Atlantis and Other Places by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online Page B

obliged, sir,” the man said. “I’m Lehonti Kent.” He carefully spelled it out for Harris, who wrote it down in one of his notebooks.
    “What can you tell me about the House of Universal Devotion?” Audubon asked.
    That got him more than he’d bargained for. Suddenly everyone, even the most standoffish locals, wanted to talk at once. He gathered that the church preached the innate divinity of every human being and the possibility of transcending mere mankind—as long as you followed the preachings of the man the locals called the Reverend, with a very audible capital R. Universal Devotion to the Reverend , he thought. It all seemed to him the rankest, blackest heresy, but the men of Bideford swore by it.
    “Plenty of Devotees”—another obvious capital letter—“in Thetford and other places like that,” Lehonti Kent said. He plainly had only the vaguest idea of places more than a couple of days’ travel from his home village.
    “Isn’t that interesting?” Audubon said: one of the few phrases polite almost anywhere.
    Because the Bidefordites wanted to preach to them, he and Harris couldn’t get away from the saloon for a couple of hours. “Well, well,” Harris said as they rode away. “Wasn’t that interesting ?” He freighted the word with enough sarcasm to sink a ship twice the size of the Maid of Orleans .
    Audubon’s head was still spinning. The Reverend seemed to have invented a whole new prehistory for Atlantis and Terranova, one that had little to do with anything Audubon thought he’d learned. He wondered if he’d be able to keep it straight enough to get it down in his diary. The Devotees seemed nearly as superstitious to him as the wild red Terranovan tribes—and they should have known better, while the savages were honestly ignorant. Even so, he said, “If Lehonti—what a name!—Kent gave us a true lead, I don’t mind the time we spent . . . too much.”
     
     
    Thetford proved a bigger village than Bideford. It also boasted a House of Universal Devotion, though it had a Methodist church as well. A crudely painted sign in front of the House said, THE REVEREND PREACHES SUNDAY!! Two exclamation points would have warned Audubon away even if he’d never passed through Bideford.
    He did ask after honkers in Thetford. No one with whom he talked claimed to have seen one, but a couple of men did say some people from the town had seen them once upon a time. Harris doled out more silver, but it spurred neither memory nor imagination.
    “Well, we would have come this way anyhow,” Audubon said as they went on riding northeast. The Green Ridge Mountains climbed higher in the sky now, dominating the eastern horizon. Peering ahead with a spyglass, Audubon saw countless dark valleys half hidden by the pines and cycads that gave the mountains their name. Anything could live there . . . couldn’t it? He had to believe it could. “We have a little more hope now,” he added, as much to himself as to Harris.
    “Hope is good,” his friend said. “Honkers would be better.”
    The words were hardly out of his mouth before the ferns and cycads by the side of the road quivered . . . and a stag bounded across. Audubon started to raise his shotgun, but stopped with the motion not even well begun. For one thing, the beast was gone. For another, the gun was charged with birdshot, which would only have stung it.
    “Sic transit gloria honkeris,” Harris said.
    “ Honkeris ?” But Audubon held up a hand before Harris could speak. “Yes, honker would be a third-declension noun, wouldn’t it?”
    Little by little, the country rose toward the mountains. Cycads thinned out in the woods; more varieties of pines and spruces and redwoods took their places. The ferns in the undergrowth seemed different, too. As settlements thinned out, so did splashes of color from exotic flowers. The very air seemed different: mistier, moister, full of curious, spicy scents the nose would not meet anywhere else in the