Skin Trade Read online

  “You have no idea,” Blevins said, then pushed Pete and me toward the front door, commanding us to pack our things and be back within the half-hour.

  Pete all but ran from the spot in his eagerness to do as told.

  I, however, lingered a moment, staring at the pair of men as they returned to the far end of the hall, whispering between themselves. Just as they slipped into the office, just before the door closed on them, I witnessed something that fueled the flame of my worry.

  Both men shared that same dreadful, knowing grin.

  ****

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  ****

  Chapter Three

  Packing was a simple affair, considering neither of us owned very much in the way of personal effects. While I missed they days of a colorful wardrobe, I didn’t miss the baggage that accompanied it.

  “You said that man was rich,” Pete said as we packed.

  “I said he looks rich,” I said. “Trapping must be good money.”

  Pete snorted. “No way. My dad did okay, but we weren’t rich.”

  “Then he sure knows how to put on airs and where to buy his clothes.”

  “What kind of trapping do you think he does?”

  “You know more about it than I do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’ve done more trapping than I have.”

  “I never got to go.” All of the excitement went out of Pete, and he sat on his bed, hanging his head. “My dad never took me on a line with him. He said it was too dangerous.”

  “I didn’t know, Pete. I just meant, you know, since you got trapping in your blood, you must know more about it than me. That’s all.”

  Pete continued, ignoring my contrition in favor of some distant memory. “They told us it would be safe. They said it was okay to come back. And at first it seemed like it was. Dad had free rein of the best areas. Best hauls he had in years. He was working near the border … in the hot zone … when …” His words trailed off, which was fine, because I could fill in the bloody blanks.

  While it was no surprise that Pete’s dad went the way of the undead (the workhouse was filled with similar boys with similar fates) it was always a painful story to hear, and even more painful to share. Even though the government promised the threat was contained and the lands of the border zone were safe to repopulate, countless families were torn apart every year by continued attacks, leaving orphans aplenty to pick up the pieces. The revenant menace had taken so much from the American people, but the little things they left abandoned hurt most of all.

  “Ma couldn’t take care of all of us by herself,” Pete said. “So, I signed on here. It’s not much, but it’s better than being a burden on my ma. You know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Last I heard, she took the twins and Josh and Sarah and Mark and moved back east. I don’t reckon I’ll see them again for a good long while. If ever.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea you had so much family.”

  “I don’t guess I like to talk about it.”

  “I don’t know if I have any siblings. I never knew my folks. I don’t really have any family.”

  Pete surprised me by putting his strong arm around my shoulders and drawing me closer to him. “You do now. Ma’s got so many young ‘uns, I reckon she won’t mind adding one more plate to the table. That is, if we ever get to go back home.”

  Home.

  The very word pricked me to the heart. “Thanks, Pete.”

  Packing both of our small lives into even smaller cases took less than ten minutes between us. Once ready, there was no one to see us off. No one to wish us well. The other boys were busy with the day’s chores, which made for a lonely retreat from what was supposed to be our home for the next few years. Not that I minded. Heck no! Even with my suspicion of the impending job, I was glad to leave the workhouse behind.

  Blevins and Mr. Boudreaux awaited us at the gate, the foreign man standing beside a weathered but sturdy-looking carriage while Blevins stood off to one side, wringing his hands. Before Pete and I could approach the carriage, the door swung open and out leapt a darker fellow. A slight hunch put him shorter than even I, though his true height didn’t pass me by much. Clear, bright eyes twinkled from the ebony landscape of his features, and his hair coiled in tight, silver rings all about his head. I repressed a squeal as the dark little man hobbled up to me and Pete, snatched our bags, and then hobbled back to the carriage to store them.

  “Don’t mind Dominic,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “He’s just eager to get back on the road. Being in any one place too long makes him très nervous.”

  Dominic nodded furiously in agreement and tossed the bags onto the roof.

  “He’s coming with us?” I asked.

  As if answering, the man in question clambered up the side of the carriage, leapt onto the driver’s seat and grabbed the reins.

  “But of course,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “He is my … how do you say? Bon ami. I take him everywhere.”

  “Stop asking trivial questions, Samuel,” Blevins said.

  Mr. Boudreaux held the carriage door opened and motioned us inside. “Now come. We have much to discuss before the day is out.”

  Blevins ushered us toward the cab and all but threw us into the thing. He poked his bald head inside and warned, “You two better behave.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pete and I said together.

  Mr. Boudreaux followed us into the cab and gave Blevins a flourishing farewell wave before closing the door and reclining on the bench opposite us. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded at Pete.

  Pete nodded at me.

  “Excellent,” Mr. Boudreaux said. He raised his fist and rapped the ceiling of the carriage. “Domi! Move out!”

  At his verbal command, the carriage lurched forward once, then twice, until it at last settled into a smooth pattern of travel. We rode along in silence for a bit, Pete looking out the window at the passing countryside, while I took the time to consider my new employer.

  Now that I was in closer proximity to the man, I noticed several things I hadn’t before. While he dressed fine and acted fancy, the man under this façade exhibited all the signs of his working-class status. His skin, for example, was weathered, leathery looking, as if he spent far too much time in the sun. His hands were worn as well, calloused and scarred, his nails nicked and chipped, perhaps the end result of years spent setting up and emptying traps. When he smiled, I caught sight of chipped and missing teeth, and when he removed his hat to make himself more comfortable, I could tell his hair was less windblown and more along the lines of unkempt. No, this man might have some measure of wealth, but only because he worked for it. Which forced me to reconsider my opinion of him.

  Mr. Boudreaux pulled a pocket watch from his vest, checked the time, then returned it. “We are making good time. I am pleased Monsieur Blevins was able to accommodate me so quickly. Last time it took three days to find brave enough souls to accompany me.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” I said.

  “Me neither,” Pete said. “Master Blevins said that we’d be foolish to pass up the chance at learning a trade.”

  “Did he?” Mr. Boudreaux asked. “And is that all he explained?”

  A cool hollow formed in the pit of my stomach. “Yes. Why? Is there something else we should know?”

  Mr. Boudreaux chuckled as he pulled at his waxy moustache. “Our trade is a dangerous line of work. It requires a man of certain character. Strong of will and mind and body. Tell me, do you think you are such a man?”

  I wondered if he saw through my guise to the young lady underneath, or if this was just another insult directed at my purported masculinity. Why did men find the idea of being a woman so demeaning?

  “I am,” Pete said.

  Mr. Boudreaux eyed Pete up and down in a slow scan. “So you are. Or, at the very least, you will be. And soon. How old are you?”

  “Fifteen!”

  “Only fifteen? They
do grow them large here, yes?” Mr. Boudreaux turned his attention to me. “And how about you?”

  “The same,” I answered.

  He eyed me, surely judging my small form. “And still so puny. No worry, young man. You will grow up one of these days.” Mr. Boudreaux laughed aloud at his own humor.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. “If you don’t mind me asking. Sir.”

  “Stanley.”

  “The city?” Stanley was the largest city in the border zone, a good thirty or so miles north from the small town that hosted our workhouse. It was also the last place I wanted to visit, having vowed to stay away from such heavily populated areas until my previous employers (owners!) gave up the search for me.

  “But of course. I need to pick up a few supplies, and you two need a meal and a good night’s rest before we set out in the morning. If I know Gerald, you’ve been eating nothing but porridge round the clock. Oui?”

  “You got that right,” Pete said.

  “I thought as much. Such a diet makes for weak workers. How does a steak sound?”

  “Sounds great!”

  Mr. Boudreaux turned to me. “You do not approve?”

  I forced a smile. “That’s very generous of you.”

  “Generous? No. Necessary? Yes. The journey ahead of us is long and difficult. I need you well rested and full of vigor. No use setting out only to have the pair of you collapse before we get started.”

  “Wow, a trip into the city and meat for supper?” Pete asked. “Isn’t this exciting, Sam?”

  “Sure,” I said, but my stomach roiled with worry, not hunger.

  The ride into Stanley took a few hours, most of which Pete consumed with questions and excited chatter. The boy pointed and commented at every passing tree and bush and hot-zone warning sign as if he had never seen such things before. I couldn’t begrudge him his enthusiasm, even if it was annoying. After a bit of this, Mr. Boudreaux relaxed back and closed his eyes as if to sleep, but I suspected he was still all ears.

  “You as excited as me?” Pete whispered.

  I nodded.

  “You don’t seem very excited,” Pete said.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just nervous.”

  “Me too. But I think he’s going to be a good man to work for. Better than Blevins, anyway.”

  “We shall see.”

  “Blevy would’ve never given us steak.”

  “Yeah? Well, don’t count your T-bone before it’s grilled.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean don’t get excited. We don’t have steaks yet.”

  “Why are you always so suspicious?”

  I started, surprised by his accusation. Was I as transparent as all that? “I’m not suspicious.”

  “You are too.”

  “I am not.”

  “You always make that face when you think something is up.”

  “What face?”

  “That one,” Pete said as he pointed to me. “The way you raise that eyebrow and purse your lips and wrinkle your nose.”

  I huffed, but couldn’t argue. Had I a mirror to look upon, I was sure the face he described would stare right back at me. With little else to do, I repeated, “I am not.”

  “That’s the same face my mom makes when she thinks something’s wrong. She’s usually right, but you never know she’s on to you. Not until she wants you to know.”

  “Your mama sounds like a smart woman,” Mr. Boudreaux said, then smiled wide without opening his eyes.

  Pete went a shade of pink from neck to forehead.

  The conversation ran thin after that, with Pete obviously embarrassed by Mr. Boudreaux’s eavesdropping. I was sort of glad for the peace, grabbing the opportunity to mull over what in the world I had gotten myself into. We traveled the rest of the day, only stopping to water the horses at the occasional creek. Soon we reached Stanley and put the workhouse far behind us in mind and body.

  The sun touched the horizon just as our carriage pulled up to a large inn. Pete and I trailed Mr. Boudreaux from the carriage to our room, while Dominic remained behind to manage our things. After my last few months of self-sufficiency, it was both an odd and unwelcome feeling to have someone attend me again. Dominic’s eagerness to serve his master, as well as Peter and me, brought back strong and shameful memories of my time with Mrs. Fathom. Servant and master alike I portrayed in my time there, and in the end, I found neither suited me.

  Which was but one reason I decided to leave.

  It turned out that it wasn’t just Mr. Boudreaux’s manservant that seemed keen to please him. From the moment we entered the inn, I gathered the impression that my new master was a man of great import. The inn staff all but fell over themselves in an attempt to assist him, while the other patrons marked his presence with everything from outright staring to hushed whispers of excitement. Even Pete and I garnered a small amount of this attention, for I could feel eyes upon me and heard more than one reference to my fair hair and flawless skin and startling blue eyes. This worried me for a moment—that word of my presence might reach as far back as Atlanta. Gossip was a favorite entertainment among the circles in which I used to travel, and if Mr. Boudreaux was anyone of consequence, the story of our arrival might make interesting conversation. This worry passed when I remembered I was incognito as a male. Tongues would have to twist the tale a terrible turn for Mrs. Fathom to realize that the blond-haired, blue-eyed young man accompanying this well-regarded trapper was, in fact, her runaway girl.

  “Mr. Boudreaux!” the man at the desk cried as we approached. “It’s so good to see you again. And so soon. What has it been, three months?”

  “Certainly not,” Mr. Boudreaux said. “Four, at least.”

  The innkeeper tipped his fountain pen to Pete and me. “I see you have some new acquaintances with you.”

  “Yes. It appears I shall have to start from scratch once more.” Mr. Boudreaux ruffled Pete’s hair and winked at me. “But no bother. These boys have promised to work hard and take no quarter. Oui?”

  Pete nodded with a bright, gay smile. I could do nothing more than shrug.

  “And hard work it is,” the innkeeper said casually as he filled out the register. “I’ve never seen someone go through so many apprentices. Seems like you have a new crew every time you pass through.” He flipped the book about to face Mr. Boudreaux. “Sign here and here, please.”

  With a frown, Mr. Boudreaux snatched the pen away from the man. He signed us in but had nothing more to say to the innkeeper, words of thanks or otherwise. We didn’t mingle amongst the other patrons for long after that. No sooner did we receive our room assignment than Mr. Boudreaux ushered us along, explaining that we would take our meals in privacy.

  Though I was disappointed to learn that Pete and I would share a bed again, the mattress was so soft and the bed so large that I certainly didn’t mind. The room was also more peaceful, compared to the hustle of the workhouse, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to rest without the lullaby of snores and midnight flatulence our old room provided. Pete was agog at the luxury of our accommodations, though in truth, it was midlevel posh at best. In my past life, I had seen the insides of far more luxurious hotel rooms, but to keep in line with Pete’s underprivileged manner, I tried to feign the novelty of inexperience.

  Yet, somehow, Mr. Boudreaux knew such things were not new to me. Perhaps he could read it on my face or see it in my actions, for he asked, “You are unimpressed?”

  “I am,” I said. “Surely this is costing you a fortune. I’m almost embarrassed to stay the night here.”

  “Me too,” Pete said. “We could’ve slept in the barn and been just as comfortable.”

  I cringed at the suggestion, knowing better than to check the teeth of the horse while the previous owner was still standing about. “What he means, sir, is that this is more than both of us deserve.”

  “Nonsense!” Mr. Boudreaux cried. “You work for Aleixandre Boudreaux now. Only the best f
or me. Only the best for my crew.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Pete said.

  “You’re very welcome mes amis,” Mr. Boudreaux said as he turned to leave. He stopped in the doorway to add, “Your meal should be along shortly. I insist that you eat, drink and be merry.”

  “For tomorrow we die,” I recited softly.

  Mr. Boudreaux cut his eyes at me. “What makes you say that?”

  “I read it somewhere,” I said.

  Comprehension lit his face as he breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Ah, but of course.”

  Just before he closed the door, I asked, “Mr. Boudreaux?”

  He ducked his head into the room again, raising his eyebrows at me.

  “What happened to the other boys?” I asked.

  “Other boys?” Mr. Boudreaux asked.

  “Yes, the ones you fetched before us. The ones it took three days to convince to join you. Or the ones before that?”

  “Sam …” Pete said in a warning tone.

  I understood his reservation. This appeared a fine opportunity, and he didn’t want me to ruin this chance for him. But the question had troubled me since we left the workhouse, and the innkeeper’s curious words only served to feed my growing concern.

  Mr. Boudreaux stared at me in silence, the flame in his eyes forcing me to regret my question. “As I explained, the work is très difficil. It takes a special kind of man to handle the stress and strain. Mon Dieu, I’ve had to cut more help free than I’ve been able to keep on.”

  “So they left your employment?” I asked.

  This question caused him further discomfort, and he weighed his words before he spoke again. “I’ll be the first to admit that there have been those who suffered … unfortunate accidents. Not everyone makes it back from Mauvaises Terres intact. Most do not make it back at all.”

  My French was a bit sketchy, but even I recognized the foreign name for that most forbidden of places. Mauvaises Terres. The Spanish called it Reino del Diablo.

  We Americans called it by a different name.