Animal (Chapter 6 - Part 2)

(Part 2 of Chapter 6 Rewrite, Brand New Chapter)

John wakes. Two new faces meet his gaze, men wearing matching sets of secondhand overalls and padded shirts. The first pushes back a sheet of pure black hair that appears far slicker than it likely is. He shoots John a crooked smile and extends a hand lightened by layers of white dust, contrasted by nails perfectly manicured.
“Hi there, Harrison Uriah Barentsev. I—”
His introduction is interrupted by the second carnie’s words, leaning back from behind the red curtain that encircles Selina’s table.
“Try and guess which part of that isn’t original.”
Harrison drops his hand to the side with a sigh and stands.
“I know this may be hard but you’re going to have to try and ignore the person behind me. His head’s two times bigger than it should be but his brain’s also half as small.”
The second carnie’s head reappears from a new angle. His stumpy appearance does little to dissuade the overconfident swagger that accompanies it. Thick brown hair flares above a forehead caked in the same shower of dust that coats Harrison.
“Don’t mind my confidant. He’s still upset because I chased away the last little lady he’d taken a shine too. Name’s Michael Walter Crow. Doesn’t role off the tongue very well, I know.”
“Only man I’ve ever met that was proud of his ability to chase away the fairer sex,” Harrison mumbles, turning back to John, “Anyways, you must be the fellow who tried to get himself run over by the caravan. John, ain’t it?”
“That’s right,” John replies, a little overwhelmed by the sudden rush of information.
“Michael, get the hell out from behind my curtain!”
Selina enters through the flap that shuts out light from entering her humble abode. Michael quickly shuffles out from behind the curtain and exits, chased by the harping of Selina as she smacks the back of his head with a dirty rag.
“Curtain’s for paying customers, Michael, you know that!”
“No harm in trying to get a peak at a woman’s private affairs.”
Selina answers with a slew of foreign dialect and a crude motion of the hand.
“You know you love me!” Michael’s voice fades into the hustle of the world beyond.
Harrison leans forward and kisses Selina’s cheek.
“You know he’s teasing.”
“I know,” Selina smiles, nodding towards John, “Boss send you to retrieve our guest?”
“Indeed he did,” Harrison leans over Selina’s shoulder and calls to John, “And Boss don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“This is my brother, Uriah,” Selina says.
“Family calls me Uriah, friends call me Harrison.”
“So what do I call you?” John asks.
Harrison lets out a bellow of laughter and wipes a fake tear from his eye. He pushes on and out the wagon without another word, still shout-laughing, waving for John to follow.
“Best get going,” Selina nods, leaning forward and striking a match against John’s beltline. She sets about lighting the candles that scatter across the wagon.
Outside, rays of evening light shift. John buttons his shirt, pauses to retrieve his holstered pistols, and reaches up out of reflex to tip his hat to the fortuneteller; the one that no longer graces his head. A swirl of red tinges his cheeks and he exits the fortuneteller’s sanctuary.

* * *

The Black Rail pulls into Garrison, metal gears grinding as it screeches to a stop. Father Peter makes his way down the compartment, stepping over the dead guard. He crosses the ramp and waits on the edge of the platform. The Tall Man holds out an envelope. He accepts the package, pocketing it quickly, and awaits his master’s leave.
“Good luck, Peter.”
“I’ll not fail you,” the priest replies.
“See to it that you don’t.”
Peter nods and stops as if taken back by sudden thought. He glances up at The Tall Man, seeing age upon his leader’s face for the first time he can remember.
“Sir, are you well?”
The Tall Man does not turn his attention back to his servant.
“When the deserter comes, make sure his boy dies as well.”
“Yes sir.”
Peter exits the train. He marches down the main road towards the towering steeple beyond. The Tall Man’s eyes follow his passage as the locomotive pulls away from the Garrison station. He steps over the guard’s corpse and takes his seat. John’s face burns fresh in his mind, the fire in his eyes as he held Paul’s weapons.
The Tall Man reaches into his pocket and withdraws a pair of revolvers crafted in the same vain. The guns of John’s father, spoils of the dead. Why he kept them, he does not know. The shine of steel reminds him of past days, of a world unlike the one he now inhabits. A world he left behind long ago.
The Rider stands, pushes down a glass window and throws the revolvers to the dirt beyond.

* * *
A majestic sight greets John’s return to sunlight. Dozens of booths line the busy road, each in various state of assembly as men and women rush from place to place gathering wares and trinkets. Jewelry, knives, pots and pans, cast iron and studded horseshoes. A man casts fire at a hearth and sets about making new orders from the back of an iron-lined cart. He wipes a line of sweat from his brow and waves a gloved hand at the new arrival. They pay the revolvers that hang from John’s waist no heed.
A gray-haired man lines a satin cloaked booth with bottles of every shape and size, sloshes mixtures of unknown liquid within. A sign hangs above with the word “Elixers” stamped upon it in brilliant purple font.
“Hey Harrison, am I going to get that dollar you owe me any time soon?” the man calls out to John’s guide, patting away a line of dust from the flamboyant suit that hangs from his shoulders, just one size too big.
“Can’t talk now, Cyrus, on Boss’s orders!” Harrison shouts back, passing by at a slightly quickened pace.
“Excuses, excuses. Hey who’s the new guy?”
“You don’t recognize him? You almost ran him down this morning?”
“This the guy who played chicken with the caravan? Interesting,” Cyrus replies, staring John down as he passes, “Hey kid, come pay me a visit after Boss is done with you, browse the wares. I got a cure for all blues!”
John nods politely and stamps dust as he jogs to catch his guide. Farther down road he can see a black man hold up a ball of fire, carried on a small torch, high for the children of the carnival workers to see. He flashes a gleaming bright smile and tilts his head back, his mouth open wide. The torch tips back towards his gaping maw and vanishes within. After a moment of anticipation he spits the damp stick out and takes a bow to the wild cheering of the youngsters.
Harrison takes a sharp turn and passes the rows of booths that line the right side of the main road. He talks as fast as he walks.
“I know Selina probably told you we were a carnival. I guess you could say that but we’re just as much a trade caravan as a performance show. Boss gathered us all that way, brings in customers of every ilk. The kids get to see Mal play with fire, the spiritual take to Selina and her readings, Salinger and his wife, Claire, sell cloth and ironworks to men and women and other traders. Hell, even Cyrus gets the sick and elderly with his tonics, if you believe in such things.”
“Can’t imagine he gets much repeat business,” John replies.
“Well, he ain’t been run out of here yet.”
A trove of wagons makes up the second line. Salesmen pull their wares from deep within the carts. Workers raise polls to erect makeshift tents. Harrison leads on.
Past the wagons lies the massive town of Larrity, no more than a few minutes away by foot. Along its border the black rail carves its path. From his position John can make out the trains that dock in the station, The Number Eight noticeably absent.
People spread out among the streets as ants, moving and twisting and swirling without order. Children jump up and down, pointing at the carnival and tugging at their parent’s arms.
“A group of children can drum up more clamor for our circuit than a whole group of announcers could ever hope to achieve.”
John turns to the new voice. The man who saved him from trampling approaches, his massive shoulder supporting an impossibly large section of yet to be chopped wood. He wears the same striking suit with rolled sleeves and dirtied pants. With a grunt he sets the massive log down and reaches back to withdraw a sharpened hatchet from the sleeve that lines his back. He drives the sharpened end into the wood with a thud and begins its destruction.
“Uriah,” he shouts over the rhythmic thwack of metal on bark, “fetch me Michael. I want to speak with our new friend in private.”
Harrison nods and returns the way he came, disappearing into the crowd of salesman, carnies, and performers.
John studies the grace with which the man cleaves the wood.
“I want to thank you and your crew for what you did for me,” John says, “I admit I was a little mad at the time.”
“Yeah, well, the heat has a way of doing that to people,” the man replies, feet shifting as he starts a new cut.
“The name’s John.”
John holds out his hand. The giant looks up from his hatchet but a moment to sweep away a line of dusts that obscures his view. He doesn’t return John’s offer.
“I know who you are, had Selina tell me right after you woke up. You can call me Boss; it’s what everyone else does.”
John returns his hand to his pocket. The sound of the falling axe overtakes all else. He drags the toe of his boot through the earth, waiting patiently for the giant’s next words.
“I know about those weapons,” Boss says, wrapping both hands around the handle of the hatchet as he works it out of a particularly troublesome spot.
“A lot of people do.”
“Not the way I do. I’ve dealt with the kind of men who used to wield those guns.”
John ceases his movement. His hands drop to his sides. Boss rises up with his fingers wrapped tight around the hatchet’s handle.
“We have a problem?” John asks.
“That depends,” Boss replies, “Are you here for any of my boys?”
“I’m not a Rider.”
“You hunting a man?”
“I am.”
“Then yes you are.”
A circle of light dances across the sand, reflected from the sharpened blade. The fingers of John’s right hand touch silver.
“I’ll repeat, are you here for any of my boys?”
“No,” John says.
“Then why were you taking the road?”
“Is taking the road a crime now?”
“Don’t get smart.”
“I was taking the train. The road became my passage by necessity.”
“Meaning you hopped?”
John nods.
Boss’s shoulders drop. A hint of a smile passes his lips for the briefest of moments.
“You at least land on your side?”
“Mostly.”
“Then maybe you ain’t a lost cause.”
With a sudden kick Boss drops his boot into the unfinished firewood, separating a new chunk from the base.
“You’re going to be staying here this night and next, John.”
“Am I?”
“You are. See, Larrity’s a big place. Lots of things could go wrong. Lots of drinking. Lots of celebrating. Lots of men around a lot of pretty girls and foreigners. We’re not the most sacrine bunch but we look after our own and I’m getting this feeling we need a little extra security this round.”
“I’m afraid I got other reservations, Boss.”
Boss stands and begins work on the final line of wood. He grunts with the swing between each sentence.
“This is the part where I remind you how we saved you life and how you owe us.”
“I didn’t—”
“And you’re about to tell me that you never asked to be saved, well tough shit. You were. And now you owe us. Besides, you ain’t heard my offer.”
John raises his brow in reply.
“Two nights; that’s all I want and we’ll call it even. You give me your skills and I’ll give you a horse. Throw in a hat too, since you seem to be a little short on both.”
“A horse for two days? What kind of trouble you expecting?”
Boss rises from his toil and returns the hatchet to its holder. He waves to Michael and Harrison who return from camp. Michael clutches a tan Stetson in one hand. His other hauls the front end of a cart that Harrison pushes from the back.
“I ain’t expecting any trouble, John,” Boss says, waving his boys down, “I just prepare for it.”
“Sorry for the hold up, Boss, took us a little longer than expected to get the cart down the ramp.”
Boss ignores the apology and points a massive thumb to the woodpile that sits behind him.
“Tell it to the firewood, Uriah.”
John mutters as Harrison passes, “Thought Uriah was for family only.”
“Boss is an exception.”
“Michael, I’m sure you’ve met John. John here’s going to be on security with you tonight. Take him around, show him the sights.”
“You got it.”
Together Michael and John exit, leaving Boss and Harrison to bicker. Michael lifts his arm and tosses the spare hat he carries into the air. John catches it before it hits ground.
“You can put that on.”