Skin Trade Read online

  “Thank you so much, sir,” I said. “You won’t regret this. I’ll work real hard. I promise.”

  “I know you will,” he said. “And you also know you’ll have to keep up the act? If anyone around here caught wind that you were a pretty young thing, then you would pray for your old life before it was done. So it’s Samuel at all times, understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But for now, get some more rest. We need to move out as soon as you feel up to it.” He spread out a bedroll on the floor beside me.

  “I can sleep there.”

  “You can stay where you are. You’ll recover faster if you’re comfortable. I’m used to the floor anyhow.”

  “Did the other traps come up empty?”

  “I don’t know. I left them behind. I was in kind of a rush.”

  “Sorry.” Yet I could sense a lingering worry in his words. Something more than just an eagerness to return to the trade.

  “I appreciate that, but it wasn’t just you.” He stopped fussing with his bedroll and sighed. “It was those revs. They weren’t normal.”

  I reached back to the memory of that day, trying to see what my mentor saw. What trouble he spotted on the two revenants that took us by surprise. A flash of metal sparked in my mind’s eye. “The collars. They were both wearing collars and leads.”

  Mr. Theo nodded. “I think they were trackers.”

  “Trackers?”

  “Revenants put to work tracking human prey for a group of folks that goes by the name of the Syndicate.”

  “I’ve heard Boudreaux use that name before.”

  “Well, pray you never hear it again, because they are just what they sound: a collective of criminals. Thieves and murderers and general badasses that have had run of the western territories since the uprising turned this place into hell. But more importantly, they are the kind of folks you don’t want tracking you. Usually they leave us traders alone if we leave them alone, but I guess I must’ve pissed ‘em off. Fancy that.” He smirked in a way that made me glad that smile wasn’t meant for me.

  “How can you be sure it’s them?”

  “Because those revs weren’t just wearing collars; they were also branded. Like cattle. Which means those revenants were special made, something the Syndicate takes great pleasure in. They either got away from their handlers or were set free to roam a bit. It doesn’t matter which, because someone will find what’s left of them and then find my traps, and after that, it’s only a matter of time before those same somebodies find us.”

  A real panic rose in me. Not unlike the worry that accompanied me as I fled Mrs. Fathom and my past life. Only this time, there was nowhere left to run. “What should we do?”

  “You just get better quickly, and we’ll be out of here long before they-”

  The soft tinkle of a bell above the door cut him short.

  “Sammy, get under the bed,” Mr. Theo whispered.

  ****

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  ****

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was far ahead of him, already down and scooting under the small space between the wooden frame and the floorboards. My stomach griped a bit, but I ignored it in favor of the safety of hiding. I peered out from under the bed and watched as Mr. Theo grabbed his skinning knife and tiptoed to the door, which now rattled as if possessed by the devil of a wind.

  “Let me in!” a man shouted. “For the love of all that is holy, please let me in!”

  In an impressively smooth motion, Mr. Theo tripped the latch, pulled open the door and yanked the surprised intruder inside. My mentor stood in the open doorway as he grabbed and held the stranger in a tight bear hug, pressing the edge of his blade to the man’s throat. Or rather, his bowtie.

  “Please don’t hurt me!” the man shouted.

  Mr. Theo growled, “You have exactly five seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t cut your throat.”

  “Because I’m not alone! Something’s coming!”

  Mr. Theo had just enough time to shove the young man into the room before a revenant tumbled into the cabin atop him, taking the pair of them to the floor. The stranger scrambled across the cabin to the far side of the room (near me!), where he watched with horror the scene unfolding before him. Back and forth the pair struggled, rolling about to the tunes of growls and grunts and the foulest language I’d ever heard my mentor speak. I could just make out the distinct sound of the revenant’s teeth snapping in the air as it tried to land a solid bite. But Mr. Theo was too fast and too good. The moment he gained purchase, he rose to his feet and slammed the revenant face-first against one wall. There he employed his blade, severing the back of the beast’s neck with a few quick swipes.

  The revenant slumped to the floor, oozing various undead juices in an ever-widening dark puddle.

  Mr. Theo whipped about, still seething from his battle. He brandished the knife at the stranger and snarled, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

  The fellow didn’t get a chance to explain himself. Instead, he whimpered a bit, then went limp where he sat, passing out with all the grace of a nervous woman.

  “Pantywaist,” Mr. Theo said.

  I crawled out from my hiding spot and stood over the unconscious fellow. The stranger was slight of build and neatly shaven save for a slight shadow and a small patch of hair just on the tip of his chin. (It was the tiniest beard I had ever seen!) He dressed in a gentleman’s manner, though his suit had seen better days. (Who wore a suit out here?) The young man wasn’t too harsh on the eyes either, handsome in a sort of intellectual way. But he did look an awful lot like what he probably was—out of place in the Badlands.

  “Who do you think he is?” I asked.

  “Did I tell you to come out?” Mr. Theo snapped.

  “No, sir. But he isn’t who you were expecting, is he?”

  “No. I thought it might be a rev at first, the way he tripped the alarm.”

  “Is he with the Syndicate?”

  “The Syndicate can handle themselves against a rev. They don’t wear bowties either.”

  Mr. Theo proceeded to lug the remains of the revenant outside, dumping the corpse on the porch before he returned to the relative safety of the cabin. He cleansed his hands, then turned his attention to the senseless stranger. After dragging the man across the room, Mr. Theo sat him upright in a chair by the fire and hogtied him there. Once he was secure, Mr. Theo tossed a whole glass of water on the stranger’s face. The fellow leapt awake with a surprised shout and stared at the pair of us as we stood a few feet away from him.

  “Who are you?” Mr. Theo asked.

  “Don’t hurt me,” the stranger begged. “I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

  “If you didn’t think anyone lived here, then who did you think was going to let you inside?”

  The stranger chewed his cracked and swollen lower lip as he thought about this conundrum. A low growl rolled between them, and it took me a moment to realize it was the man’s stomach.

  “Tell me who you are and we’ll talk about food,” Mr. Theo offered.

  “My name is Mortimer,” the man said. “Mortimer P. Tinsdale.”

  “Not good enough, Mr. Tinsdale.”

  “It’s the truth. That really is my name. And please call me Mortimer.”

  “Fine. Not good enough, Mortimer. Who are you?”

  “I don’t know what else you want.”

  “For starters, what are you doing in the Badlands all gussied up like that?”

  “The Badlands?” Mortimer seemed surprised at first, then gave a nervous tittering laugh. “You must be joking.”

  “Nope. I like a good laugh now and again, but I never joke about two things: the living dead and this living hell.”

  Mortimer looked to me as if seeking confirmation. I nodded as solemnly as I could.

  “I can’t be in the Badlands,” Mortimer said.

  “Do revenants chase you around anywhere else?” Mr. Theo asked.

  �
�No, but I can’t be in the Badlands.”

  “And yet you are.”

  “I don’t belong here. I’m a pacifist.”

  Mr. Theo scratched his beard as he clucked his tongue. “That’s a shame, then. Because pacifist is another way for saying ‘dead man walking’ in these parts.”

  “No, I can’t be in the Badlands. This is a mistake.”

  “Sure, sure. A mistake brought us all here, so tell us what particular mistake has you hiding out in the Badlands.”

  The stranger gasped as if genuinely insulted by Mr. Theo’s words. “I’m not hiding anywhere. I was dragged out here and left for dead. I swear.”

  “Is that so?” Mr. Theo looked the man up and down, considering the situation. “Samuel, there’s some cold broth on the stove.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, and moved to fetch some for the starving man.

  “Thank you so much!” Mortimer shouted.

  “Not so fast,” Mr. Theo said. “We aren’t quite done yet. Why are you here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then tell us how you got here. Who brought you here? Why?”

  “I swear I don’t know.”

  “Then take a few guesses. And get on with it, or you’ll starve before you’re done.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why I’m here. Someone knocked me out, and when I woke up, I was here. Well, not here. I was a few miles from here, but you get the general idea.”

  I had to repress a snigger as I ladled up the broth. This Mortimer wasn’t just out of sorts, he was out of his depth. Flustered and disconcerted, he rambled on and on about how he awoke with no idea where he was and scaled hell and high waters to reach this abandoned cabin, only to find it occupied.

  “I honestly didn’t know someone was living here,” he said. “I was just trying to hide from that thing.”

  “Sir,” Mr. Theo said. “You are either a lying sack of manure or the luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

  The man gasped again. “It’s the truth! Honest! I don’t know how I got here. I was … I was … I was kidnapped!”

  Mr. Theo glanced at me, and all I could do was shrug. Mortimer seemed genuine, but seeming a thing meant little out here. The only truth was proof. My mentor settled for my uncertainty, indicating with a nod that I should allow the stranger a sip or two. The way the poor man guzzled down those few greasy mouthfuls of cold broth proved he needed far more than several sips of the stuff. He needed a four-course meal.

  “Thank you,” Mortimer said. His relief was palpable, as was his satisfaction. “I haven’t eaten since I arrived here.”

  “You look it,” Mr. Theo said. He slid a loaf of bread (fresh baked by the smell of it) across the table toward the hungry man. “Tell us why you’re here, and I’ll give you something more substantial. A man can’t live on broth alone.”

  Mortimer stared at the bread as though it were a beautiful woman, a lustful hunger claiming his eyes. I could hear his stomach growl from where I sat on the bed.

  “Come on, son,” Mr. Theo said. “No one ends up out here for no reason at all. Only outcasts or outlaws come to the Badlands. Which are you?”

  Mortimer chewed his lip in silence.

  “I want to help you” Mr. Theo said. “But I can’t do that until you level with me. Why are you here?”

  “I’m telling the truth,” Mortimer said. “I don’t know why I am here. I really was spirited away in the dead of night.”

  Mr. Theo waited for more.

  The stranger glanced between the pair of us before he let loose a soft sigh of defeat. “If I told you, it wouldn’t matter. There’s nothing you can do about it.” He hung his head in the most sorrowful way. “I’m a condemned man, and no one can help me.”

  “That’s more like it,” Mr. Theo said. He stepped forward to work the knots on the rope, untying a very surprised Mortimer.

  “You’re setting me free?”

  “What can I say? I appreciate an honest man. We don’t find much honesty in these parts. Do we, boy?”

  “No, sir,” I said, trying hard not to grin at his true meaning.

  Mr. Theo passed the bread to Mortimer. “Tell us what happened, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

  “I … told you,” Mortimer said between mouthfuls of bread. “You can’t do … anything … for me.”

  “Let us decide that. But first, eat. I can’t stand when someone talks with his mouth full.”

  The man consumed the small loaf in less than a minute, after which I offered him another cup of cold broth. He drank three before he finally had his fill.

  “Bless you,” he said, patting his belly. “Bless both of you. I don’t know what would’ve become of me if I hadn’t come across this cabin.”

  “You’d be dead, or undead,” Mr. Theo said in his blunt manner. “You’re lucky you found us before that rev got his paws on you. You’re also lucky we found you before a number of other folks did. This place is crawling with dangerous fugitives. Someone up there must be looking out for you.”

  Mortimer snorted. “If someone was looking out for me, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

  “Speaking of which …”

  “Ah yes. I suppose I owe you an explanation.” Mortimer chewed his lip again, a nervous habit he seemed to favor. “How do I know I can I trust you?”

  Mr. Theo laughed aloud at this question. “Now you’re joking.”

  “I’m quite serious,” Mortimer said. “You say I’m lucky you found me first, but does that mean I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are. You ask what drives me out here, yet I’m left in the dark as to why you two are here.”

  “Easy enough to remedy. We work the skin trade.”

  Mortimer started. “The skin trade? Wait a minute.” He leaned in closer to Mr. Theo, inspecting his features as if he recognized him at long last. “No, no, no … you can’t be. You’re Theophilus Jackson. Aren’t you?”

  I stared openmouthed at my mentor, who frowned at the sound of his name on the stranger’s lips.

  “You are!” Mortimer shouted. “The Theophilus Jackson. Why, this is marvelous!” He leapt from his seat and offered a hand to Mr. Theo. “Sir, I must say this is an unexpected honor. I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve been an admirer of yours for quite some time.”

  “Keep your handshake and your admiration. The last thing I need is another sorry soul looking to get into the trade. It’s crowded enough as it is.”

  Mortimer lowered his hand. “You mistake me, sir. I have no interest in learning your work. I’m talking about the breakthrough of your tanning compound. You are the runaway slave who was responsible for the creation of the skin trade, yes?”

  Mr. Theo shifted a glance to me.

  There was nothing I could say. I just goggled at the news that my mentor, my master, was indeed the inventor of the very trade he taught me.

  I was learning right from the source.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” Mortimer asked.

  “I think you have some explaining to do,” Mr. Theo said as he slipped his knife out of its sheath. “And right quick, before my blade finds your throat again.”

  Mortimer lifted his hands in defense. “Please, I mean no harm. I’m only repeating what I heard.”

  “Then you heard wrong. I belong to no one.”

  “Of course you don’t! Not anymore. You people are all free. And rightly so.” Mortimer attempted a weak smile, and added, “Bravo?”

  “Skip the hurrahs and tell me what you know about my compound.”

  “A lot. A whole lot. In fact, I suspect my work with your compound is what landed me here in the first place.”

  “What work?” I asked.

  “I’m a scientist,” Mortimer said as he lowered his arms again. “I work for the U.S. government. Well, I did. I’m not sure I do anymore. Not after this.”

  “Get to the point,” Mr. Theo said.

  “The point is that I’ve been using the basis of your compound to cr
eate a serum. A cure for the infection.”

  “A cure,” I echoed. Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine someone could make a cure for this horrible blight on our land. Nor was I willing to believe the government would pursue such things. “Had you any luck?”

  “Not at first,” Mortimer said. “Based on Mr. Jackson’s formula, it was easy to make a serum that could take the infection out of a twice-dead corpse. With some adjustments, I could draw the infection out of a revenant, thus killing it outright. Yet I hit a snag when it came to removing the infection from living folks before it had a chance to kill them.”

  “That’s because it’s impossible,” Mr. Theo said.

  “I almost thought as much too,” Mortimer said. “You see, we still don’t understand the infection entirely, but I think it has something to do with the central nervous system. It’s my personal theory that the infection sets up home deep within the brain, and after death occurs, this parasite—because let’s face it, that is essentially what we are dealing with—springs forth to take charge of the nerve endings that branch off of the spinal cord and run all throughout the body. This allows the parasite to use the body as a host of sorts, in a type of marionette fashion. And since all of the orders are still coming from the core of the brain, that primordial foundation, the body operates on the basest of instincts in order to keep the parasite alive.”

  “Which are?” I asked.

  “Hunt. Feed. Survive.”

  Mr. Theo seemed impressed. “Which explains why severing the brain from the body kills the host again.”

  “Yes, but recently I made an important breakthrough. I stumbled on the answer, you see. I believe it is possible to trick the central nervous system into thinking communication with the body had been severed, allowing us to treat the victim with your marvelous compound, thus flushing all signs of infection from the body and the brain.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Well, yes. It’s all very complicated, isn’t it?” Mortimer smiled, proudly, but didn’t elaborate. “And I also knew it would take some time to develop, but I was confident I had the cure in hand. I convened a meeting of my colleagues, preparing to share my findings, when-”