"Let me guess," said Verily. "Is there a reward?"

"Somebody put up five hundred dollars," said Mike.

"And you're here to help Alvin resist arrest?"

"I'm here to take anybody who tries to earn that reward and grind him into flour and bake him like bread."

"We ain't looking to do that," said Coz.

"Five hundred dollars is a lot of money," said Abe.

Mike took a step toward Abe-who, to his credit, did not flinch.

"Calm down, Mike," said Verily. "Abe Lincoln is a man who likes his joke. He's a trusted friend of Al's."

"Ain't trusted by me" said Mike.

"My question is," said Coz, "if he's got you willing to protect him, how come he runs around all the time with that scrawny brother-in-law of his?"

"He don't need me to protect him from the kind of danger you meet on the road," said Mike. "He can defend himself just fine against that. It's when they come to him with legal papers and he gets all honorable and starts believing that he should let them haul him off to jail and then he stays there even though we know there ain't no jail can hold him-that's when he needs me. Because I don't mind beating in the face of a man who's just doing his job."

"Or biting off his ear," added Coz, hopefully.

"Gave up ear-biting long ago," said Mike. "And eye-gouging. Alvin made me promise."

"Made you?" asked Abe.

Mike looked embarrassed. "He's a blacksmith, don't you know. Look at them shoulders he's got. Not to mention that he could just look at my leg and break it."

"I think the fight, which is legendary, was equally unfair on both sides," said Verily.

"Oh, that's so," said Mike. "I wasn't accusing Alvin of nothing, I was just explaining how he could beat a fellow as mean as me." He took a step and loomed over Coz. "I am mean, you know. It ain't all show. I like that scrinchy sound a man's face makes when I'm grinding it into the ground."

"Ha ha," said Coz lamely. "You're such a joker, you are."

"When's Alvin getting here?" said Verily.

"Well, you know how Peggy gets kind of vague when it comes to Alvin's doings. I don't think she knows, except he'd get here while you were here, so here I am."

"Came by train," said Verily. "Would've been nice if I could've done that."

"So I wondered if you folks already et," said Mike. "Because I just couldn't see no point in hotting up a pot just for me, and I also didn't much care to eat my beans cold."

Soon they had a fire going right on the bluff, with two pots beside it, one full of stew, the other full of water, waiting to come to a boil.

"I reckon we're putting this fire right out in the open like this," said Abe, "so anybody seeking a reward won't waste time tripping over foxes and beavers in the dark."

"Alvin ain't here yet," said Mike, "so there's no reward, is there?"

It wasn't that Mike Fink was completely incautious, though. He volunteered for the first watch of the night, and warned Verily that he was next.

So it was that a groggy Verily Cooper was the one leaning against a tree looking out over the river when suddenly there was a man standing beside him. "River's beautiful at night," said Alvin softly.

Verily didn't even bat an eye. "Someday I'd like to see it with no fog."

"Someday," said Alvin. "When there ain't no need for it."

"Glad to see you," said Verily.

"Glad to be seen."

"Where's your company of five thousand?"

"Six thousand now. They're coming north. I ran on ahead to meet you and see if you're doing what I hope you're doing."

"Finding a place for your people to come."

"Have you? Found a place?"

"Abe Lincoln and I have been up and down, here and there," said Verily. "There are abolitionist towns that'll take a hundred or so. But I don't think there are sixty such towns in the whole state."

"Bad news," said Alvin.

"So tell me some good news, Alvin," said Verily. "Tell me that there's nobody near us, so we don't have to keep watch and I can go back to sleep."

Alvin grinned. "There's nobody near us," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"Before I do," said Verily, "tell me this. Did you come here tonight because this is the right place for us to be?"

"I came here tonight because tomorrow I need you to make the handles for my plow."

When Dead Mary told Alvin about her vision of the Crystal City, it filled him with hope. He hadn't told her about the Crystal City, had he? And what she described, it wasn't like what he saw in Tenskwa-Tawa's whirlwind. Or rather, it was more than what he saw.

All he had ever seen or thought of was the part of it that was made of crystal, the part of it that would be filled with dreams and visions like the ball, like the bridge, like the dam. And he had always thought that to live in such a place, all the citizens would have to be makers, like him. That's why he had been teaching them, or trying to teach them, all these eager people who simply couldn't do it. All had accomplished something, some slight increase of awareness or ability. Verily Cooper, of course, already had something of makery in his knack, and Calvin was a maker, after his fashion. And Arthur Stuart-now, he was a marvel, all these years and suddenly he makes his breakthrough and he sees it. But that's what, four people? And Calvin none too reliable. You don't make a Crystal City out of that.

But that's why Dead Mary's vision of the Crystal City changed everything. Because they weren't all living in the palace, as she called it. In fact, probably nobody was living there. They lived in regular houses on regular streets, and most of them did regular jobs and had regular lives, except that for a few hours a week they helped to build this extraordinary palace or... or library, or theater, or whatever the building was supposed to be... and when it was built, then for a few hours a week you go inside and look at what you see there, what the walls of it show you, and you learn from it what you can and try to understand what it means. Not some grand, earthshaking thing, maybe just... who your wife really is, or what your children might be, or some danger to avoid, or why the suffering in your life is bearable after all. Or why it isn't. Not everything would be happy. But you'd know things that you didn't know otherwise. Even if all you saw was your own hopes and dreams and fears and guilt and shame thrown back in your face, even that would be worth going inside to see, because how else can you come to know yourself, unless you have some kind of faithful mirror that can show you more than just your face?

It's a city of makers, not because everyone in it is a Maker, but because the whole city cooperates in making the Making possible, and the whole city participates in the good thing that they have made.

So obvious now. Who is the builder of a great cathedral? The architect can truly say, I built this, even though he never lifts a stone. The stonecutters can say, I built this, even though it was not their hands that put the stones in place. The masons, the glassmakers, the carpenters, the weavers of rugs, they are all part of the building of it. And the bishop who caused them to build it, and the rich people who donated the money, and the women who brought the food to the workers, and the farmers who grew the food they serve, all the people of the city caused that building to exist. And fifty years later, when all the people whose hands did the work, they're all dead now, or old and doddering, their grandchildren can walk inside that building and say, "This is our cathedral, we built this," because it was the city that built the building, and the city that goes inside to use it, and each new generation that keeps the city alive, and walks into the building with veneration and pride, the cathedral is theirs as much as anyone's.

I can still teach makery to those who want to learn, thought Alvin. But I don't have to wait until they master it. Because I can make the crystal blocks one by one, and others can set them into place. Verily Cooper can set them into place, because he'll know how to make them fit. And other people, with other knacks, they can help. It might even be that Arthur Stuart can make some of the building blocks.