Skin Trade Read online

  “Looks like we have company,” he said. “Stay by me and keep your piece ready. You might just get a chance to use it.”

  I did as he asked, readying my pistol as we crept along the trail toward the groans. Soon the groans were joined by the distinct rattle of chains, and I knew what we were bound to find.

  “Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Mr. Theo said.

  Ahead of us on the trail rested the next line of traps, one of which held our prize. A revenant had managed to shove its entire arm, all the way to its elbow, into the mouth of the middlemost bucket before the trap snapped closed. The bucket was free from its stakes, but the chains kept the revenant from getting very far. Groaning in displeasure as it yanked on the chain, the beast was a sorry sack of a carcass, more bone than skin. What little clothing it possessed hung in ragged shreds about its body. Its face was almost nothing but skull. Its ribs jutted out at odd, broken angles. I could make out a huge hole in its stomach, leaving withered entrails exposed to the elements, which hadn’t been kind.

  As we approached, the revenant rose on its haunches and struck up a new chord, adding growling to its repertoire of moans and groans. It reached out with its free arm, swiping at us, and snapped at the air between us, still trying to attack despite its confinement. I wrinkled my nose at the scent of the thing. Once again, the beast wasn’t as smelly as I thought it would be, but it still gave off a pungent odor.

  “Must be a fresh catch,” Mr. Theo said. “A few more minutes and it would’ve pulled itself free.”

  “I guess we’re lucky, then,” I said.

  “Not really. It’s more of a waste of time than anything else. If I were alone, I’d just put it down and move along. But it’ll be a good learning experience for you.” He patted me on the back, at which I winced with pain. “Hey, now. You don’t seem very excited.”

  “I am,” I said. I didn’t want him to think that I was afraid of the work ahead. But it was hard to focus when my stomach hurt so much.

  Mr. Theo leaned back to take measure of me, raking me once over with those frosted eyes of his. “Are you all right? You seem … unwell.”

  “No!” I snapped, a little too quickly. “I’m fine. I’m just nervous. That’s all.”

  “Aw, son. No need to be nervous. This one will be a quickie. You’ll see. Fetch me the rod, and I’ll show you its real purpose.”

  I gathered the supposed trap-tripping rod, narrowing my eyes at his wide grin as I handed it over. Mr. Theo withdrew a narrow double-edged blade from the depths of his coat and screwed the hollow handle onto the threaded end of the rod, creating a long-handled knife of sorts.

  “The brain is the problem,” Mr. Theo said. He paced around the line of traps, watching the revenant with a careful eye as he tossed the weapon from hand to hand.

  The revenant spun in place on its knees and free hand, watching Mr. Theo with as much caution.

  “The infection lies in the brain,” Mr. Theo said. “The brain keeps the corpse up and about by sending signals all down the body. So, what’s the easiest way to kill a revenant?”

  “Destroy the brain,” I answered.

  “Correct. Your natural instinct tells you to destroy the brain, hit it in the head or whatever, thus killing the revenant. But if you ruin too much of the brain, then you won’t have enough to tan with. And that would be bad, why?”

  “Because the brain is the only thing that will pull the infection out of the hide.”

  “Correct again. I see you’ve been paying attention. All this time, I thought I was talking to myself. The trick is to disable the brain’s communication with the rest of the body without destroying the precious matter. Like so.”

  Mr. Theo stopped pacing and raised the rod, pointing the business end at the beast before him. The revenant lunged forward, but Mr. Theo was well out of reach. In one smooth movement, Mr. Theo thrust the rod forward, into the revenant’s neck. The revenant went rigid at the instant of contact, straightening as much as its confinement would allow. Mr. Theo withdrew the rod, leaving behind a puncture that oozed with blackened blood. After this move, the beast went slack, its eyes clearing of that milky residue as they rolled skyward and the creature slumped to the ground.

  It was very much the same kindness he showed Pete when I begged him not to shoot my best friend in the head. Now I know it was a practiced trick of the trade and not just an offer of mercy at my behest.

  “Straight through the spine,” Mr. Theo said. “Gotta sever the connection to the body. Once the brain is cut off, it folds up shop. The body follows suit. It all happens pretty quickly.”

  “That was incredible,” I said.

  “Years of practice, son.” Mr. Theo flipped the rod-cum-spear about in his hands. “This old thing ain’t much good for real combat, but as long as a rev is trapped and you can take your time, it’ll do the job well enough. I’ll let you try your hand at it in time. And I can see you already got questions.”

  I grinned, because he was right. We hadn’t known each other more than a fortnight, and he could read me without hesitation. “Would severing the head work too?”

  “Certainly. But it’s a sight messier.”

  “Right.” I gasped as my lower stomach seized in an unbearable cramp.

  This didn’t escape Mr. Theo. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I hate to say this, but I think that hardtack and wild game have taken their toll on my bowels.”

  “They’ll do that. I told you to drink more water, son.” He clucked his tongue at me, then motioned to the trap. “Time’s a-wastin’. Don your gloves and get this rev out of there, and we can check him for worth.”

  Mr. Theo left me with the gruesome task of dislodging the revenant from the bucket. It took every ounce of strength within me to pry the trap open and work the revenant’s arm from the metal jaws. (A task made doubly difficult by my griping belly.) Once we had the beast free, I stripped the corpse bare with a certain amount of embarrassed retching, while Mr. Theo built a small fire. Together, we tied the corpse by the feet and, using the lower branches of a tree, raised it spread-eagle to eye level. That is to say, level with my eyes.

  “Not much to use,” Mr. Theo said. “The stomach is blown and rotten through to the spine, and the face is too desiccated to skin. That’s not uncommon, especially if they haven’t fed in some time. The legs are scratched to high hell from crawling through the brush, but the upper thighs are still meaty, and the backs of them are almost intact. That arm is totally shot, though. Shame too. But I guess we might get a few scraps out of the other one. I want you to skin the whole thing. You need the practice.”

  I winced. “Yes, sir.”

  “Pull what you can, and we’ll burn the rest. No need to leave a mess. All right, then, you ready for this?”

  “I think so.” I winced, again from discomfort rather than dislike.

  He mistook my pain for uneasiness. “Are you sure? I can do this one alone. Show you the ropes, and you can do the next one.”

  “No, no. I want to do this. I’ve just got a stomachache. Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, son. My guts still twist every time I take up my skinning knife. Speaking of which …” Mr. Theo slipped a blade free from his boot and flipped it about, holding it out to me by the hilt. “Go on, then. I’ll talk you through it.”

  And that he did. The blade might have been in my hand, but my actions were an extension of Mr. Theo’s words. With the first cut, I thought I might vomit, the smell of perforated and rotting bowel rising to meet my nostrils. I pressed on, following his every command, and before long, I became lost in the moment.

  The work was gruesome but cathartic. As I cut and sawed and stripped away the flesh, I poured my anxiety over the last few weeks into my actions. Each pass of the blade excised a painful memory. Each freed section of skin became a small liberation of my own soul. It might sound ghastly, but I found a certain emotional release in skinning that corpse. A release I didn’t expect, and one I neede
d more than I realized. For once it was complete and I stood back, huffing and puffing as though I had run a marathon, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  I felt at ease. Peaceful. Tranquil.

  If it weren’t for the persistent cramping of my stomach, I would’ve marked myself as feeling better than I had in some time.

  “How you feeling?” Mr. Theo asked.

  “Fine, sir,” I said. “I feel … I feel good.”

  “I knew you would.”

  I thanked him with a smile, pleased with myself and my success at the task.

  “Very well done,” Mr. Theo said, inspecting my handiwork. “Seems you have a knack for this sort of thing. You sure you ain’t skinned before?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “I used to …” I caught myself before I was able to explain how I used to make my own dresses in my old life. In truth, stripping a revenant’s skin was much like cutting out a pattern. Same premise. Different material. “I’ve always been good with a knife.”

  “Well, I must say, you’ve impressed the hell out of me, son. Got to be a good foot or so here. I think you got more out of it than even I could’ve. You go take a sit-down, and I’ll clean up here.”

  “I want to help.”

  “Nonsense. You earned a break. Besides, you need to clean your gloves before that stuff sets to drying. And you should take a moment to think about things.”

  “I don’t need a moment. I’m fine.”

  Mr. Theo gently pushed me away from the carcass. “Take a few minutes for yourself. Trust me.”

  He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I stripped the gloves and washed them down. Once I patted them dry, I folded them over the side of the wagon and rested my tired rump against a tree a few feet away from Mr. Theo. As I watched him shift the leftover gore into the flames—the skeleton and viscera and entrails—I lost my grip on that peaceful moment. The flames snapped and crackled bright, burning what was left of the remains. Human remains. It might have been a revenant when we killed it, but before that, it was a person. Which meant I had just skinned a human being.

  But worse than that, I had enjoyed it.

  My cramping increased tenfold as my stomach dropped low with the thought of my terrible deed.

  “What have I done?” I whispered.

  “It’s okay, son,” Mr. Theo said without even facing me. “Everyone suffers some dread after the first time. It’ll pass.”

  “But I just … oh God.”

  “No need to bring Him up. I don’t reckon He had much to do with it. Just take a few deep breaths. You’ll be fine.”

  I drew a breath and exhaled, again and again, until the moment did indeed pass. The tranquility didn’t return, and I wasn’t sure it ever would again, but the panic and anxiety did melt away, replaced instead by an unsure angst.

  “Who do you think he was?” I asked.

  “I try not to think too much about it,” Mr. Theo said.

  “Don’t you ever wonder?”

  “Sure. But will it change anything?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Let me know when you’ve caught your breath. We still got work to do.”

  “Yeah, gotta clean and reset the traps.”

  “No. That can wait until tomorrow.” Mr. Theo kicked something, which rolled across the space toward me. “First I teach you how to tan.”

  I looked down as the revenant’s head came to rest between my feet.

  “Use the rod to crack it open,” Mr. Theo instructed. “Be careful not to spill any of the brain. We’ll need all it has. And don’t forget to put your gloves back on.”

  With less gusto than when I skinned the thing, I broke into the skull. The bone provided little resistance for the metal rod, which made the job easy but no more pleasant. Once the skull was cleft open, I cautiously brought the two halves to Mr. Theo, who sat on the end of the wagon, scraping the few scraps I had salvaged from the revenant’s hide. The skin was a putrid green and yellow. I still didn’t understand how he planned on making it into usable leather. But I supposed that was what he was about to teach me.

  “Gotta get all the sinew off,” he explained. “Gristle, fat and muscle will ruin a good pelt.”

  “It doesn’t look good,” I said. “It looks sickly. Are you sure it’s usable?”

  “Sure is. That ugly color will fade when the infection is pulled from the skin. Trust me.” He nodded down to a second blade beside him. “Scrape it thin, but not so thin that you puncture it.”

  I grabbed up the blade and set to work beside him, scraping the flecks of bone and blood from the back of the skin. When I turned it over and came across a patch of wiry black, I asked, “What about the hair?”

  “Shave it off.”

  “Are you sure? Seems a shame to waste it.” I waggled the small scrap at him.

  “After all, it’s a genuine revenant armpit.”

  Mr. Theo gave a soft chuckle. “I know it’s just the armpit, and you know it’s just an armpit, but once it’s tanned, it’s easy to mistake for a man’s tender bits.”

  “A man’s what?”

  He glanced briefly down at my groin, then back up again, raising an eyebrow to punctuate his quiet point.

  “Oh.” I wrinkled my nose at the hairy chunk, the humor sucked right out of the moment by his ever-practical spirit.

  “Yup,” Mr. Theo said. “Not that there aren’t folks who’ll pay good money for that sort of thing. But I don’t like to get a reputation for it.”

  “Folks sure are weird.”

  “They sure are.”

  We returned to our task in silence, scraping the strips of flesh until the gore was gone. When the job was done, we rinsed and washed the skins clean as a whistle. It was then that the moment arrived. The big secret to the tanning process was about to be revealed unto me. I watched with careful attention as Mr. Theo scooped the contents of the skull into a metal bowl, where he smashed the brain into a mealy pulp. To this he added various ingredients of the herbal variety, naming them aloud as he worked them into the brains. He put the nearly full bowl over the open flames, waiting a few minutes until the pulp began to bubble, then returned it to the ground beside the fire and looked up to me.

  “You aren’t going to like this next bit,” he said with a grin.

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll find it disagreeable.”

  “You just had me pull the flesh from a corpse and scrape it clean. What could possibly be worse than that?”

  “It’s the final secret to tanning. Well … it comes from you.”

  “Comes from me?”

  “You make it yourself.”

  “I … don’t …”

  “It’s piss, son.”

  “Piss?” And there we were once again. Back to that same old problem.

  “Yes. You gotta pee in the bowl.”

  “You seem awful obsessed with urine.”

  “And you seem like you’re trying to dodge your duties again.” He waggled the bowl at me. “Fill her up, son.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You don’t have a choice. It’s your work. You skinned it. You gotta finish it.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just … I can’t.”

  Mr. Theo lost his grin and his even temper. “Listen here, I’ve been real patient with this whole too shy to drop your drawers thing, but enough is enough. I’ll easily admit that I am impressed with your skin work back there. Real impressed. In fact, before then I had you pegged as not having the stomach for it. But you showed me. You showed me good. And I reckon I’m mighty proud to call you an apprentice.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Theo, sir.” I lowered my eyes, shamed by his sudden affection.

  “You’re welcome. I mean it too. But if you can’t get past the fact that I don’t really care what shape your pecker is, or how big or small it is, for that matter, then you can pack up all of your shit and get the hell out of my way, ‘cause I’ve got work to do. Now you gonna
piss in the bowl or not?”

  There are times in our lives when we know a certain moment has arrived. And when that moment draws close, it is up to us to recognize and seize the opportunities it brings, be they good or bad. (Such a moment had come upon me a few months back, when I decided I’d had enough of Mrs. Fathom’s accursed work. When I cropped my hair and fled rather then have my body spend another day as someone else’s plaything.) A moment came just then, at the prompting of my mentor’s angry demand. A moment in which I knew it was time to tell the truth. Mr. Theo was proud to call me apprentice, and likewise, I was honored to call him mentor. I was done with the lies. It was time to share everything.

  “Mr. Theo,” I started, “there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you about my, well, about the content of my pants.”

  “For Christ’s sake, son,” he said. “Unless you’re packing two barrels down there, I really couldn’t care less.”

  I giggled at the imagery. “No, sir, it’s something less interesting than that. It’s sort of difficult to explain.”

  “You know what’s difficult? This hide-and-go-pee game we’ve been playing. If you need me to turn my back every time you pull your pants down, we ain’t never gonna get the work done!”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you see, I’ve not been completely honest with you about-”

  “Shush,” Mr. Theo said over me as he jumped to his feet.

  I tried to balk, but he held up a hand, signaling my silence as he stared into the underbrush to our left. Rising beside him, I looked off into the brush, seeking whatever he saw and finding nothing.

  “Where’s your pistol?” he asked in a low voice as he drew his own and readied it.

  I glanced about the place, unsure where I’d laid the fool thing down. To be fair, I wasn’t used to keeping up with a weapon, and the recent excitement left me even less worried about its whereabouts. At last I spied it across the way, beside the tree where I had taken my respite only moments before. I went to retrieve it, but Mr. Theo shot out a hand to still me. He raised a trembling finger to his lips before motioning to the bushes beside the tree. Again I saw nothing. Heard nothing. I shook my head, trying to convey in silence that I didn’t understand what the trouble was. Then I heard it. That hollow growl I had come to dread. My eyes went wide, and all at once, I wished I had been clever enough to hang on to my gun.