"Tom Porter doesn't speak for all of us. But you have a way of pulling the props out from under anyone who tries to help you."
"Like you?"
"Like me, more than once."
"I'm sorry for anything I've done that's ever hurt you; but I can't say I'm sorry for anything else."
She stared at him thinking her own thoughts for a moment, at last gave a brief sigh. "And I understand that."
"The worst of what they say of me is true. Do you understand that?"
A tiny hurt came to her eyes. "Well," she said, "I'd hoped for a little better, but I suppose I really expected it."
"You tell me this: would you take the next ship out if I could make it, now that you really know me?"
Meg smiled sadly. 'Truth is, I still might. There's not a person knows me that would understand, but maybe Jim. I'm ashamed to admit it's still true."
"I wouldn't let you do it, anyway. Look at me, on Hestia. That's an example of what it is to be where you don't belong. Besides—there'll be no ships for me. None at all." He pulled on his boots and rose, paused to look back at her. "Meg," he said in leaving, "thanks for trying."
"Where are you going?"
"Out," he said, and amended: "Down to Celestine. I guess Jim and Amos will be there."
"Sam—"
"Don't worry about me. Your dam will get finished, one way or the other."
"That's not all that matters to me." He considered that a moment, nodded, then turned and left.
Chapter 12
"I heard rumors," Jim said. "I'm glad you got yourself down here, Sam."
Merritt wiped his streaming hair back from his eyes and settled against the sill inside the shelter of the wheelhouse. They were alone, isolated by the water that sheeted down off the roof and drowned sounds from outside. The river pitched under them, a steady and rhythmic bobbing under the power of the current.
"What rumors?" Merritt asked.
"How you and Porter went at each other. How there's some of his men talking about paying you off for that. Sam, Sam, why'd you go and do that? You don't cross men like Porter and go free of it. He's got family; he's got more than—“
"Where's your father?"
"Up to the stockade. He's been there all afternoon on something or another. Why? What do you want?"
"A small favor. Or a large one, depending on how things work out. I want you to cover for me tonight."
"Sam—you don't mean to try to leave out of here. No. I won't do that. Look"—he set his hand on Merritt's shoulder. "Look, they'll calm down if you give things a chance. You stay out of sight down here tonight, and they'll have changed their minds by morning. But you try to do something wild, like leave the station—"
Merritt shook his head slowly. "I'm going, Jim."
"There's no way back if you do."
"Yes, there is, even if they learn I'm gone. What can they do about it? Put me under guard? They've done that. Or worse? Not while they think they can have my help for other projects. But if I don't go now, if I don't take this chance, I may not find another—not in time for Sazhje. I can talk to her a little; I can warn her, I think. I intend to try. Maybe they have sense enough to know what's coming. I don't know. But I want to help her if I can."
"And if they learn what you're up to they'll kill you."
"I doubt it very much at this stage. Jim, I can make it if you'll cover for me. I've got it figured, in this rain, with them knowing I'm down here—all I have do is walk back to the dock, round that bend and into the trees again, and all it takes is for you not to give the alarm."
"And if something goes wrong, if they know—"
"I'm asking it of you because I thought you of all the others might understand why I'm doing this. But if it's too much risk, just say so, and don't admit you ever saw me today. This may be my last chance, Jim, the last ever for Sazhje's kind; Porter may not let me get loose again. But for this one time I'm going to do what I want, and you know I've thought it out already. I really figure they won't lay a hand on me; but if I'm wrong my chances weren't much anyway, no matter how well I behaved."
"I don't think even my father's going to understand this time. Or forgive you. But that doesn't matter, does it?"
"What's your answer, Jim?"
Jim shook his blond head, looked up frowning. "If you're quick, if you're back by morning, I'll lie for you. I'll say you slept on Celestine, and Dad won't call me a liar or you either. Can you make it back in one night, all the way around and back?"
"What about your father? I don't want to hurt either of you. What would they do at worst?"
"Huh. They need us as much as they do you. I'll tell Dad after it's too late to stop you. He'll cuss your lack of good sense, but he's not going to give Porter what he needs to hang you. He doesn't like Porter any better than you do. Besides, if they get onto it before you get back— I'll just be working here, and I'll never notice that you didn't go back up those steps when you leave the boat." He worked out of his jacket. "Here. Take this. It's heavier than yours and drier. Besides, there's a dozen like it in camp; and you might have picked it up same way you leave the boat, while my back is turned."
The clouds were ragged and sparse and the moon was up when he approached Sazhje's burrow: the moonlight was enough to light the way through the woods. But there was already worry gnawing at him, the same that there had been from the moment he conceived the plan: that there would be no Sazhje. It had been a long time since he had last seen her; how long her memory or her patience might be he did not know. Loneliness might have drawn her back to her own kind long ago and put her out of reach.
He went quietly down the ravine. There were the well-remembered trees that tangled their roots into the hill, the dark doorway. He gave a low whistle, and called her name aloud.
There was no response.
He came closer and looked inside, and crept in and felt of the leaves that lined it, his heart sinking with the confirmation of his fears. No body warmth lingered there; there was no sign of an occupant his coming might have startled away. She was gone.
"Sazhje!" he called aloud to the listening forest, and waited. Nothing broke the silence. "Sazhje!"
At last in despair he started away, to trace his long way back to Celestine. Jim had risked enough for his sake, and there was nothing to justify increasing the debt. He had tried, and more than that he could not do.
A body whispered through the bare trees over his head, and he stopped, looked up, saw moonlight limning a body in silver.
"Sazhje?" he questioned, and knew his mistake as the creature moved. He knew Sazhje's delicate grace, and this body was different, more solid and angular. That realization came simultaneous with the remembrance he was not armed.
More brush stirred behind him. He spun about to meet the threat and saw another of Sazhje's kind, a tall male that went as naked as Sazhje, but for a knotted strip about his waist and a knife in his right hand. There was no question about his intentions. He sidled forward at a crouch, mobile ears laid flat against his elongate skull, eyes black and dangerous in the dim light.