Hot Sleep (24 page)

"The law is the law," Noyock said, "and only Jason can change it."

"That's the point!" Stipock insisted. "The law needs to be changed. If Jason were here, he'd change it, wouldn't he?"

"Maybe," Noyock said.

"Then why can't we? Not just you and me, but all the people. Vote. Let the majority change the law."

Noyock sighed. "It's what you've wanted all along, Stipock. To let the majority of people in Heaven
City
change any one of Jason's laws they want."

"Just this law," Stipock said. "Just the law that lets fathers beat their children."

"Just this law? I'm not a fool, Stipock, though you seem to feel that everyone in Heaven
City
is stupider than a newborn pig. Once we've changed one law that way, there'll be other laws to change, and people will begin to think all the laws are changeable."

"Aren't they?" Stipock asked. "Why don't you just ask them? On Jason's Day, when they gather at First field, call a council, ask them to vote on whether voting should be allowed. See what they decide."

"I said, Stipock, that I'm not a fool. If I let them vote on anything, that becomes a lawful way for decisions to be made."

"So you aren't going to change the law?"

"Just let me think, Stipock."

"Let you? I'm begging you to. Do you really think the majority of people in this colony will decide stupidly? Don't you trust them?"

"I trust them, Stipock. It's you I don't trust." And Noyock left the room, his footfalls ringing in Hoom's ears.

"Stipock," Hoom whispered.

"Hmmm? Are you awake? Did we wake you?"

"That's all right." Hoom found it hard to use his voice. It was hoarse. Had he cried out that much from the pain? He didn't remember shouting at all — but his voice was as hoarse as if he had been yelling all day in the fields. "Stipock, what's a colony?"

"What? Oh, yes, I did use the word — it's still hard, even after all these months —"

"What is a colony?"

"It's a place where — it's when some people leave their homes behind, and go to a new place, and start to live there, far away from the others. Heaven City's a colony, because the — uh, the Ice People — they left the Empire and came across the space between the stars and lived here."

Hoom nodded. He had heard that story before — Stipock's miracle stories, they all called them behind his back. Wix didn't believe them, and Hoom wasn't sure.

"When we live across the river, we'll be a colony, then, won't we?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Stipock."

"Yes."

"Move me across the river."

Stipock chuckled. "When you can walk again."

"No. Move me now."

"Your leg is bound up. You can't walk for months, Hoom."

"Then get my friends to carry me. Take me out of Heaven
City
. I want to get out of Heaven
City
. Even if I have to live in the open, in a tent. Get me out. Get me out." And Hoom's voice drifted away as he slept again.

Stipock sat studying the boy's quiet, gentle, but pain–scarred face. The lips were turned permanently downward; the forehead, even in sleep, was furrowed; the eyes were bagged with exhaustion, not crinkled with laughter as they should have been.

"All right," Stipock whispered. "Yes, now. That's a good idea, Hoom. Very good idea."

Two days later, two horses drew the cart that carried Hoom jokingly down Noyock's Road to Linkeree's Bay. Then, with a crowd of several hundred people gathered around, they carried Hoom on a plank out to the boat, which was waiting a few meters from shore. And the boat, this time in broad daylight, spread its white wings and danced skimmingly out of the bay into the current. Hoom laughed with pleasure — at his freedom, at the movement of the boat on the water, at his friends' proof of their true friendship. Dilna was at the tiller, and she smiled at him. Wix poked him now and then with his toe as he passed, working the sails, just to let him know he was noticed. And then they reached the other shore, and they set him down by a tree to watch as they cleared a patch of ground and laid the walls of a rough cabin. The floor was of planks, which had been cut the day before, and the door and windows were gaping holes. The roof couldn't be put on before dark, but they all promised they'd be back in the morning, and then carried Hoom inside. He looked around at the walls of his house.

"Well," asked Wix, "how is it?"

"Ugly as hell," Hoom said. "I love every inch of it." And then, before he could thank them and cry, they whooped and hollered their way out of the house and back to the boat.

It was getting dark, but there were plenty of blankets over him, and the stars were shining. Breakfast was in a bag on the floor beside him, and Hoom listened to the distant sounds of the boat being launched again.

As the sound grew softer, he listened to the breeze in the branches above him. Leaves were drifting lazily down; soon all the leaves would have turned colors and dropped, and the snow would come. Hoom felt a stab of loneliness — but he quickly forgot it in the satisfaction of being out of Heaven
City
. A leaf landed on his face, and he waited a moment before he brushed it away. Was this what it was like for Linkeree, in the old story, when he left Heaven
City
and built his own home in the forest? This feeling of not being one of a city, but of being an intruder among the trees?

He heard footsteps in the grass and leaves outside his door. He froze, afraid of who it might be.

The ship was gone — had someone stayed behind? And why?

Dilna stood in the doorway.

"Dilna," Hoom said, sighing in relief.

"Hi," she said.

"I thought you went back with the others."

"I decided not to," she said. "Comfortable?"

Hoom nodded. "It's a good house."

"You promised me I could move in when the house was done," Dilna said.

Hoom laughed. "As soon as you want to," he said.

"Noyock promised me that he'd cross the river and marry us tomorrow. If you want to."

"I want to."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, come in. I didn't know you were waiting for an invitation."

Dilna came in, her face lit only by starlight, and knelt beside him. "Do you always sleep with your clothes on?" she asked.

"No," he said, laughing at the idea. "But with a lumberyard tied around my leg, I've found it a little hard to get around."

"I'll help you," she said, and Hoom was surprised that he felt no embarrassment as she gently, carefully undressed him, moving his leg without hurting him, touching him so casually he felt no shame. Then she turned her back and undressed, also. "I didn't bring any more blankets. Any room to spare under yours?" she asked.

"I can't — I can't do anything," he said. "My leg — I can't —"

"Nobody expects you to," she said, touching his forehead softly. "There's plenty of time for that." She lay down beside him and pulled the blankets up to cover them both. Then she snuggled close to him. Her body was cold with the chilliness outside the blankets. She put her arm across his chest, stroked his cheek. "Do you mind?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"Better get used to it," she said. "Because I plan to sleep here for a good long time."

BILLIN'S VOICE
sounded muffled in the heavy, smoky room, though he was shouting. Dilna sighed as she heard the same words again. "That damned History is our enemy! Every time something comes for a vote, Noyock pulls out the History and says, ‘That isn't the way Jason did it! That isn't the way Kapock did it!' Well, I say, who the hell cares how they did it?"

Dilna carved savagely at the block of wood in her lap, as if it were Billin's head. It was stupid, this meeting every night in the tavern. Everyone in Stipock's Bay already agreed — they had to separate themselves from Heaven
City
. The laws had no relation to reality anymore — things were different here. But Billin didn't help anything with his fury, that so infected the others.

Even Stipock, she noticed, was watching Billin intently. But she more than half–suspected that Stipock was analyzing more than he was listening. Surely Stipock wasn't moved or impressed by Billin's talk! But Dilna wondered just the same. Could Billin possibly be doing just what Stipock wanted?

"The History is just paper! Only paper, and that's all! It can burn! And if that's the barrier that keeps us from making our own laws here, then I say, Burn it!"

Oh, clever, Dilna thought. The whole point is to win our independence, as Stipock had so often said, without losing our interdependence. If those on the other side of the river come to hate us, she silently asked, where would we get our copper, our tin, our brass? Paper? Ink? Flour? None of the tiny streams on this side of the river had enough force to turn a mill. But if Billin had his way, we'd rush over right now, burn the History, and then somehow persuade them to amicably let us be independent, while trade continued.

The chair next to hers scraped along the floor, and she looked up to see Stipock sitting down next to her.

"The aging philosopher comes to chat?" she asked.

"Aging," Stipock said. "It's worry, not years."

Billin's voice reached a climax. "Does it matter how the vote goes? As long as we own the boats, we decide what laws get enforced on this side of the river!" Some beery cheers arose from the audience.

"The man's an ass," Dilna said. "Even if you were the one who first pointed out that whoever owns the boats makes the laws on this side of the river."

"Billin gets a little too angry," Stipock said.

"As the great Stipock has always said," Billin shouted, "a man who rejects a government is no longer truly governed by it!"

"Is that what the great Stipock has always said?" Dilna asked, smiling.

"I wish to hell no one would ever quote me." He looked at the wood she was working on. "What are you carving?"

"A canehead for a rich old codger from Wienway. One of Wien's sons, in fact, who thinks a bit of bronze will buy anything."

"Won't it?" Stipock asked. She laughed. "Almost anything."

Stipock sat in silence, surveying the room. "Hoom isn't back yet?"

"You know how it is — once you start visiting with relatives —"

"Hoom and his father, under the same roof tonight. Will the house burn down, do you think?"

"Good chance," Dilna said, but she didn't laugh.

"And Wix is with him?"

"I assume so," she said. Suddenly she felt her knife hand gripped by Stipock's powerful fingers.

"Dilna. Hoom knows."

She gasped, before she could control herself. Damn, she thought, trying to cover the reaction. Damn, now whatever he suspects is confirmed.

"Hoom knows what?" she said, doing a bad job of acting innocent.

"I said Hoom knows. And no one else matters. I'm just warning you, Dilna. Hoom loves you too much to do anything about it. Unless you leave him. If you leave him, you'll have to kill him."

"What are you talking about? I have no intention of leaving Hoom. What an idea."

"Good thing," Stipock said, releasing her wrist.

"Damn you," Dilna said.

"You're an idiot," Stipock said. "No one on this side of the river is half of Hoom's quality as a man."

"And what do you know," she said bitterly, "about quality in a man?"

"Enough," he said, and he got up and left, as Dilna tried to force her trembling hands to carve true. She couldn't, and she, too, walked out of the public house.

She went down the dusty road toward the house that she and Hoom had shared since their marriage. It was much more elaborate now — prosperity had helped it grow — but the original cabin was still there, a back room now.

She went inside, suddenly bone weary, wishing she could go to sleep and wake on another planet, as Stipock kept saying people did. A crazy man. For all these years, we've followed a crazy man. No wonder we do crazy things.

The house was clean inside, and the cupboards were full. Hoom, for all his mildness and lack of initiative, was a good provider. She sold her carvings because it made people prize her work, not because she needed the money. And it was like Hoom — to dig up young trees, plant them, and sell the fruit. He only needed to plant once, and he reaped forever, only pruning now and then. His orchards spread from the Heaven
River
far inland. Tame trees. Hoom thought he could tame anything or anybody. Except me, she thought bitterly. Only I cannot be tamed, no matter how I long to be.

Why Wix? she wondered. And why now? Why a week ago? Why not ten years from now, or never, or always, so that Hoom would never have loved me, would never have been hurt. And how the hell did Hoom know? Too many questions. Does everyone know?

And if Stipock had only been guessing, she had certainly confirmed his guess. What a fool I am, Dilna reminded herself.

When Hoom got home Dilna was asleep, but she roused herself with a groan when she heard the door open, wrapped a blanket around her, and went into the common room, where Hoom and Wix were saying good night. Wix waved a greeting at her, and then disappeared silently as Hoom swung the door shut.

"Well?" Dilna asked. "How did the meeting go?"

"I'm tired," Hoom said, collapsing on a chair in an exaggeration of weariness.

"Tell me," Dilna insisted.

"And what will you give me if I do?" Hoom asked with a lazy smile. Dilna sighed and walked over to him. She sat on his lap, wrapping the blanket around them both. He rubbed his hand across her bare stomach and laughed. "Ah, the wages I get in this house!"

"Tell me," Dilna said, "or I'll put roaches in your bed."

"You would," he said. "So I'll tell you: Noyock's willing."

"Good," she said. "That'll defuse that bastard Billin."

"Don't call names. What's much more important, my dear, is that father's willing, too."

"You spoke to your father?"

Hoom smiled, but he didn't look amused. "It would have interfered with the negotiations if I hadn't. After all, he is the leader of the Uniters."

"That's one nice thing about the opposition — they're very orderly, always appointing leaders."

"We don't have to appoint one: we have one already."

"But Stipock refuses to say what he wants," Dilna said, getting up and walking to the cooking fire, which still had enough heat to stir it back to flame. "Want some broth?"

"As a second choice," Hoom said.

She put the kettle over the flames, its brass long since blackened by smoke. "What did Aven say?"

"That if we were willing to accept the general leadership of the Warden, they'd consent to a separate vote and a separate tax."

"No, silly," she said. "What did he say afterward?"

"He tried to get all emotional and pretend that there was a reconciliation. But I left as soon as I could."

Dilna felt strangely irritated. "It was awfully petty of you, not to let things smooth over."

Hoom didn't answer, and she knew he was angry. Oh well, what the hell. He'd forget as soon as she climbed into his bed. Instant forgiveness, she called it. Privately, of course — it would never do to let Hoom know how transparent he was.

Change the subject: "Any doubt about the vote?"

"No. Even if half the Uniters don't go along with the compromise — which is likely enough, too many old people believe the History says that Jason has commanded us always to be united no matter how widely we spread out — we'll have enough votes to turn the difference."

The broth had already been warm, and now it was steaming hot. She ladled some into a bowl and carried it to Hoom. "Thank you," her husband said as she went back for a bowl for herself. They drank the broth in silence. When it was gone, Hoom went outside to relieve himself and Dilna went to the bedroom and turned down the blankets on his bed. Even though Hoom never treated her like a possession (as a lot of the older men treated their wives, and too many younger ones, too), she still liked to do small services that made his life more comfortable.

As she turned back the blankets she wondered: Does he know?

She thought of how Wix had looked afterward, half–covered with damp leaves and his face twisted in — what, grief? Regret? Disappointment? He should have married, the bastard, and then he never would have been tempted by her, nor she by him. There was no way Hoom could know.

He came into the room, stripping off his shirt as he walked. "Getting chilly now. Jason's due back in a month. From today. Noyock wanted us to wait until he came."

Dilna turned in surprise. "Actually, why not? That isn't a bad idea. After all, the whole idea of voting was put in after Jason's last visit — why not let Jason see it in action?"

"Because," Hoom said wryly, "he might take offense at it and abolish the practice, and every old bastard in Heaven
City
would give it up just like that. We haven't mentioned it much, but that's one of the reasons Stipock's been pushing us to get the decision now, before the old god returns from the Star
Tower
."

"So Stipock does have opinions."

"One or two," Hoom said. "So do I. I'm of the opinion that I married the most desirable woman in Heaven
City
."

As he caressed her she laughed and said, "What about the most beautiful?"

"Goes without saying," he answered. But she wondered anyway whether he knew: why had he chosen to call her desirable? Did he know who had desired her? And been satisfied?

She didn't go back to her own bed until nearly morning, wondering as she did why she had insisted on that arrangement a year after they married. A sign of independence, she supposed. Everybody had to have their little signs of independence.

Because Hoom's orchard needed little tending at this time of year, he spent most of the day in the house, and there was a constant stream of visitors. Dilna usually would have been in the common room joining into the conversations, but today she didn't feel like it, and instead she climbed up onto the shingled roof (Wix's innovation, and it had made him rich before he turned eighteen) and lay there, occasionally carving, but usually looking up at the clouds that promised rain (but not a drop fell, of course, for the winds were from the west and not until they shifted to the north would the fall rains begin).

Once she climbed to the crest of the roof and looked out across the river, where now four boats made regular trips back and forth. Eternally back and forth — boring. Wix and Hoom talked of following the current, going down the river to see where it led. As soon as the vote was taken and things were settled. Well, that's tomorrow, Dilna thought, and I'll be packed five minutes after they vote.

She wondered vaguely why she was so anxious to get away, but when her mind made a connection to that day a week ago in the woods to the west, she slid halfway down the roof (damn the splinters, I'll slide if I want) and carved furiously for a while.

She had fallen asleep on the roof when Hoom found the ladder and climbed up. She was surprised to see it was nearly evening.

"Trying to kill yourself?" Hoom asked, concerned.

"Yes," she answered, and then realized that Hoom really had been concerned. "No, Hoom, I couldn't possibly fall off."

"Yes you could," Hoom said, and then he helped her carry her things back down the ladder.

"The visitors all gone?"

Hoom nodded and led the way into the house. "But they aren't all happy about the compromise."

"Why not?"

"Billin says he can't tolerate having the Warden over him. Though why he should hate Noyock so badly I don't know."

"He's a fool sometimes," Dilna said. "Noyock's bound to be replaced next month when Jason comes. Who knows? Maybe Stipock will be Warden — now there's a thought that makes me want to throw the vote away!"

Hoom laughed. "Stipock Warden? The way he feels about Jason? I should tell you — there's even talk of separating from Jason himself. That's what Billin wants, anyway."

Dilna was silent for a while. Separate from Jason? Well, of course, no one thought Jason was God anymore, at least not in Stipock's village on this side of the river. But separate?

That made her uneasy. She was eager to cut ties — but all the ties? That felt like Hoom's feud with his father: wrong somehow, a wound that should be healed, not widened. And would Jason stand for it? He had tools — like the little box he had held in his hand when he killed the ox that went wild. Would he turn that against a man? The thought made her shudder. Of course not. But they'd never separate from Jason — that was just Billin's talk.

Hoom and Dilna spent the evening weaving and sewing together, and then went to bed.

In the morning she felt a familiar nausea, and vomited before breakfast.

"Well?" Hoom asked her as she came back from the privy.

"Damn," she said. "Why now?"

"It's hard to pick the time," he said, laughing. "This one we'll have," he said. He held her tightly around the waist. She smiled at him, but there was nothing behind the smile. She knew when her last fertile time had been — damn Stipock for even telling them about the cycle within the cycle — and it was possible, just possible, that Wix was the father. And he and Hoom looked so different.

Don't borrow trouble, she told herself. I've got months yet, and heaven knows the chances are better that it'll look like Hoom.

As always, Hoom misunderstood what she was worried about. "Two miscarriages aren't that bad," he said, consoling her. "Plenty of women have had two and then on the third pregnancy, the baby was born. Which do you want, a boy or a girl?"