“Is there some reason,” Alvin asked, “why I might choose to let them find us?”

Still Verily declined to answer.

“To save her,” said Arthur Stuart.

Now they all looked at Arthur. He looked at Alvin, just as intently as Verily had the moment before. Alvin had the distinct impression that he was supposed to understand some unspoken explanation.

“How would it save her, for us to be caught?” asked Alvin.

“Because the way she's acting,” said Arthur Stuart, “she's going to get herself killed. Unless we save her.”

Mike Fink came between them. “Let me get this straight. You want us to get locked up and tried as witches so we can save her?”

“How would us getting locked up help her?” said Alvin.

“How many birds can I paint in jail?” asked Audubon.

“You wouldn't stay in jail long,” said Verily. “Witch trials are notoriously quick.”

“What is it about a woman that makes her life worth the lives of four men and a boy?” demanded Mike.

Verily laughed in exasperation. “What are you thinking, Mike? This is Alvin Smith. The Maker of the Golden Plow. How long do you suppose he'd let us wait in jail?”

“You really don't want to leave her behind, do you, Very?” said Alvin. “Or you neither, Arthur Stuart, is that right?”

“Sure is,” said the boy,

“That's right,” said Verily.

“Goodness gracious,” said Mike sarcastically. “Is this love we're talking about?”

“Who's in love?” demanded Arthur.

“Verily Cooper's in love with Miss Purity,” said Mike Fink.

“I don't think so,” said Verily.

“He must be,” said Mike, “because he's let her go off to denounce us to the authorities and he wants us to get arrested because he thinks that'll make her feel bad and she'll change her mind about us and she'll recant her testimony against us and then she'll decide to come along with us. Which is a fine plan, except for the part where we get hung and she kneels at the foot of the gallows weeping her poor little eyes out she feels so bad.”

Arthur Stuart looked at Verily, calculation in his eyes. “You think we might change her mind about us by getting arrested?” he asked.

“Mike is wrong, it's not pity I'm counting on,” said Verily. “It's fear.”

“Fear of what?” asked Alvin.

“Fear of the working of the law. Right now she believes the law is just and therefore we and her parents deserve to die. She'll change her mind quick enough when she sees how witch trials go.”

“You've made a pretty long chain out of one link,” said Mike.

“Give her a chance,” said Arthur Stuart.

Alvin looked at Arthur, then at Verily. Who ever would have thought this man and this boy would be rivals in love? “Might be worth a try,” said Alvin.

“If they arrest me they'll take my paintings and destroy them,” said Audubon.

“I'll keep you and your paintings safe,” said Alvin.

“And if they kill you,” said Audubon, “what will happen to my paintings?”

“I won't care,” said Alvin.

“But I will!”

“No you won't,” said Arthur Stuart. “Cause if Alvin gets killed, so will you.”

“That is my point!” cried Audubon. “Let us run away! This greensong that you speak of, for hiding in the forest while running very fast. Sing!”

“What I got in mind,” said Alvin, “is more like a saunter on the riverbank. And remember, all of you– confess to nothing. No witchcraft. No knacks. Don't even admit to being French, John James.”

“I ain't going to lie under oath,” said Arthur Stuart.

“Don't lie, just refuse to answer,” said Alvin.

“That's when they torture you,” said Verily. “When you refuse to say yes or no.”

“Well, they hang you when you say yes,” said Alvin, “and I ain't heard of them just letting you go if you deny it.”

“If you don't answer, you can die without ever going to trial.”

Alvin began to chuckle. “Well, now I get it. You want to go to trial. This ain't about Purity or being in love or any such thing. You want to take on the witch laws.”

“Well I don't,” said Mike Fink. “I sure don't have to answer under oath when someone asks me if I ever served Satan.”

“It seems to me,” said Alvin, “that if you want to have your day in court, Verily, you ought to do it as a lawyer, and not as a defendant.”

“And you oughtn't to drag along folks as don't want to stand trial,” said Mike.

“Not that any harm would come to any of us,” said Alvin.

Audubon threw his anus heavenward. “Listen to him! Alvin has the… hubris. He think he can save everybody.”

“I can,” said Alvin. “That's just a fact.”

“Then let's stay around and save her,” said Arthur Stuart. “We don't have to get arrested to do that.”

“I want to do more than save her body from death,” said Verily.

“Please don't tell us what more you want to do to her body,” said Audubon.

Verily ignored him. “I want her to learn the truth about her parents and about herself. I want her to be proud of her knack. I want her to come join us in building the Crystal City.”

“Those are all good things to want,” said Alvin. “But just at this moment I have a keen memory of the months I spent in jail back in Hatrack River, and I got to say I don't wish even an hour in such a place for any of this company.”

“Yes! The wisdom of Solomon!” cried Audubon.

“Which ain't to say I don't see your point, too, Very,” said Alvin. “And as for you, Arthur Stuart, I can see as how a young man like you sees a damsel walking straight to the dragon's lair and he's plain got to draw his sword.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Arthur.

“Saint George,” said Alvin. “And the dragon.”

“The boy will not let me to kill birds,” said Audubon, “but dragons.”

Mike Fink looked puzzled. “Ain't no dragons around here.”

“Fall in line behind me,” said Alvin, “and say nothing, and touch nothing, and don't stray from the path I mark.”

“So you'll leave her to their mercy,” said Verily.

“I promise you, Very,” said Alvin, “you'll get everything you want.”

Verily nodded. Alvin looked at Arthur Stuart, wordlessly making him the same promise, and the boy also nodded.

They all lined up behind him on the riverbank. Alvin started off walking, then picked up his pace, jogging along, then loping, then flat-out running. At first the others worked hard at it, but then they began to hear a kind of music, not with instruments, not the kind you sing or dance to, but the sound of wind in leaves and birds singing, the chatter of squirrels and the buzz of insects, the high white sizzle of sunlight striking the dew on the leaves, the languid rush of water vapor distilling into the air. The sound of their footfalls merged with the music and the world around them tumed into a blur of green, which contained every leaf, every tree, every bit of earth, and made them all one thing; and the runners were part of that one thing, and their running was part of the song, and the leaves parted to let them pass, and the air cooled them and the streams bore them over without their feet getting wet and instead of growing legsore or ribstitched they felt exhilarated, full of the life around them. They could run like that forever.

Then, moments later, the greensong began to fade. The trees narrowed to a strip of wood along the river. Cultivated fields held a muted music, low tones of thousands of identical lives. Buildings broke the song entirely, gaps of silence that were almost painful. They staggered, felt the pounding of their feet on the ground, which was hard now, and the branches snagged at them as they passed. They cantered, jogged, walked, and finally stopped. As one they turned away from the fields and buildings, away from the city of Boston with the tall masts of the ships in the harbor rising higher than the buildings, and faced upriver, to the place through which the song had carried them.

“Mon dieu,” said Audubon. “I have flied on angel wings.”