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She had not intended to tell anyone else what she'd done, least of all Raney.
But somehow, after they'd shared a meal that evening at her villa, she
couldn't resist. He responded predictably by adopting a severe mien and asking
whether she'd lost her mind. "What would have happened if you'd been caught?"
"I think he would have booted me out and told me not to come back."
"It could have been a lot worse," he said. Raney had a tendency to talk to her
sometimes as if they were married. Illyria was a society in transition. It had
been puritanical under its emperors, who guarded the sanctity of the family
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and the honor of the nation's women with enthusiasm, while maintaining their
own harems. But the overthrow of the autocracy and the rise of republican
principles had fueled a new sense of liberty. The old institutions and centers
of authority were being swept away. And with them, some were saying, the
decency and common courtesy that made civilization worthwhile. There seemed to
be more roughnecks in the streets, more pushing and shoving in the bazaars,
more open sexuality, more abandoned children, more violations of good taste.
Many were calling for a return to imperial rule. And almost everyone agreed
that the nation was in decline.
Chaka's age, and the lack of a controlling male hand in her household,
rendered her automatically suspect among the older families, who held the
balance of political and economic power in the state. Therefore, Raney saw
himself as a man on a white horse as well as a suitor. He was not sufficiently
sophisticated to disguise this view, which Chaka found increasingly annoying
with the passage of time, although she might not have been able to say why.
Yet she liked him all the same, and enjoyed spending time with him.
"Raney," she said, "do you understand what I'm telling you? It looks as if
they found what they were looking for."
"Who cares? Chaka, who cares? It's over." He was angry that she had put
herself in danger, relieved that she had escaped without harm, frustrated that
she clung to this lunatic business. "It was nine years ago. Unless Endine left
a map.
Did he leave a map?" "No."
"Instructions how to get there?" "Not that we know of."
"Then I think you should take the Mark Twain, be grateful, and let go."
They'd moved into the living room. He was standing by the fireplace, his
thumbs shoved into his belt, his expression in shadow. She was seated placidly
in the wingback chair near the window. "Don't you even want to see the
thirteenth sketch?"
"Sure I do." His tone softened. "I just don't want you breaking into people's
houses. I would never have believed you'd do something like that. And you
didn't even tell me." He closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay. Then
his tone softened. "Next time you want to break into someone's house in the
middle of the night, try mine."
The wind moved against the shutters. Out in the barn, one of the horses
snorted. Chaka smiled politely, took out the sketch and showed it to him. He
shrugged.
"It's only a cliff. I suspect we could find a half-dozen like this if we went
looking."
She gazed, with resignation, out the window.
He came and sat beside her. "I'm sorry. I know this thing with Endine bothers
you. I wish there were something I could do to put it to rest."
"Maybe there is," she said.
He looked at her, and the silence drew out between them. "You need help with
another burglary?" he asked.
"I've been thinking about trying to retrace the route of the original
expedition. I
think it might be possible. If it is, would you come?"
"Are you serious? It can't be done. We both know that."
"I'm not so sure."
"How, Chaka? Either we know where it is or we don't."
"
Would you come?"
He managed an uncomfortable grin. "You find a way to get to Haven," he said,
"and you can count on me."
5
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The citizens of the League were not. by and large, adventurous. They loved
their river valley home, they were surrounded by endless forests which
sheltered occasional bands of Tuks (whose good behavior could not be counted
on), and they lived in a world whose epic ruins acted as a kind of warning. If
there was a unifying philosophy, it took the form of caution, safety first,
don't rock the boat.
Better to keep a respectful distance. Moor with two anchors. Look before you
leap.
Few had penetrated more than a hundred miles beyond the populated areas of the
Mississippi. These were primarily hunters, searchers after Roadmaker artifacts
(which, in decent condition, commanded a good price), and those who traded
with the Tuks.
Jon Shannon engaged sporadically in all three occupations as the mood hit him.
The profit was no more than fair, and certainly did not approach the income of
his brothers, who had joined their father in running an overland trading
company. But Shannon had freedom of movement, he had solitude, and he enjoyed
his work.
Although maybe the solitude was disappearing. The world was changing with the
coming of the League and its attendant peace and prosperity. The great web of
forest that had once surrounded his cabin was giving way to homes and farms.
He'd moved twice in the last seven years, retreating northeast, only to be
overtaken each time by the wash of settlements exploding out of Illyria.
Shannon had always been something of a maverick. He had no taste for the petty
entertainments and ambitions of urban life. His first wife had died in
childbirth, taking the infant with her; the second had tried to change him
into someone else, and had eventually given up, grown bored, and moved away.
He'd loved both, in his methodical way. But he was drained now, and if he was
not as happy in the vast green solitude as he had once been, he was
nevertheless content. It was a calmer, safer existence, and a man could ask no
more than that.
It was almost time to move on again, and that fact forced him to reflect on
the course of his life, which seemed every bit as wandering and aimless as the
Mississippi.
But aimless is not necessarily a bad thing.
He would retreat again, but he didn't need do it immediately. Maybe spend
another year here. That would give him time to scout the new location. There
was a place twenty-five miles out that he liked. Hilltop site, of course, a
couple of nearby streams, plenty of game. But the way the frontier was
advancing, he wasn't sure that was far enough. On the other hand, even that
short distance would be stretching the line of communication with his clients.
And therein lay the problem. If he wanted to move out and draw the wilderness
around him, and not have to be bothered doing it again in a few years, he
would have to make some changes in his own life. And maybe that was what he
should do; he did not, after all, need money. Why tie himself to all these
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