Mike shook his head sadly when Alvin asked him if he'd had a chance to talk to Andy Jackson. “Oh, he included me in the room, if that's what you mean. But talking alone, no, not likely. See, Andy Jackson may be a lawyer but he knows river rats, and my name rang a bell with him. Haven't lived down my old reputation yet, Alvin. Sorry.”

Alvin smiled and waved off the apology. “There'll come a day when the president will meet with us.”

“It was premature, anyway,” said Verily. “Why try for a land grant when we don't even know what we're going to use it for?”

“Do so,” said Alvin, playing at a children's quarrel.

“Do not,” said Verily, grinning.

“We got a city to build.”

“No sir,” said Verily. “We have the name of a city, but we don't have the plan of a city, or even the idea of the city–”

“It's a city of Makers!”

“Well, it would have been nice if the Red Prophet had told you what that means,” said Verily.

“He showed it to me inside the waterspout,” said Alvin. “He doesn't know what it means any more than I do. But we both saw it, a city made of glass, filled with people, and the city itself taught them everything.”

“Amid all that seeing,” said Verily, “did you perhaps hear a hint of what we're supposed to tell people to persuade them to come and help us build it?”

“I take it that means you didn't accomplish what you set out to do, either,” said Alvin.

“Oh, I perused the Congressional Library,” said Verily. “Found many references to the Crystal City, but most of them were tied up with Spanish explorers who thought it had something to do with the fountain of youth or the Seven Cities of the Onion.”

“Onion?” asked Arthur Stuart.

“One of the sources misheard the Indian name 'Cibola' as a Spanish word for 'onion,' and I thought it was funny,” said Verily. “All dead ends. But there is an interesting datum that I can't readily construe.”

“Wouldn't want to have anything constroodled redly,” said Alvin.

“Don't play frontiersman with me,” said Verily. “Your wife was a better schoolteacher than to leave you that ignorant.”

“You two leave off teasing,” demanded Arthur Stuart. “What did you find out?”

“There's a post office in a place that calls itself Crystal City in the state of Tennizy.”

“There's probably a place called Fountain of Youth, too,” said Alvin.

“Well, I thought it was interesting,” said Verily.

“Know anything else about it?”

“Postmaster's a Mr. Crawford, who also has the titles Mayor and– I think you'll like this, Alvin– White Prophet.”

Mike Fink laughed, but Alvin didn't like it. “White Prophet. As if to set himself against Tenskwa-Tawa?”

“I just told you all I know,” said Verily. “Now, what did you accomplish?”

“I've been in Philadelphia for two weeks and I haven't accomplished a thing,” said Alvin. “I thought the city of Benjamin Franklin would have something to teach me. But Franklin's dead, and there's no special music in the street, no wisdom lingering around his grave. Here's where America was born, boys, but I don't think it lives here anymore. America lives out there where I grew up– what we got in Philadelphia now is just the govemment of America. Like finding fresh dung on the road. It ain't a horse, but it tells you a horse is somewhere nearby.”

“It took you two weeks in Philadelphia to find that out?” said Mike Fink.

Verily joined in. “My father always said that government is like watching another man piss in your boot. Someone feels better but it certainly isn't you.”

“If we can take a break from all of this philosophy,” said Alvin, “I got a letter from Margaret.” He was the only one who called his wife by that name– everyone else called her Peggy. “From Camelot.”

“She's not in Appalachee anymore?” asked Mike Fink.

“All the agitation for keeping slavery in Appalachee is coming from the Crown Colonies,” said Alvin, “so there she went.”

“King ain't about to let Appalachee close off slavery, I reckon,” said Mike Fink.

“I thought they already settled Appalachee independence with a war back in the last century,” said Verily.

“I reckon some folks think they need another war to settle whether Black people can be free,” said Alvin. “So Margaret's in Camelot, hoping to get an audience with the King and plead the cause of peace and freedom.”

“The only time a nation ever has both at the same time,” said Verily, “is during that brief period of exhilarated exhaustion after winning a war.”

“You're sure grim for a man what's never even killed anybody,” said Mike Fink.

“Iffen Miz Larner wants to talk to Arthur Stuart, I'm right here,” said Arthur with a grin. Mike Fink made a show of slapping him upside the head. Arthur laughed– it was his favorite joke these days, that he'd been given the same name as the King of England, who ruled in exile in the slave shires of the South.

“And she also has reason to believe that my younger brother is there,” said Alvin.

At that news Verily angrily looked down and played with the last scraps of food on his plate, while Mike Fink stared off into space. They both had their opinions of Alvin's little brother.

“Well, I don't know,” said Alvin.

“Don't know what?” asked Verily.

“Whether to go there and join her. She told me not to, of course, because she has some idea that when Calvin and I get together, then I'll die.”

Mike grinned nastily. “I don't care what that boy's knack is, I'd like to see him try.”

“Margaret never said he'd kill me,” said Alvin. “In fact she never said I'd die, exactly. But that's what I gather. She doesn't want me there until she can assure me that Calvin is out of town. But I'd like to meet the King my own self.”

“Not to mention seeing your wife,” said Verily.

“I could use a few days with her.”

“And nights,” murmured Mike.

Alvin raised an eyebrow at him and Mike grinned stupidly.

“Biggest question is,” Alvin went on, “could I safely take Arthur Stuart down there? In the Crown Colonies it's illegal to bring a free person of even one-sixteenth Black blood into the country.”

“You could pretend he's your slave,” said Mike.

“But what if I died down there? Or got arrested? I don't want any chance of Arthur getting confiscated and sold away. It's too dangerous.”

“So don't go there,” said Verily. “The King doesn't know a thing about building the Crystal City, anyway.”

“I know,” said Alvin. “But neither do I, and neither does anyone else.”

Verily smiled. “Maybe that's not true.”

Alvin was impatient. “Don't play with me, Verily. What do you know?”

“Nothing but what you already know yourself, Alvin. There's two parts to building the Crystal City. The first part is about Makering and all that. And I'm no help to you there, nor is any mortal soul, as far as I can see. But the second part is the word city. No matter what else you do, it'll be a place where people have to live together. That means there's got to be government and laws.”

“Does there have to be?” asked Mike wistfully.

“Or something to do the same jobs,” said Verily. “And land, divided up so people can live. Food planted and harvested, or brought in to feed the population. Dry goods to make or buy, houses to build, clothes to make. There'll be marrying and giving in marriage, unless I'm mistaken, and people will have children so we'll need schools. No matter how visionary this city makes the people, they still need roofs and roads, unless you expect them all to fly.”

Alvin leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed.

“Have I put you to sleep, or are you thinking?” asked Verily.

Alvin didn't open his eyes when he answered. “I'm just thinking that I really don't know a blame thing about what I'm doing. White Murderer Harrison may have been the lowest man I ever knowed, but at least he could build a city in the wilderness.”