"What's wrong?" Kuttner said.
"The books said Nantucket was covered with scrub and thicket, with a few trees here and there, and lots of those houses like back on the Cape," he said.
"Well?"
"It isn't. That's forest there, dense forest. Oak, I think. Maybe hickory, and some pine, but lots of oak."
"That could have grown up since."
The three Villains looked at him; surely nobody could be that ignorant?
"Not in twenty-two years it couldn't," Ingolf said. "And it's sandy there, and there's the salt wind. That's old forest. Not very tall, yeah, but it's old. Take a look."
He handed over the binoculars reluctantly and kept a hand ready to grab; as far as he knew, Kuttner had never been afloat on anything but the Mississippi before this trip.
The smaller man's lips went tight. "We must land," he said, but it was as if he had to force himself to say it.
"Yeah," Ingolf said, equally unhappily. "It's getting too close to dark to head back."
"I do not know," Kaur said. Ingolf looked at her in surprise, and she went on: "It is as if something tells me, Go away."
She shivered. "Perhaps this place is cursed."
Her brother nodded. Ingolf was surprised; usually the two of them had the steadiest nerves of anyone in the company-sometimes he suspected they really didn't care much if they lived or died.
"We don't have a choice. Let's go for it."
An opening in the straight line of the coast showed. It wasn't where the maps said it should be, but it did break the surf bound ramparts.
"And see that?" he said, pointing to a faint trickle of smoke rising there. "That means men. We'd better be cautious."
The three Villains kept the boat's head into the wind as they all put on their fighting gear; the choppy up-and down motion made it awkward, but they managed. Ingolf and the others wolfed down rabbit cooked that morning and some biscuit, grimacing at the sawdust taste of the thrice baked bread. It hadn't been very warm out on the water and it was cooling now, enough that the padding and armor didn't make you sweat much. Kuttner wore his usual odd cuirass of overlapping plates of leather boiled in wax, with metal buckles and trim, its color a russet brown contrast to the oiled gray of the others' mail shirts; his helmet was round-topped, with a spike in the center of its dome and hinged cheek guards.
Ingolf settled his shete over his shoulder, made sure that his bow was protected in its waterproof oiled can vas case by his feet-moisture could play hell with the laminations of a horn and sinew recurve-and then turned the boat into the sheltered waters.
Those were shallow; the keel gave a nasty tick that made the rigging groan and everyone lurch as they crossed in from the sea.
"What was that, Captain?" Singh said, pointing west.
"I didn't see anything," Ingolf answered, concentrat ing on avoiding the green patches as he wended his way towards the shore.
"I saw a flash of light to the west, farther up this coast. Like sun on glass, I thought."
Kaur nodded. Ingolf sighed: "There weren't supposed to be any tall glass buildings here, either. We'll see."
Ingolf had been right; the land around the low spot was mostly forest where it wasn't reed-rustling salt marsh. The trees weren't very tall, forty or fifty feet at most, but the trunks were thick and gnarled, with a dense un derstory of bushes. He recognized white and black oaks, chestnut, beech, maple, pine and hickory; the broadleaf trees predominated, lush in their summer foliage, and there were a lot of dead elms. The smell reached him, strong even compared to the sea salt and the marshes, earthy and wild, familiar from the wooded hills of home and yet a little strange.
Compared to their surroundings, the habitations looked small. Six boats were drawn up, wooden twenty footers; he got the binoculars out and looked. They were open undecked craft made of planks that looked hand sawn, with oarlocks and unstepped masts and furled gaff sails. Behind them was a little hamlet of six long rect angular houses, built low with a mud-and stick chimney coming out of the shingle roofs and earth heaped up against the sides. The chimneys were idle, and the smoke came from a central open hearth in a cleared space.
He switched the view; there were fish drying racks with the catch on them, and more fires-very low smol dering ones, giving off a dense haze that clung to the ground.
That must be to smoke 'em, he thought.
Ten or twelve acres around the hamlet were planted, amid haggled-off stumps that showed how the land had been cleared. Lush growth hid the soil; there were corn stalks wound with beans, pumpkin vines, tomatoes, the tops of potatoes, turnips and more. A buzzing midden a thousand yards away looked to be mostly oyster-shell; when the wind backed and shifted they got a powerful whiff from it. Otherwise the community seemed pretty tidy; there was even a paddock fenced with split rails, though no stock in it he could see.
"I don't think this bunch are wild men," he said. "Not the usual kind at least. How many do you think, Singh?"
"Forty. Sixty if they pack close in those houses," Singh said. "Perhaps twenty fighting men at most, counting boys."
His sister gave him a look, and he cleared his throat and went on: "And perhaps some strong women. That would be as many as could row those boats, as well. You are right, Captain. That is not a wild-man den. Those are people."
Ingolf nodded. "Doesn't mean they're friendly people, necessarily."
He focused on the edge of the woods. "Looks to me like they cleared out when they saw us coming in, but they're watching from there."
Decision firmed. "We'll go in, but cautious. Get one of the anchors and some line."
Two hundred yards from shore they dropped it; it splashed in and sank away to the bottom twenty feet below, and he could see the puff of sand as it struck through the clear water. Then they jerked the heavy rope to see that the flukes had set, and paid out line as they sculled the sailboat closer to shore. He halted them when the bow just touched bottom; that way they could snatch themselves out fast if they had to, pulling up the line. They dropped another anchor and secured it with a slipknot; he took a deep breath.
"Let's go."
The water was cold on his skin as he jumped in and waded ashore, filling his boots. The long shadows of twi light went ahead of them. The others followed, holding their bows above their heads to keep the wet off; then the Sikhs went on first while Kuttner and he covered them as they looked in each of the long huts in turn.
When they came back Singh handed him a leather pouch. The deerskin was well tanned, butter-supple, and worked with a design of porcupine quills and shell beads, with bits of plastic and old glass added.
"That's good tanning," he said, sniffing at it; the rich mellow scent of leather was strong, along with smoke and some herb it had held once. "Brain and bark, I think."
Singh nodded. "There are three or four families in each of the houses, Captain, from the bedrolls. The tools are mostly from before the Change, but look at this."
It was a hoe, with a skillfully shaped handle; the head was a large shell, probably adequate in this light sandy soil.
"Right." Another deep breath. "Let's talk to them."
He walked beyond the buildings. They all held up open hands, yelling about their peaceableness and wav ing come on. Eventually people did, moving out of the thick brush along the forest edge with a skill that made him blink. A dozen men in hide breechclouts led, aged from early teens to their forties; their hair was shaved on either side of the head and gathered up into a standing roach, with a pigtail behind, and they held light javelins settled in the groove of a yard-long throwing stick ending in a hook. They had steel knives, too, and hatchets.