Skin Trade Page 15

  “But if we go through a different one,” Mr. Theo said, “we would fare better. We can claim the telegraph must have screwed up the information a bit.”

  Mortimer grinned. “Yes. Yes. Of course with your added word, this might just work.”

  “I don’t know what good it’ll do, seeing as how I haven’t crossed the border myself in a long time.”

  “That matters not. Yes, I like this plan. I pretend to be the large boy, and with your assurance, they are bound to believe us. After all, who wouldn’t believe the father of the skin trade?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with the price of eggs.”

  “I think I do,” I said. “He’s saying you have pull, sir.”

  “Exactly!” Mortimer shouted.

  “Pull?” Mr. Theo asked. “What kind of pull?”

  “Think about it,” Mortimer said. “If a simple scientist thousands of miles away knows who you are, then surely those at the border know of you. Your word is bound to carry weight with them.”

  The picture of modesty, Mr. Theo looked away as he shook his head. “No more than anyone else’s, I assure you.”

  “Yes,” Mortimer said as he stroked his tiny beard. “This should work. By all that is right, it will work! How soon do we leave?”

  Mr. Theo looked to me. “How you feeling?”

  “Better,” I said. While I still suffered with Eve’s curse, the flow was now under control, rather than gushing forth from my womb like a geyser. Of course, I didn’t relate this to the men. I just nodded and smiled. “Much better.”

  “Well enough for the trip?”

  “I think so.”

  “Have you been ill?” Mortimer asked.

  “No!” both my mentor and I snapped at the same time.

  “Well then, sorry I asked.” But he didn’t look sorry. He looked apprehensive.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “I sprained my ankle last week. It has only just recovered.”

  “The boy likes to run too much for his own good,” Mr. Theo said, embellishing my fib with impressive ease.

  “Ah,” Mortimer said. “As they say, boys will be boys. What would my mother think if she saw me now?”

  He laughed a bit, and we joined him, glad for the company of such an easily fooled man.

  We were on the road in under an hour. Mr. Theo lived simply, so packing down his place was an easy thing. Once Mortimer proclaimed himself a renewed man through the baptism of manual labor, he pitched in and did his share. It was sort of sad to see the contents of one man’s life fit into the back of a shoddy wagon. Of course, I could’ve placed my personal effects into my musking funnel, and still would’ve had room for the Devil and baby Jesus.

  Despite his poverty, Mr. Theo was generous with our new companion, giving him a few pieces of ill-fitting clothes and whatnot. Mortimer tried to balk, but Mr. Theo insisted. (I wondered if it was real generosity or just a desire to get the man out of that ghastly bowtie.) My mentor even offered him a weapon, but Mortimer clung to his pacifistic ways, refusing both blade and gun.

  “You really should take one,” Mr. Theo warned.

  “I would only end up hurting myself,” Mortimer said.

  “That’s the first thing you said that I actually believe.”

  And so it went.

  The first day saw pleasant weather and a smooth journey. Buck put up a bit of a fight, grunting about the extra weight of the fully packed wagon, but Mr. Theo coaxed him into motion, and we set our sights on the border so far away. Mortimer turned out to be a loquacious companion, just like Pete, asking question upon question about the trade, about our lives, about everything. It reminded me of those early days traveling with Boudreaux, and left me sick with sorrow over the loss of my friend. I slipped into a melancholic silence as I walked along, listening to Mr. Theo wrangle Mortimer and his endless questions.

  That evening, we set up a rotating watch, each taking turns to guard the others as they slept. I suspected Mr. Theo remained awake the whole night anyway. I caught him, more than once, watching me as I tried to get some sleep. Yet, unlike with the violating gaze of Aleixandre Boudreaux, I felt safe under the watchful eye of my mentor. As if just by staying in his sights, I was somehow protected. Like nothing could harm me.

  The next day was less agreeable. The dry season had reached an impasse with the humidity, and the resulting climate tumbled and rumbled. Which meant rain, rain and more rain. At first it was tolerable, just a light shower here or a passing sprinkle there. As the day wore on, the showers turned into torrents. All too soon, we were drenched to the bone, but we pressed on regardless of the terrible weather.

  “Shouldn’t we stop and find shelter?” Mortimer asked between thunder cracks.

  “No,” Mr. Theo said. “The border is still a good two weeks away, and we’ll get no closer if we stop every time we get a little wet.”

  “You call this a little wet?”

  “It could be worse,” Mr. Theo said.

  “Worse? I’m soaked to the skin. How could it be worse?”

  “It could be snow.”

  And with that, Mortimer held his tongue. At least for a little while.

  At one point, the rain let up to a paltry shower. Only then did we stop for a break.

  “Now we stop,” Mortimer said, a slight tone of mockery in his voice.

  “Of course,” Mr. Theo said. He broke apart a loaf of bread and passed it among us. “It’s hard to eat your meal in the pouring rain. Might as well keep moving.”

  I sensed the deeper wisdom belied by his trivial explanation. In his various teachings, my mentor had explained the difficulty of tracking prey in the pouring rain. Running water all but wiped out tracks and scat and such, leaving the trail almost unreadable. Likewise, travelers could use the cover of rain to hide their own tracks. I took some measure of comfort in this as I helped myself to our meager meal. The bread was sopping with rainwater by the time I got to the last of it, but it was delicious nonetheless. (Or maybe I was just that hungry?) Better still, my belly no longer griped and my ‘curse’ seemed to abate at last. I counted this a small coup for me. One less thing to explain at the border.

  “I hate to ask this,” Mortimer said. “But are we going to walk the whole of the way?”

  Mr. Theo cut his eyes at the man, answering without speaking a word.

  Mortimer sighed. “I thought as much. How dreadful.”

  “Walking is good for you,” I said. “Strengthens your thighs.” I smirked inwardly at Boudreaux’s vulgar words.

  “I know walking is good for me. I just don’t understand why we can’t find a couple of horses or-”

  “Hush,” Mr. Theo said over the man. He looked over Mortimer’s shoulders, into the wilderness we’d just left behind us.

  Mortimer blinked a few times, then asked, “Excuse me? Did you just tell me to-”

  “Be quiet,” Mr. Theo commanded and got to his feet.

  “You can’t just-”

  “Shush,” I said over Mortimer.

  Mortimer went quiet, but I could tell it was more from the shock of our bad manners than from respect for our requests.

  “Get behind me,” Mr. Theo said, then motioned us to him without looking away from the brush. “The pair of you. Now.”

  To his credit, Mortimer didn’t argue further. He must’ve sensed the danger in the damp air, for he scrambled alongside me as I slipped behind the protection of my mentor. I readied my pistol while offering my blade to the scientist, and after a second of hesitation, he accepted it.

  “What is the problem?” he asked in a whisper.

  The underbrush across from us rustled. A low moan joined the noisy scrub.

  Mortimer’s eyes went wide as he mouthed a single word.

  Undead?

  I nodded. Mr. Theo possessed either the best pair of ears in the whole of the west or some preternatural sense concerning the undead. Mortimer shifted in his stance, a nervous apprehension taking him. I couldn’t blame him. He was in no s
hape for fighting, and I wasn’t much better. With my experience at Mrs. Fathom’s, I could hold my own against any living man. But against the wild undead? Let’s just say I was just glad to have the protection of my mentor.

  “Get on out here!” Mr. Theo shouted.

  On his command, the brush parted and a revenant bounded into our camp. The beast stopped to look us over as he growled and pawed the ground, rising and falling on his heels. It seemed as though he was taking our measure before attacking. In a flash, another joined him, and both rocked on their heels, surging with desire to get at us but waiting for the right moment. As if some unseen hand held their ire back.

  Mr. Theo didn’t give them a chance to attack. He opened fire with a loud and angry cry. The first shot blew the top clean off of one of the beast’s heads, spinning the thing back in a shower of brain and blood and skull. The second rev lurched to the left, making the following shot too wide of the target. It clipped the shoulder of the thing as it bounded forward, unfazed by the blow.

  Before it could close the distance between us, I took a timid aim and fired and, to my surprise, landed a blow to its chest. The revenant dropped and rolled forward, coming to a jumbled stop just at Mr. Theo’s feet. My mentor lowered his pistol and made a mess of the thing’s skull, as well as his own shoes.

  “Good shot,” he said.

  “You too,” I replied.

  There was little time for congratulations, however, for under the muffled aftershock of gunplay, more growling and groaning arose. Revenants were on us in seconds, from all sides. Inspired by my lucky shot, I fired and fired, but my ensuing rounds weren’t quite as blessed as that first strike. Mr. Theo did far better than I, knocking back rev after rev with tired ease. Blood washed across the mud, soaking the earth with as much gore as there was rainwater. He managed to drop a dozen of the things before he tossed his empty weapons to the dirt and drew his blade.

  “Get the shotgun!” he shouted as he tussled with two revenants at once.

  I dropped my own gun and made for the wagon, only to find myself all but surrounded by the snarling beasts. My hand went to my waist before I remembered I had lent my blade to Mortimer. There was nothing I could do. Without a weapon, I was at their mercy. I was just on the edge of initiating my last prayer when I heard the scientist cry out.

  “Help!” Mortimer shouted. “Help me!”

  Turning to the sound of his cry, I found him pinned in the arms of a rev.

  No, not a rev.

  A living man. Mortimer was held in the grip of a tall and brawny male. The stranger stood a clean foot above poor Mortimer, and sported a wild and wooly bush of a beard. In the wiry nest of hair, I could just make out the crest of a grin.

  “Theophilus Jackson!” the man shouted.

  To my amazement, the revenants didn’t attack me, and those left standing stopped attacking Mr. Theo.

  “Fall back,” the man said.

  At the sound of the command, the revs backed off—or rather, they were pulled away and led off to one side. In this brief respite, I got a calmer view of what was happening. It was then that I spied the collars, and the leads held taut by living men just at the edges of the clearing. Each handler set about muzzling his rev, a dangerous task for dangerous men.

  “Drop the blade and put your hands where I can see them,” the stranger demanded.

  “Why don’t you come over here and try to take it from me?” Mr. Theo asked.

  The man smiled wider, though I don’t see how that was possible, and produced a blade of his own from behind Mortimer’s back. (My knife!) He flicked it carelessly across the side of the scientist’s face. Blood gushed forth as a huge chunk of Mortimer’s ear slipped down his neck and slithered to the ground.

  Mortimer let loose a cry that shook the very forest to its core.

  The men surrounding us set to laughing as if it were the funniest thing they had seen in years. This only seemed to make Mortimer cry louder.

  “Stop your crying!” the man yelled. “Or I’ll cut your whole ear off!”

  “Let him be!” Mr. Theo shouted over Mortimer’s pitiful cry. He tossed his blade to the ground and held his hands, palms out, to the man. “Let him go. I surrender.”

  The stranger nodded to the blade, and one of the men shuffled forward to snap it up. This deal settled, the stranger shoved Mortimer forward into the mud between him and Mr. Theo’s feet. Not waiting for instructions, I rushed forth and helped the now-whimpering Mortimer to a sitting position, then tried my best to tend to what was left of his earlobe. There wasn’t much.

  “Sammy,” Mr. Theo growled at me. “Whatever happens, you keep your mouth shut. Hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  A pair of ruffians stepped between us, took Mr. Theo by the arms and held him fast.

  “Well, well, well,” the stranger said. “How the mighty have fallen.”

  “Clint,” Mr. Theo said. “Been a while.”

  “It has,” Clint said. He nodded down to Mortimer and me. “This is new. Since when did you start traveling with folks? Or should I ask what horrible thing you two did to have to endure Theo’s company?”

  He chuckled, and his men laughed with him.

  “I see Dillon still has you doing his grunt work,” Mr. Theo said.

  The onlookers ceased laughing as an apprehensive murmur circulated throughout the group.

  “Not at all,” Clint said. “Tracking down your black ass was quite the pleasure for me. Quite the pleasure indeed.”

  “Cut the small talk,” Mr. Theo said. “What do you want?”

  “What do you think I want?” Clint advanced around the whimpering scientist and me until he was almost in Mr. Theo’s face. “I want what you took from us. What you stole from the Syndicate.”

  This brought a smile to my mentor. “I take it you found Aleixandre?”

  “We found what was left of him. That was a dirty thing to do, Theo. We invested a lot of time and money on that project.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “We had a deal. You leave us alone. We leave you alone. It was so simple. And you broke your part of the bargain.”

  Mr. Theo leaned forward, closing the gap between them until they were nary an inch apart. “I didn’t agree to any deal.” A throaty snort sounded, followed by Mr. Theo hocking the world’s slimiest, thickest, most disgusting wad of snot I’ve ever seen right onto Clint’s face. I held my breath. Everyone else seemed to do the same.

  The rain continued its gentle assault, casting both friend and foe in halos of mist.

  Clint smirked and shook his head as he pulled a handkerchief from his vest and wiped at the rain-soaked snot. Without warning, mid-swipe, he reared back with his free hand and struck Mr. Theo in the stomach. My mentor doubled over in the arms of the men as the onlookers laughed and laughed. The man struck out again, catching Mr. Theo with an undercut that snapped him upright once more. Blow after blow he delivered, until both men were out of breath. Clint stepped back and rubbed his knuckles while Mr. Theo hung limply between his pair of captors. I saw a flash of dripping crimson, but looked away before I could spy where he bled.

  “You could’ve been a partner,” Clint said. “Hell, Theo, you could’ve run the whole show. It could’ve been your personal rags-to-riches story. But no, you had to go and get a hard-on for a bunch of lousy kids.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t let it happen,” Mr. Theo said. “I warned you. I warned all of you I wouldn’t stand for the likes of it. It was wrong. It still is.”

  “That’s not what you said. It was more like this.” Clint clasped his hands together and pitched his voice into a twanging falsetto. “Oh please don’t kill any precious childrens, Massah Dillon. I can’t stands ta see any little ones die. No, sah!”

  The men laughed louder. I looked up to my mentor in wonder. This was the same man who told me he took Aleixandre Boudreaux down out of greed for his own trade and nothing more. I suspected he was lying then, and now I k
new. I knew the truth, that he was indeed a good man, and it made my heart glad. Mr. Theo caught me staring at him and looked away quickly, as if my admiring gaze pained him more than his oozing wounds. Which was just fine. Modesty suited such a good man.

  His adversary begged to differ.

  “Pathetic,” Clint said. “You’re a poor excuse for a man. You’re half a man at best.”

  “At least I’m half a man,” Mr. Theo said. “Instead of all dog, yipping at the heels of my master.”

  This earned him another blow. It took everything I had to comply with Mr. Theo’s command and not speak out.

  “How are you planning to pay us back?” Clint asked.

  “Don’t plan on it,” Mr. Theo said.

  “Aw, come now, Theo. That won’t do. I thought you considered yourself a gentleman. And doesn’t a gentleman always settle his debts?”

  “A gentleman pays other gentleman. All I see are lapdogs.”

  Another blow. I cringed as Mr. Theo’s breathing turned into a labored wheeze.

  “Come on, Jackson,” Clint said. “Surely you don’t think I’m just going to let you walk away from this without getting what we deserve.”

  Mr. Theo chuckled, despite his situation. “I reckon y’all gonna get what you deserve. The good Lord’ll sort out that mess in the end.”

  Clint smirked. Turning to one of his men, he snapped his fingers. The lapdog scurried forward, handing his master a large axe. Clint ran his fingers across the sharpened head as he nodded to Mr. Theo. “Nice and sharp. Shame it’s not dull. Dull would hurt more. I guess we can’t have everything. Can we?”

  “Take what you want from the wagon,” Mr. Theo said. “Hell, take the whole wagon. Ain’t nothing in there I’ll miss.”

  “I know. That’s why we have to take something you will miss.”