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.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Good. Have you evidence that the place actually exists?”
“We believe it does. Judge,” said Quait.
Flojian mentioned the first expedition, and asked whether she had any recollection of having seen it.
“Yes,” she said. “They passed through. I never saw any of them again.”
“Do you know what happened to them?
“Only the rumors.”
“And what were they?”
“That they took ship out of Brocket! and went north. That all but one died.”
“Died how?”
She considered her answer. “The sailors who came back said they went into a cave and were killed by something nobody could see.”
That comment dampened the mood. “First time I’ve heard that,” Flojian said.
“The sailors lost their passengers,” said the Judge. “They had to have a story.”
“Do you have any details?” asked Chaka.
She considered the question. “No. It was never a matter of much interest to me. What you need to do is go to Brockett. Find the ship’s captain that took them. Talk to him.”
“We saw something strange yesterday,” said Flojian after a moment. He went on to describe the man in the sky.
“Oh, yes.” The Judge looked pleased. “That was Orin. He’s our aeronaut.”
“What does he do? I mean, besides float about in a balloon?”
“He’s an inventor. Lives outside Brockett.” She looked grateful for the change of subject. “He takes people up for rides.”
“Have you ever been in the balloon?” asked Chaka.
The question amused her. “I’ll try any form of travel, Chaka, as long as I can keep one foot on the ground.”
At the suggestion of the Judge, they drank to Illyria and the League, and then to Brockett and the Compact.
“Where is Brockett?” asked Chaka.
“About a hundred miles east. At the end of the canal. It’s on the Hudson.”
“The Hudson?”
“Our major north-south artery. All our commerce moves on it, and on the canal. If you like, I’ll be happy to arrange passage for you with the Columbine. Captain Warden’s boat. I assume you’ll be going on to Brockett.”
“Yes,” said Quait. “That would be very kind of you.”
“Or, you might want to consider staying with us. Life in Oriskany is good. We can use people like you.”
“You don’t know anything about us,” said Flojian.
“I know enough.”
They looked at one another, and Chaka saw agreement. “Thank you,” said Quait. “But we can’t stop now.”
“Good,” she said. “I expected no less. Maybe on your return you’ll feel differently.”
“What lies beyond Brockett?” asked Chaka.
A bell rang softly in another room, and Delia appeared. “Dinner is ready, Judge,” she said.
The Judge rose. “Beyond Brockett,” she said, “there is only darkness. And the sea.”
The staff served roast beef and potatoes and a range of vegetables and hot rolls. There was an endless supply of good wine. The travelers described their adventures, and received the Judge’s commiseration at their losses.
The children whom they’d heard earlier took their meals in a separate room. They belonged to the staff, the Judge explained. “My own are long since grown and gone.”
“Gone where?” asked Quait.
“To Brockett. One is receiving her schooling. My sons are both in the service of the Director.”
“The Director?” asked Flojian.
“The head of state.”
Chaka said, “And women are given a formal education?”
“Of course.”
The Judge explained she had spent her own formative years in Brockett before returning to Oriskany to assume her responsibilities on the death of her father. She was the elder of two daughters.
Flojian asked about her husband. That proved to be a misstep: She blithely explained she didn’t have one, had never had one, and (if her guests would pardon her candor) she really saw no need for one. “You’re shocked,” she added.
“Not really,” said Quait, stumbling for a reply.
“It’s all right. Most people confuse sexual deprivation with virtue. It’s not their fault, really. Society imposes these things and no one ever questions them.”
“The gods impose them,” said Flojian, sternly.
“Which gods are those?” she asked. “The gods of the south? Or of the north?”
Flojian looked to Chaka to help. But Chaka saw no reason to get into it.
“Most societies start with gods and end with philosophy,” the Judge said. “They come eventually to realize that there are no gods, and the laws have been laid down by dead men. My father once warned me that when it came time to die, the only regrets I would have would be for things left undone.”
“There is such a thing as virtue,” persisted Flojian, his voice rising.
“In fact, Flojian, I would argue that the only virtue is wisdom. The others are frauds. And while we’re on the subject, I’d be pleased to supply night companions for any who wish.” She glanced around the table. Her guests squirmed visibly and she laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable. But do let me know.”
Flojian had not been with a woman for twenty years. He had always feared the consequences of giving in to his impulses outside the approved bonds of marriage, and he still remembered the mental torture that had followed his lone misstep.
He’d got away with it. No pregnancy. No whisper of scandal. (The girl, for she had been little more than that, had been the soul of discretion.) And he’d made a solemn vow not to travel that road again. He would keep clear of sexual entanglements until he married.