Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road

She went down to the kitchen and treated herself to a few slices of ham (brought in exclusively for their use and kept on ice), and took a cup of wine back to her room where she scrubbed down with scented soap.

As she toweled off, Quait knocked at the door. ‘We’re invited to have dinner with the Judge tonight,” he said. “At eight.”

Within the hour, servants arrived and measured Chaka, promising to return with fresh clothing before the appointed time.

Sak rode in to see how they were doing, and to offer to take them on a tour of the fort. They were free to wander about-as they liked, he explained, although they should not enter the manor without invitation.

“How’s Lottie?” asked Chaka. The victim, they now knew, had been her grandfather.

“As well as can be expected,” he said. “Her brother’s with her.” He shrugged. “It’s a tough world.”

He’d brought fresh mounts. Quait swung into a saddle, patted the animal’s neck. Chaka looked around. Two people were working on a wagon, and a couple more could be seen in a smith’s shop at the foot of the palisade. Otherwise, the fort looked empty.

“We’re a ranger force,” Sak explained. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen much anymore. But unfortunately the bastards still show up once in a while.” He shrugged. “We work with what we have. When we’re not working, we’re farming. Or mining. Or whatever.”

“Mining?” asked Flojian. “What do you mine?”

“Iron, mostly. We take it out of the Roadmaker city.” He pointed north. “And aluminum. And even precious stones.” He shrugged. “On the south side, we’ve got coal.”

They moved casually through the complex. There were four old barracks buildings. “This used to be an army post,” he said. “We don’t really need the military anymore.”

“No more wars?” asked Chaka.

“Not since Brocket! and Cabel signed the Compact. It’s been almost twenty years.”

“Brocket! and Cabel?” asked Quait.

Sak frowned. “The cities,” he said. He shook his head as if his guests all had an extra leg. “You really are from the wilderness, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” said Chaka.

Quait observed that the barracks appeared to be in good condition.

“We still maintain them. There’ve been occasional large-scale raids in the past where we’ve had to bring everybody inside. It’s been a few years since we’ve had to deal with that. And the frontier’s moving west, so we’ll see even less of it. But if it comes again, we’re ready.”

He pointed out the bakery, the servants’ quarters, the stockade, the laundry, the cavalry yard, the officers’ quarters (now used by the rangers who were on duty), and the surgery. “We still call it the surgery, although it’s been converted into our operational headquarters. The real surgery is located in the west wing of the manor.” They toured the wagon masters’ quarters and the mechanics’ shops, both of which were still in use, and the wood yard, the stables, the hay yard, and the cavalry yard. “It looks empty, but the townspeople can defend it if they need to.”

They heard a volley of shots outside the wall.

“That’s our killer,” said Sak.

Chaka grimaced. “That’s fairly quick.”

“We don’t have any repeat offenders. But we took the time to repair his shoulder first. I don’t know why we do that, fix somebody up to shoot him, but the Judge insists on it.”

The waiting room in their quarters was fitted with a waterclock. It was an ingenious device, and Chaka copied a diagram of its mechanism into the journal.

The clock was constructed with upper and lower chambers. Water dripping from the upper chamber raised a float in the lower. The float, which was a tiny canoe, was attached to a notched rod. The rod turned a gear as it rose, and the gear directed a single hand around a clock face. Like other timekeeping equipment of the age, it gave at best an approximation, but that was enough for a people who had necessarily lost touch with the notion of promptness. (The Illyrians had salvaged Roadmaker clocks, knew how they worked, but had not yet mastered the art of building them.)

Shortly before the hand came to rest on the eighth hour, Sak arrived, decked out in a fresh uniform, a white neckerchief, and a white campaign hat. “I understand the Judge is anxious to meet you,” he said.

They walked across the parade ground, around to the front of the manor house, and mounted wooden steps onto the deck. A tall bearded man in a black coat a size too small and a billed cap was coming out as they entered. Sak exchanged greetings with him, and introduced his charges. “Captain Warden,” he said, “of the Columbine.”

Warden bowed to Chaka and shook hands with the others. He was a man of frail appearance, thin, with sallow skin and a curiously passive expression, but he had a grip like a bear trap.

“Where are you from?” he asked, in a voice just loud enough to suggest he was a trifle deaf.

“Illyria,” said Flojian.

He frowned. “Illyria? I thought I knew all the ports on the Inland Sea. But I don’t think I ever heard of Illyria.”

“It’s one of the League cities,” said Flojian, “in the valley of the Mississippi.”

“Oh,” he said. But Chaka caught the tone, and the uncomprehending glance that passed between the captain and their escort. “We must talk about it sometime.” He excused himself, explaining that he had business at the docks.

An attractive young woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, met them at the door. Behind her stood a rindle, decorated with several strings of beads. “Please come in,” she said, smiling a greeting at Sak.

Somewhere in back, children were laughing. “This is Delia,” said Sak. “She manages the Judge’s household.”

Delia showed them into a sitting room and turned up the lamps. She saw everyone comfortably seated, and inquired as to the guests’ preferences in drinks.

Chaka settled for blackberry wine. “It comes down the canal from Brockett,” said Sak. “On the Columbine.”

The windows were open, and a cool breeze blew through

the room. Outside, the insects were loud, there was occasional distant laughter and the sound of a Walloon, played skillfully. Quait smiled with a degree of embarrassment, but Chaka assured him he was good, too. Lightning glimmered in the western sky.

Flojian was surprised to hear that there was traffic on the canal. “If it’s the same one that parallels the road we came in on,” he said, “it doesn’t look possible. It’s blocked.”

“But you were to the west.” The comment, in a woman’s voice, came from behind them. “In that direction, you are quite right.” The speaker came closer to the lamp, and Chaka saw she was of indeterminate age and small stature. Her features were unremarkable: gray eyes flecked with green, a long, narrow nose, thick silver hair, and a bearing that suggested she was accustomed to command. She was holding a glass that might have been brandy.

Sak got to his feet and introduced the guests to Judge Maris Tibalt. “Good to have you at Oriskany,” she said. “I hope your accommodations are adequate.”

“Yes,” gushed Chaka. It had not occurred to her that the Judge might be a woman. “They are very comfortable.”

“Good.” The Judge looked pleased. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Meantime—” She studied the features of each of her guests in turn. “I understand you’ve traveled here from beyond the Inland Sea.”

Quait looked at Sak. “Is that the bodies of water to the west?”

He nodded.

“That’s correct, Judge,” said Flojian.

Chaka saw a frown creeping into Quait’s eyes. No exact locations, it said.

“And you are looking for Haven.”