The Devil's Paintbox (28 page)

They heard other men coming. A larger crew would now spend the rest of the day cutting off all the branches and sawing the giant trunk into manageable lengths. It took many men several days to finish a tree like this. Then it would be hauled out along the skid road with chains and teams of eight or ten oxen. One man, usually the lunatic, walked in front of the team with a bucket of foul-smelling dogfish oil,
which he spread on the tracks with a dipper. Without the oil, the friction of the logs rubbing over each other could easily start a fire.

“Bandy girls are two days overdue,” Old Finn sighed as he sipped his nightly whiskey. “Must be some fine-looking young men over in camp four.”

“Those Kansas boys were pretty, I recall,” Bony laughed, and nudged Aiden. “And I hear the Bandy girls do like prairie boys.”

Aiden said nothing. The nickname seemed to have stuck to him, but most of the men made it feel friendly enough. By now he had heard plenty about the Bandy girls. They were prostitutes who rode a circuit, servicing all five of Gilivrey's camps as well as East Royal St. Petersburg. Spending two nights in each camp brought them around about every two weeks, just as the men were aching to throw their meager pocket money away.

“They ain't the prettiest of whores,” Bony said. “Some all fat or crippled or the like. One of ‘em's got half her face all droopy so her lip hangs funny”

“She drools out that side some,” the cook said.

“That ain't necessarily a bad thing!” someone else added. A nasty laugh erupted around the circle.

“And she is a nice girl.”

“She is that. Will talk with you some.”

“And deals her cards fair.” The Bandy girls also brought with them gambling games and musical performances.

There was a murmur of agreement and some discussion about the other girls. Bony leaned toward Aiden.

“They aren't all so bad-looking,” he said. “And you know, out here, you take what you can get!”

“God, yes,” the cook laughed. “Well, Bandy herself's all pocky, you know. But if you put out the lamp, you don't have to see her face anyway,” he added.

“Oh, as if you would know,” Bony scoffed. “Bandy don't do the likes of him,” he explained to Aiden. “Or me. She's the boss.”

“I heard they got a couple of China girls,” Buck said, “who can do Oriental things on a man.”

Aiden got up to leave. He had no idea what that meant, but the whole subject gave him a twist of disgust.

“What'sa matter, boy?” Buck said with a sneer. “We offending your sensibilities?”

“I'm just tired,” Aiden said. “Good night, all.”

“There's a preacher rides through every couple of months,” the cook said. “You can wait for him instead!” The men erupted in laughter.

“Thanks all the same,” Aiden said.

“Good Lord—you know what! I bet we got a virgin boy here among us!” Bony said. The laughter grew louder, but Aiden just ignored it and went on toward the bunkhouse.

“You know he is,” Buck shouted. “Plucked right off the prairie. Fifteen years old, living out there all alone since a little boy, with not even a sheep for miles around. Unless, of course, he was doing his own little sister, as I hear is the common practice among his kind. …”

Aiden stopped. A piercing tone started up in his ears, like a saw blade being sharpened. He did not feel the usual white explosion of temper. Instead he felt a cold, hard anger. He slowly turned.

“I'll take your apology for that now,” Aiden said quietly

This anger was factual as iron and passionless as stone. The other men all saw the change come over him and fell silent.

“I don't recall offering you one,” Buck scoffed. “Or saying anything in need of one,” he spat. “Prairie Boy.”

“Then I'll kill you,” Aiden said calmly. Bony and the others backed away as Buck got to his feet.

“Now wait a minute, son,” Bony said nervously. “Fighting's costly, now. Mr. Powhee will dock your pay. So maybe you should just calm down.”

“I am calm,” Aiden said, walking slowly toward Buck. “Watch me be calm.”

“How about you take it back, Buck,” Bony encouraged. “What you said. Sure—sure, you don't talk about a man's sister that way, especially a dead one. And you don't want to be all bruised and sore when the Bandy girls show up, do you?” There was some nervous laughter. “They got to be here tomorrow or the next day.”

Aiden saw a flicker of fear cross Buck's big dumb face as he realized they now stood almost eye to eye and Aiden's shoulders were nearly as broad and strong as his own.

“I'll count to three.” Aiden smiled. “Can you count that high?”

As Aiden had expected, Buck swung at him immediately. Aiden ducked the punch, slammed his shoulder into the man's chest and took him down. He still didn't have enough weight to really hold him, but Buck's surprise at the takedown gave Aiden an extra few seconds to land some punches.

Buck punched back, but Aiden felt no pain. There was
nothing left in the world that could hurt him now. They rolled across the damp ground and slammed into a stump. Buck tossed him off and scrambled to his feet, but Aiden was much quicker, with a fist ready before the man got his balance. Aiden threw a hard punch and felt Buck's nose crack under his knuckles. But the momentum of the blow pitched him forward and Buck drove his own fist into Aiden's stomach. Aiden gagged and fell to one knee.

A bunkhouse door opened, casting a rectangle of lamplight over the ground as men came out to watch. Buck wobbled back a step, then kicked at him, but Aiden grabbed the man's foot, twisted and pulled him off balance the way he had learned from Tupic. Buck fell to the ground like a tree. Aiden straddled his chest and began pounding his face with his fists.

There were shouts and whistles now and occasional hands grabbing at him, trying to pull him off, but all Aiden knew was the swing. Swing an axe, swing a fist—it didn't matter—something would fall tonight. He did mean to kill William Buck. His mind was clear on that. It was different from the way he'd meant to kill Sergeant Todd. Shooting Todd had been like a math lesson: where to aim, when to shoot, how many bushels of wheat. … This was like Shakespeare. He never understood half of Shakespeare, but what he did made him feel like this, urgent and all-in. Blood streaked down his face and burned his eyes and it felt good. There was mud in his mouth and it tasted fine. Buck threw Aiden off, but the man was so worn that he could hardly get to his feet. Then they all heard the crack of the bull-whip and fell silent. Through the smear of blood in his eyes, Aiden saw the towering shadow of Mr. Powhee slice across the ground.

“Stop it now!” The boss strode toward them. The tip of the whip snapped in the dirt.

Powhee glowered at Aiden, his eyes opened wide so the whites glistened. The firelight shone on his face and Aiden suddenly understood the purpose of the “Strange and Fearsome Tattoos of the Warriors of the South Pacific.” Powhee's face was the scariest thing he had ever seen.

“Get up!”

Aiden slowly got to his feet. The earth tilted and he leaned over, resting his hands on his knees for support.

“Your bodies are my machinery!” Powhee thundered. “You will not break my machinery! Two-dollar charge for both of you! Anyone else want to fight? Give me your dollars now!” He folded up the whip. There was a moment of silence. Powhee turned and stalked back to his tent.

“Damn—don't want to mess with the Prairie Boy now, do you?” someone chuckled.

“Come on.” Bony took Aiden's arm. Aiden shrugged him off.

“You're hurt, boy.”

“I'm fine,” Aiden said.

“You aren't the first to be carried home around here.”

Aiden wiped some blood off his mouth with his sleeve. The anger had faded and now he just felt pain and stupid-ness. The other men went to retrieve their mugs and bottles and began to shuffle back to the bunkhouse. Suddenly a chorus of cries burst out. Aiden turned, and from the corner of his eye he saw an arc of gold shoot across the black sky. For a half second he thought it was a shooting star. It was not. William Buck had grabbed a burning log out of the fire and swung it toward his head.

iden woke to hurdy-gurdy music and the sounds of laughter and stomping feet. He was in his bunk. It was dark outside, but the bunkhouse was empty. He started to sit up, but there seemed to be an axe stuck in the side of his skull. He lay back and felt his head. It was wrapped in bandages, but there was no actual axe to be found, so he cautiously sat up again. In a little while more, he managed to get his pants on and fit his feet into his boots. He tried to stand and found it possible. He stumbled to the water pail and pulled up a dipperful, for he felt a frantic thirst. Then he crept slowly toward the door, holding on to the bunks for support. He was confused. It had been night when he and William Buck had fought, but this couldn't be the same night because outside, the camp had become a carnival. A small stage had been put up with oil lamps set all across the front, tin reflectors casting the light onto the platform.

There were women dancing on the stage. Aiden had rarely seen a woman's leg above her ankle, and never above the knee. These women were all knee and above. They weren't exactly modest on top either. These were the Bandy girls, he realized. The men sat on crates or logs, hooting and hollering as they watched the women dance. Aiden remembered the men talking about how ugly the Bandy girls were, but he hadn't seen a woman of any kind for almost three weeks now, and they all looked marvelous to him. Of course, the world
was still spinning and nothing was very clear. But he did see brightly colored dresses with sparkles and fringe, satin and silk and layers of ruffles. And there were breasts. He had seen breasts, of course, but there had always been a baby stuck to them. These breasts were all tidy and pushed up, and plump like fancy yeast dinner rolls. They jiggled over the stiff corsets, like—like nothing he knew of in nature. The women had ribbons in their hair and very red spots on their cheeks. So red that he worried for a moment they might be ill.

“The show's five cents.” A tall man in a top hat appeared beside him. Aiden blinked with confusion, for the man looked like Mr. Powhee but wasn't. He had the same eyes, the same skin and teeth, though fewer tattoos. He was leaner all the way through but just as tall.

“I'm just walking around,” Aiden said feebly. “I just woke up.”

“And now your eyes are pointed at my dancers,” the man said, holding his palm out. “Five cents.”

“I haven't any money on me now.”

“Find some, then, or go sit in your bunkhouse and whack yourself off dreaming of what you might have seen for real.”

“Hey—lookie there, the lad's alive!” Bony jumped up from his stool and came over to Aiden. “Good to see you! How's your head?” The lady onstage flung her leg up into the air, gave a little jump and came down with both legs split in front and back in a way he would never have thought even possible.

“I don't know,” he said, dumbfounded.

Bony laughed and grabbed his arm. He reeked of liquor and grinned like Christmas morning. “Come an’ sit, then.” He fished in his pocket, pulled out some linty pennies and
counted out five. “Here's for the lad.” He pressed the coins into the man's palm. “And bring us two good drams, will you, please, Mr. Hi-yow? Tally it to me, Mr. Roger Charbonex.” Bony steered Aiden to a seat beside a now very cheerful Old Finn.

“When did the ladies come?” Aiden asked.

“No ladies here!” Old Finn whooped. “Oh, Jesus, wouldn't that spoil things! It's the Bandy girls! You've been out since last night. You talked some this morning, but only head-smack talk.”

The man in the top hat returned with two tin cups of liquor. “Here—drink up,” Bony said. “May do you better and can't do you any worse.”

The liquor was harsh, and one sip made him feel like throwing up. He poured the rest of his into Old Finn's cup.

“Where's Buck?”

“Still moaning in his bunk, I suppose,” Bony said. “Besides your damage, Mr. Powhee gave him a few lashes himself. But forget him now and watch the show! It tends to be brief. Bandy girls aren't here to dance for pennies, after all!”

There were two more short song-and-dance numbers, and one girl did some rope-twirling tricks that ended with her lassoing someone in the audience, to much applause. Then all the girls came out in a line and did a few kicks and twirls and the music stopped. The men surged toward the stage. Aiden saw Mr. Powhee and the top-hat man standing guard to keep some order.