it.” She stood with one foot on a low stool, scooping hot water out of the tub and pouring it over shoulders and breasts. Suds ran down into the drains. (Illyrians did not sit in bathwater until they were clean, and would in fact have been horrified at the notion of doing so.) “But you’re right: We could learn a lot if there were a way to take one of the highways and use it to travel back a thousand years. Or whatever it is.”
“Maybe in a way,” said Chaka, “that’s exactly what we’re doing.”
After Chaka’s bath, they dressed in clean clothes, strolled downstairs, and swept into the dining room in high spirits. A slab of beef, tended by a cook, turned slowly on a spit over an open flame. There were roughly twenty tables, each illuminated by an oil lamp. About half the tables were occupied by guests who seemed already well into their cups. Their own party had commandeered a corner stall. Quait waved, and all
three men looked their way. Their glances lingered just long enough to bring a rush of satisfaction to Chaka.
Wine and brew were flowing enthusiastically, and the place was filled with laughter and the sizzle of beef. A young man sat on a raised platform in the center of the room, one leg crossed over the other, fingering a guitar.
Quait poured wine for Chaka and Avila and refilled the other cups. They toasted the quest, and then rose, one by one, collected metal plates, and went over to the spit. The cook sliced off a large piece of meat for each, scooped some peas out of a pot, and added two ears of corn dipped in melted butter. Chaka picked up some bread and an apple.
When they’d got back to their table, Jewel entered the dining room, carrying a glass of wine. At his appearance, the musician stopped and the house fell quiet. When he had everyone’s attention, Jewel held the glass high. “This is our finest,” he said. “And tonight I want you to join me in toasting some special guests of the Crooked Man.” He directed everyone’s attention to Chaka and her companions. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have the honor to host a group of very special people this evening. Silas Glote and Flojian Endine are leading a party of explorers who are going to try to find some lost books.” He glanced back at Silas. “Do I have that right, Silas?”