Wanda bustled in behind them and set out a tray with a pot of hot comfrey-chicory so-called coffee and oatmeal cookies rich with walnuts and raisins. Then, a little to Rudi′s surprise, she seated herself near her husband, taking up a half-finished sweater from a basket and setting to work. A white-bibbed black cat took up station beneath her chair, occasionally darting a paw at the skein of wool as it jerked upward to the click of the knitting needles.
″Drink?″ the Sheriff asked. ″We do a good applejack, if I say so myself. Und I do.″
Rudi accepted his with a murmur of thanks. It was a comfortable room, smelling of polish, old tobacco smoke and leather and lit by good alcohol lanterns, with a couple of comely if worn rugs on the floor. A brick fireplace held a pleasant crackle of burning oak. On the mantelpiece above it were two black-bordered photographs: one of a thin hard-faced woman in late middle age, and another of a man who looked enough like the Vogeler brothers to be their father and probably was. Unlike the woman′s it was a pre-Change piece, with sharp edges and bright colors; he wore dark glasses, a khaki shirt and an odd peaked cap, with a metal star on his breast that Rudi recognized.
The master of Readstown stuffed a briar pipe as his guests settled in, and Ingolf did likewise. They grew tobacco here and were proud of the product.
A habit I do not admire,
Rudi thought, coughing a little.
Smoking was rare in the far west, and he wasn′t sorry for it; he′d never used the weed himself, save as an aid to ceremony among folk to whom it was sacred. But it would be tactless to protest a man′s diversions under his own roof, and impious as well. After all, every home was a little world in itself, with its own customs and guardian spirits, whether it was a crofter′s cot or a manor like this.
Instead he sipped at the excellent apple brandy and tried not to feel too bloated. Those had been the best sausages he′d ever eaten, but even an hour of vigorous square dancing and polkas afterwards hadn′t worked most of the feast off.
The others here to talk business were Father Ignatius and Mathilda. Rudi thought the Sheriff had been a little surprised when they′d automatically included her.
And I am somewhat surprised that the Sheriff brought Pierre Walks Quiet in on things right away,
he mused, nodding to the old Indian.
Even if he does manage the Sheriffry′s forests and game, the which is a position of importance and honor.
″They aren′t kidding when they say
Princess
, Ed,″ Ingolf said, with an inclination of his head towards Mathilda. ″Her family runs half the country out there beyond the Rockies—most of what used to be Washington and part of Oregon too. She stands to inherit it. Only child.″
Mathilda nodded with regal courtesy. ″And parts of British Columbia, my l—Sheriff. None of it′s nearly as densely populated as your country here in the Midwest, of course.″
″And Rudi′s relatives run most of the rest, one way or another.″
The older Vogeler nodded. ″I′ve heard a little,″ he said. ″That there was a bunch of King Arthur stuff out there, at least.″
″That would be Rudi,″ Mathilda said; her smile was half rueful and all charming. ″His . . . other . . . name is
Artos
. It′s quite famous, in the west.″
″Yah. News travels so slow these days, und it gets twisted. All sorts of wild stories.″
″And Fred′s the son of the President of Boise.″
″The black kid?″ Ed asked, surprise in his tone.
″Yah, yah. Though his elder brother is running it now. They′re . . . not friends. He′s OK. The brother isn′t.″
Ed′s face twisted a little for an instant, and Ingolf cleared his throat and explained the others, starting with Virginia and the twins. His brother′s eyebrows went up, turning his high forehead into a mass of corrugations.
″You′ve gotten quite a collection together, Mr. Mackenzie,″ he said. ″And you′re all heading east?″ he said.
Rudi nodded. ″To Nantucket itself. Ingolf has been there—″
The Sheriff′s eyes went wide and he stared at his brother with the pipe halfway to his mouth for a full fifteen seconds, before puffing it to a moment′s glow and then trickling smoke out his nose.
″I always thought you were crazy as much as you were brave,″ he said bluntly. ″I knew you′d gotten to the Atlantic, to Boston . . . but
Nantucket
? That′s where the Change started. Remember? Dad was watching TV right then and I was with him. That TV, right there.″
He pointed the stem of the pipe at a glass-fronted box; Rudi blinked at it, recognizing it from ones he′d seen, though mostly in abandoned ruins. He shook his head a little; his host had seemed so at home that it was a bit of a shock to realize he′d been a man grown at the Change, or nearly. Enough so that he kept this bit of junk around.
″Nah, I was asleep, remember?″ Ingolf said.
″You came down crying.″
″I did?″ Ingolf asked, shaking his head. ″Damn, you know, that′s completely gone. But Nantucket . . . yah, I remember that
damn
well. Even if I was off my head a lot while I was there. Spookiest damn place I′ve ever seen, and that includes Corwin.″
The elder Vogeler brother crossed himself. ″God might not like people sticking their noses in there. You know . . . like poking around Noah′s Ark.″
″My son,″ Father Ignatius said, ″God works through human beings. Even miracles only open possibilities to us, to act
as
human beings in this world. We have excellent evidence that something of overwhelming importance awaits us on Nantucket. Holy Mother Church has given Her blessing to this expedition. And the Cutter cult—the Church Universal and Triumphant—″
Ed crossed himself again. ″Yah, I know about them, a little,″ he said. ″We′ve had a few of them through, these last couple of years, preaching. I always told them to keep moving, with a boot to the butt when I had to.″
Pierre Walks Quiet spoke. ″More of them north of here; I hear stuff from my relatives. They′re bad news, bad manitou. Wendigo.″
Rudi bit back an exclamation that was mostly sheer irritation.
Is there anyplace they′re
not
making themselves a nuisance, to be sure?
he thought.
Beneath the annoyance came a small cold crawling sensation down his spine at the word the old man used. His blood-father Mike Havel had been a quarter Anishinabe—his mother′s mother had been of the Ojibwa people—and Rudi had heard more than one tale of those sprits of cold and eternal hunger, and how they could possess a man. He remembered dead hands squeezing his throat, and eyes that were like a window into nothingness.
″Yes,″ he said softly. ″Yes,
Wendigo
would be as good a name as any for them. For their adepts, at least, and for the things with which they traffic.″
Ignatius continued to the Sheriff: ″Then you will know how they are heretics and misleaders of innocent folk. Far worse, we have substantial evidence that they, their inner circle, are diabolists as well. Actual agents of the Adversary.″
Ed Vogeler grunted and crossed himself again. ″Yah, from what Pete tells me, I′m not completely surprised. He′s got a steady head, Pete. Richland gave me a rap on the knuckles . . . hell, young Bill Clements had the nerve to give me a
lecture
on religious toleration, the damn pup.″
″I heard Bill was Bossman now,″ Ingolf said.
″Yah hey, by the time everyone stopped talking after Al Clements died, it was a done deal. I′ve got no objection; that seems to be the way things are done nowadays and you have to keep up with progress. He′s a smart guy even if he really likes to hear himself talk.″
″So did Al,″ Ingolf said. ″I remember what he had to say about that stump.″
Edward Vogeler grinned for a second. ″So do I. Why do you think I kept it around?″
Then he sobered and continued: ″It′s not that he
likes
these Cutter types—nobody much does, in the Free Republic, no Farmers or Sheriffs at least, nobody who counts. But he doesn′t realize . . . Hell, they′re not a religion, they′re a disease. I put up with all kinds here, we got some strange people settling in after the Change, but not
them
, and if the Bossman doesn′t like it he can come up from Richland Center and kiss my hairy Readstown ass. I′ve got plenty of other Sheriffs would back me up, on general principle. This isn′t goddamned Iowa where you need a permit from the Bossman′s clerks to visit the outhouse on your own land.″
Walks Quiet rolled himself a cigarette and added its tendrils to the haze beneath the rafters.
″Lots of people up north turned Wendigo in the bad time,″ he said quietly; his eyes looked through the smoke as if he was peering through the veil of years.
Ingolf leaned over under the guise of reaching for a cookie and murmured in Rudi′s ear: ″That′s how Pete lost his family. And why he headed south.″
The Indian continued: ″Not everyone—there were plenty of people who knew how to hunt, fish, find wild rice, grow stuff like spuds—but plenty, yeah. The land couldn′t carry all the people there with nothing coming in, ′specially after we got us some refugees turning up looking for a meal. It′s not like down here in the warm places where there was lots of grain and cattle once you got far enough from the cities.″
So there were Eaters,
Rudi thought.
But not quite so mad and desperate, and with plenty of what my Southsiders would call
clean
settlements in the same territory. That was sparsely peopled land even before the Change, but it′s bleak, from what I′ve read and heard, and what little Mike Havel told.
The Indian went on: ″Nowadays they do pretty good up north, most years, but people remember just exactly how it was the neighbors pulled through. Lots of fights since over that. Preachers telling you it′s the way all the big Manitou wanted things to happen, that you′re not so bad; they get a hearing up there from some people.″
Ed Vogeler stirred his pipe′s bowl with a twig. ″You planning on taking the northern route down the Lakes and out the St. Lawrence?″ he said. ″It′s been done now and then, but . . . rough way to go. You haven′t got all that much time before freeze-up.″
″After freeze-up, we thought,″ Rudi said. ″Ingolf says it can be done.″
″I always said Ingolf had more balls than sense,″ the Sheriff said. ″Never was a Vogeler didn′t have guts, but brains, now . . .″
Ingolf stiffened and flushed a little, then made himself relax with an effort that only an expert eye could see. Rudi thought that Wanda Vogeler
did
detect it; her eyes rolled slightly ceilingward, and she sighed.
But her husband did
not
, despite being the man′s brother,
he thought.
The tact of a bull buffalo, to be sure.
Instead of barking a reply, Ingolf tossed back half his applejack and followed it with a sip of the coffee of roasted roots.
″Ed,″ he said mildly, and set the cup down with careful gentleness. ″There′s something you′re missing.″
″What?″ the older man said impatiently.
″Yah, yah, when I left Readstown I
did
have more balls than brains. But that was ten . . . no, more . . . years ago. I fought through the whole damn Sioux War as a paid soldier, and other places too, and then I went into salvage work. When I say
salvage
I′m not talking about a trip to Madison for some rebar or leaf springs, either. I′ve been all the way from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back.″
″Yah, we heard, so?″
″And I′m still
alive
, Ed. When hundreds of poor brave dumb fucks I crossed paths with are well and truly dead. Pardon my French, Wanda.″
″I′ve heard the word, Ingolf.″
He inclined his head to her and went on to his brother: ″I saw them die, and I lived. My balls are doing fine, but my brains took over the thinking job a while ago. Or I would′ve taken my last trip through an Eater′s guts.″
After a moment the Sheriff′s head moved in a slow nod, and he studied his brother for a full minute, stroking his gray-streaked beard before he spoke.
″Point. But . . . yah hey, it′s easier to move on sleds over snow than on the roads the rest of the year, the way they′ve gotten wrecked. You can haul a lot more weight that way with the same horsepower—that′s why we move freight in the winter and do our lumbering then. And yah, yah, da lakes freeze—or at least enough of them does. But man . . . supplies!″
″It′s possible,″ Ingolf said. ″Going the southern route in winter, there′s too much mud and wet snow, most of the time—and we′re not going to wait until spring. Plus the Cutters had a river-galley waiting for us south of the Iowa border, if we tried to go up the Ohio. There are still just under a hundred of them at least, hard men, and they′ll jump us when they can.″
″Easier to move the supplies too, it would be,″ Rudi said. ″And the folk, on skis. From what Ingolf tells me, men on skis can travel three or four times as fast as those on foot—faster than men on horseback, unless they had a string of remounts each and left a trail of dead horses.″
″Yah,″ Ed Vogeler said. ″As long as you didn′t get caught in a storm for three weeks.
Or
run out of fodder for the horses pulling your sleighs. You can′t exactly buy hay and oats up there, most places.″
″Some places, if you know who to ask. I′ll go part way with them,″ Pete said, and the Sheriff gave him a surprised look.
″Not all the way,″ the Indian went on. ″Got my woman and kids here to think about. And I′m getting too old, not much good in a fight anymore. This is my home, now. But far enough to get ′em started.″
″It′s your life, Pete,″ his overlord said. ″Hmmm . . . youse could get big sleds built around here, convert your wagons maybe, and enough provender . . .″
He looked over at Wanda. Her square middle-aged face was tight with concern for her brother-in-law.
For him at least,
Rudi thought.
And the rest of us too, I think, even on short acquaintance. Mother would like her, I think, even if she talks a good deal. And I notice she′s been quiet here.