He told Harlow, “I found her on that last trip to Medical. The programs gave me a lineage for Hearst wagon. Why not? I'm a Hearst, courtesy of Harlow Winslow. Someone in a caravan family was bound to have died in Spiral Town.”
Quicksilver still lit the night while the caravan's elders walked the length of the caravan, talking to whomever they found. They found Maiku Lall bedding down his family beside Lall wagon, the medical wagon, first in line; and Harlow and Jeremy Winslow just passing.
“You sell no speckles tomorrow,” Palava Lall said.
Maiku gaped at his mother. Glen Hearst quickly said, “That goes for us too. Harlow, Jeremy, speckles are not to enter Spiral Town tomorrow.”
Jeremy didn't speak. Harlow asked, “Might one ask why?”
“Later,” Glen said, and the group of elders turned downRoad. Jeremy noticed Govert Miller among them, back early from the Tavern. The roster of elders was complete.
The whisper of waves had a buzzing in it: the caravan was not asleep, but talking in their tents.
Glen asked, “Where have you been?”
Jeremy told Glen what they'd learned of the guarded gate.
Harlow said, “Caravans were founded to move speckles, Glen. This violates a trust.”
“And so does that gate. We do more than deliver speckles,” the old man said. “We supervise. The mainland takes risks, but these Crab shies live their lives the way evolution shaped us on Earth. Lots of farming, diet varies by season, not much medicine, not much industrial power-“
“Short life spans.”
“Yes, all right, Harlow, shorter life spans,” Glen Hearst said. “But they're safe.”
If Jeremy was going to get his say, Harlow was going to have to say it. She tried. “Glen, humanity on Destiny is two hundred and fifty years old. Do we still need a control group?”
“You never do know in advance, Harlow. That's what a control experiment is for. Anyway, it's not just one anymore. When offshoot groups started moving down the Road from Base One, the caravans transported them. Whatever hurts any of them is a warning for the rest of us.”
“We know what kills on Destiny. Speckles, lack of! The threat to Spiral Town is us!”
Jeremy feared she'd overdo it. In haste he asked, “Glen, what do we want from this?”
“They've barred us. In stages, over these past fifty years. No merchants past Peach Street. No merchants in town at night. One wagon to the market and one to Mount Apollo, then none. Now this. How the hell can we supervise a control experiment if...” He waved his arms in frustration.
“If the mice lock us out,” Jeremy murmured.
Glen glared. “It's bad for them too! They don't see any sapient creature outside their insular selves. It stunts their minds.”
Harlow said, “They're inbred, too, but that is policy-”
“So, we know what we want,” Jeremy said. “What if we don't get it?”
“Oh, we'll get it.”
“That's good. Because we're here for two nights if we get it or not. Chugs can't forage in one place more than two nights running.”
“The Spirals know it too,” Glen said. “Remember, sell anything but speckles tomorrow.” He crawled into the tent to sleep.
Jeremy kept walking, and Harlow followed.
Wagons were wide apart. Between tents they could not be overheard. Jeremy said, “Thank you.”
“It's a joy,” she said, “watching you keep your mouth shut.”
“You terrify me. Are you with Steban tonight?”
“Tanya snatched him as soon as he was on board. Don't you notice, Jeremy? Or was that a joke?”
“He'll have you both. If she's any good-?”
“Very. And beautiful. And already pregnant.”
“He'll wonder what you've got to match her. Anyway, you're mine tonight, if I can get you relaxed. So what would that take?”
She was silent.
She was thinking about all the way back to Bloocher Farm, and watching him the way an armed yutz watches the sea.
Downslope to shore, then across the overgrown fence, then up. Likely enough he'd be shot as a burglar.
Uphill would take him to the frost line. He'd crouch behind the brush like a nineteen-year-old, duckwalk past Mount Apollo and down into Spiral Town. The long way home, but Harlow couldn't guess who might give him refuge...
Or he could procure Spiral garb, recover his Spiral accent, and walk past the gate in a clump of shoppers.
“I've promised not to go home,” he told her.
“Right.”
“Harlow, do you think I'd leave these old birdfuckers alone to decide whether to turn us all into speckels-shies?”
Harlow put her fingertips over his mouth. Damn, he was getting too loud. She said, “Now who needs relaxing?”
“Me.”
“Well, come back to the tent.”
In the morning the chugs went into the sea again. Ten sharks followed them out. Three lay flopping when the rest fled.
“Six last night, then ten. They're getting smart,” Angelo said.
“Smart?”
“For sharks. The first night, there's weed close to shore. Morning, the chugs have to go deeper for it. Next night, deeper yet. Next morning, even farther. The sharks get a better and better chance to catch a chug or two.”
“They don't get smart, just hungry. The chugs are taking their food, Angelo.”
Thousands of Spirals had come to watch the shark-shooting. Now they descended on the wagons.
Yutzes were sent to fetch the clocks, pottery, glassware, fruit, and vegetables piled beyond the gate. The prices for these had been agreed. They were told to leave the Begley cloth alone. By noon it was sparking and spitting lightning, not safe to touch.
The Spirals bought what the wagons sold, and couldn't believe that they couldn't buy speckles too. Jeremy gave away handfuls of festivity to all the children. He'd cut and roll more tonight.
Merchants were expected to wear eccentric dress. Pockets were always in fashion. Jeremy had built a big pocket over his belly and lined it, and he kept a generous handful of extra seeds inside to keep the jelly candies from sticking. It gave him a lumpy-rotund look.
Come evening, the Hearsts geared up for Warkan's Tavern. As they laid out cookware and the yutzes dug their pits, Jeremy found himself crouching down behind his persona. The last time he'd seen Warkan's Tavern, he'd killed a man.
Here came a forest of black devilhair and a row of chugs pushing it. Time to board the roofs.
Far up the Road, two electric wagons approached Warkan's Tavern. Maybe Spiral Town only had two; in Jeremy's youth they'd had four. These were empty but for five men.
They stopped at the gate. Five soberly dressed Spiral Town men went into the tavern and emerged on the second-floor balcony.
The chugs left off burrowing in the black weed, and moved uphill. Sharks zipped up the sand. Bullets spattered them; two fled, seven burrowed into the weed, four sped after the chugs. A hail of bullets stopped those.
“Smarter,” Angelo grunted, and relaxed.
Seven sharks zipped out of the weed all at once, into the waves before anyone could quite react.
Harlow asked, “What would it cost to wipe out lungsharks?”
“We almost have,” Glen Hearst said. “There used to be more. It's a bad idea, though. Without sharks we'd pay less attention to shark guns. Locals tend to be respectful if they've seen shark guns in action. Bandits too.”
Tanya asked, “Harlow, don't you like shooting sharks?”
“I really do not.” Tanya laughed.
Miller wagon was cooking dinner tonight, though Hearst wagon had helped set up. Jeremy and Harlow waited for Glen. The elders seemed to be waiting for... what? But a third of the caravan walked toward Warkan's Tavern, a growing crowd that included Angelo, Tanya, and Steban.