Part 32 (1/2)

Quent shrugged. It was true. ”Say you're right and I'm wrong. Say the Suckauhock doesn't move Pontiac to see things as we do. What is it for, then? Why did Memetosia give it to you?”

”I don't know. Some dream he had, maybe.”

”That's what I think, too. So it's all part of the same plan. Memetosia's dream. Your dream. Thoyanoguin's dream.” Quent waited, but Corm didn't comment. ”Everything fits.”

”If your plan is part of the dream, yes, you're right.”

There was still doubt in Corm's voice, but there was nothing more Quent could say. Corm's dream, Corm's choice.

”You didn't find anything at the Lydius place?” Corm had been circling back and forth in the story for hours, weaving in and out of the long line of circ.u.mstances that had brought them to this place. ”No explanation for the Huron who attacked me?”

”None. I told you, Genevieve and John were the same as always. And the same when they came to my father's funeral.”

Corm winced. ”I feel really bad about not being there for that. Miss Lorene-”

”She understands. Corm, what do you want to do? Are you with me on this or not?”

”I'm always with you. And getting Bright Fish Water and the Great Carrying Place back for the Patent, I know how important that is, but-”

”But you're not sure it fits into your dream.”

”I'm not sure about any of it.”

”I am,” Quent said. ”The hawk is the Jesuit priest you met in l'Acadie. I'm the bear. And you're the white wolf. I'm sure of all of it.”

”I thought the bear was protecting the little birds, maybe it was the enemy.”

”You only saw the bear, you didn't see him do anything.”

That was true. ”How come it wasn't a red bear in my dream?”

”How in tarnation should I know that?”

Corm poked at the fire and the embers flared. They'd come over to Pointe-Levis the day before. Stole a boat because they didn't dare hire one for fear the boatman would talk about his two highly identifiable pa.s.sengers, and rowed a quarter league across the water, to the woods of the southern sh.o.r.e, where they could talk as long as need be with little fear of discovery or distraction. Now the time for talk had come and gone. Corm stood up. ”We do it.”

”We do it.” Quent stood, and they touched hands solemnly, palm to palm, to signify the pact was made.

”We can go south in the morning,” Corm said.

”Day after,” Quent said. ”Tomorrow is Wednesday. You said she comes out of that place Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I have to see her, Corm. Just once before I go.”

”I said she was coming out three times a week. I didn't see her at all last week. Monday you came and I didn't look for her.”

”But she could come out again tomorrow. What's one more day going to matter?”

”Thing like this, every day matters.”

”Winter's coming,” Quent said. ”The campaign season is finished for this year.”

Pontiac had been in the Ohio Country at the time of the battle on the Monongahela. It was where Cormac was most likely to find him now. But it was true about winter not being the fighting season.

Corm crouched beside the fire. It had died down some while they were talking, and the chill was deepening as night approached. ”Listen, there is another thing ... something's happening in l'Acadie.”

Quent began kicking at stray embers, encouraging the half-burned bits of wood to flare again. ”What troubles you?”

”One of the Acadians helped me. Gave me a place to stay. This edict will be hard.”

The only one of Braddock's four p.r.o.ngs that had succeeded was the taking of Beausejour and l'Acadie back in June. For the last few weeks there had been stories that the English had posted notices saying the land and houses and livestock of the Acadians were forfeit to the king, and that the habitants were to be transported out of the province with their money and such household goods as they could carry. Like everyone else, Quent had heard the stories. ”I can't think they're going to be able to enforce the order,” he said. ”The English have been threatening to deport the Acadians for years. You can put up a lot of notices demanding that people leave, but actually getting them off their land, that's not going to be too easy.”

”Doesn't mean they won't try. Marni is all alone.”

Quent stopped kicking at the fire. ”Marni. So it's a woman you're worried about.”

”Any reason it shouldn't be?”

”None at all.” For Quent the most awkward part of their two days of talk had been telling Cormac how he felt about Nicole, but Corm had merely nodded as if he'd known all along. ”No reason,” Quent said. ”I just didn't realize.”

”What worries me ... Her farm is way out at the edge of the peninsula, between Halifax and Port Mouton.” Corm paused. ”You ever been there?”

”No, not anywhere in l'Acadie.”

”Then you won't know what I'm talking about.”

”I know what you're talking about. What you're worrying about, as well. Has anyone actually seen any of these s.h.i.+ps? Or does anyone have any notion of where they're to be taken?”

Corm shook his head. ”I don't think so.”

”It's likely all talk. And if it isn't, it won't be easy this time of year. Not with the freeze coming.” He saw the look on Cormac's face, knew he wasn't convinced. ”Look, there's no reason you shouldn't go back to l'Acadie and see she's all right.”

”You reckon?”

”Yes. I told you, we have until the spring. A few days more or less this side of the divide, that's not going to count for much.”

”You're right.” Corm's sense of relief was enormous. He knew it showed in his voice and he didn't care. ”I'll go to l'Acadie before I look for Pontiac.” As soon as he said it he knew that he'd agreed as well to go back to Quebec the next day and try and help Quent see Nicole.

The fire was nicely contained now, the embers glowing bright red. Quent put on another log. Sparks flared, then died away, and the dry bark crackled as it caught. Nice to be here like this with Corm, Quent thought, have a few hours when it wasn't necessary to worry about anything except the ordinary dangers of the woods. After tomorrow everything would change. What if she said yes, she'd come with him. If she agreed, he would not leave without her. If it slowed everything down, then so be it. Spring, summer, those were the times to make war. Both were over.

Quent blacked his hair with the ash of the fire, and Corm found him a farmer's traditional cloak. He didn't steal it exactly, he explained; he'd left a few sous in payment. ”Nyakwai maybe now,” he said. ”But not so Uko.”

Nothing to be done about Quent's size. He'd always be a bear, but he rubbed soot on his face to disguise the stubble of red beard. The cloak, though made for a shorter man, covered him from his neck to just above the knees. The disguise worked well. They rowed from Pointe-Levis to the mainland, put the stolen boat back where they'd found it, and slipped into the shadows with no hint anyone had taken special note of their arrival.

”This is the place,” Corm said when they got to the copse that flanked the deserted section of the Cote de la Montagne below the bishop's chateau. ”I met Nicole here maybe six times. She always comes this way.”