The Devil's Paintbox (33 page)

need a week off work,” Aiden said. The fights were over, the camp quiet. Powhee was sitting alone in the cookhouse by the stove, having a last smoke before bed. He had a cot set up for his use in a corner of the room.

Powhee just laughed. “Me too, Prairie Boy.”

“I have business in Seattle.”

“Seattle? What possible business could you have there?”

“I will pay you for my days. A week for me now, after board, is ten dollars. You know I have the money.”

“One week is not ten dollars.” Powhee's tone turned sharp as he realized Aiden was serious. “For one week we pay you ten dollars, but the trees you cut bring Mr. Gilivrey much more.”

Aiden felt stupid for not thinking of this.

“How much more?”

“More than you have, or will ever have.” Powhee smiled. “So forget it.”

“Count it up,” Aiden said coldly. “Write it down. I'll work it off.”

“It will take you months.”

“Well, I'll do my best to live that long.”

“No one leaves the camps until their debt is finished.”

“I don't intend to skip out.”

“Of course not. Mr. Gilivrey would pay twice your debt to anyone who brought in your head. Your real head.” Powhee
sliced a finger across his own throat. “He'd take no other proof. Rotting in a sack, pickled in a crock, even skinned, just the face, peeled off the skull, wouldn't matter as long as he could see it was you.”

“I don't intend to skip.”

“San Francisco, China, Japan, it wouldn't matter how far you went. Hawaii? I have fifty-seven cousins there.”

“I will come back in one week.”

“You are not going anywhere.”

Now Aiden chose his words carefully. “Mr. Gilivrey must be a little bit pleased with me, for I've won so much in the fights.” He took a deep breath and proceeded very cautiously. “He must enjoy his cut of the betting, after all.”

Powhee clenched his jaw and his spiral tattoos swirled in the shadowy light.

“Like everyone else in the camps,” Aiden went on. “Like the camp bosses, the men who handle the bets, the cook who sews us up, even the Chinamen who wash the blood out of our clothes. And of course, you, Mr. Powhee; how much of your percentage goes to Mr. Gilivrey anyway?”

“Do you think you are the first piss-pant to threaten me this way?” Powhee said angrily.

“No,” Aiden said. “But I think I'm the first to make you enough money to have it work.”

“Who is that Indian?”

Tupic's presence in the camp had of course been noticed, but Aiden was surprised that Powhee had connected them so quickly.

“An old friend,” Aiden replied.

“He is trouble for you.”

“I know.”

“What does he want you to do?”

“A favor.”

“And how am I supposed to explain your absence?”

Aiden hadn't thought of this. “I don't know. You are a smart man. And fearsome.”

Now Powhee's tattoos relaxed and he looked resigned, almost sullen. “If I let you go, it would be logical for me to help you accomplish your task.”

“I guess it would,” Aiden said simply. “But I'm not all that logical. We'll leave before first light. We won't be seen. I'll need some of my cash winnings for the trip, though. Twenty dollars should do.”

Powhee stared at him, then reached into his moneybag.

“You can't go through East Royal St. Petersburg,” he said. “So from camp five, go west over the Saddle ridge and follow the first creek down. It will put you on the river about a mile south of there. You can follow the river all the way to Seattle, but don't be seen, for I won't say I allowed you to leave.”

“All right.”

“Don't trust anyone for anything in Seattle,” he said. “Go to Ruby's on the docks for a room; she's clean enough, mostly fair and she pays guards to look out for the Shanghai crews. Anywhere else you go, watch your back, watch your drink—they'll slip you a knockout potion and you'll wake up on a ship to China.”

“I'll be careful.”

“Everyone knows Napoleon Gilivrey And almost everyone owes Napoleon Gilivrey. Remember that.”

“I will.” Aiden nodded and pocketed his money. “Thank you.”

Aiden felt restless when he lay down in the straw, but the long day soon caught up with him and he fell asleep quickly He still woke well before dawn, just as the darkest black began to seep from the sky. Tupic was already awake, or perhaps he had never slept. He sat up in the corner of the stall, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, rocking slightly as he chanted softly under his breath.

Aiden got unsteadily to his feet and found his kit bag. The two crept quietly out of the stable and into the thick mist. They covered the trail in good time, and it was still before sunrise when they reached camp four, but Aiden knew the cook would already be awake. He had Tupic stay in the woods while he slipped closer and waited until he saw the cook go outside to smoke his pipe. Then he snuck in and took a loaf of bread and a chunk of ham. He looked around hopefully for some of the famous meat pies, but there were none lying about.

Men were starting to rouse by the time they reached camp five, so they crept around the outskirts. The vast trunks of the trees too big to cut stood like solitary giants among the hundreds of stumps. Tree limbs, twisted and crushed by the fall of the timber, littered the ground like monster bones. But as Aiden and Tupic moved toward the ridge, the normal forest returned. The sun broke as they crested and was strong enough to warm them as they made their way down the other side. They reached the main river by midafternoon.

“Wait here,” Tupic said. It was the first either had spoken all day. “I have a canoe hidden in the brush just downriver. I borrowed it from a Salish village outside of Seattle.”

He was gone less than an hour, but to Aiden it felt like a
lifetime. Every scratch and twitch in the forest set his spine tingling. His ears strained to hear voices. There shouldn't be any loggers around here, for every right-sized tree was already cut, but he still feared discovery. Finally Tupic returned, sliding the dugout silently up to the muddy bank. Aiden stepped in and the little boat rocked drastically.

“Can this thing really carry us?”

“If you don't lunge around like an elk.”

Aiden lowered himself cautiously and Tupic pushed them out into the slow current. Aiden had never been in a canoe of any sort, but the dugout felt especially tippy. Every time he paddled, the wretched boat would tilt and wrench sideways.

“Don't lean so much,” Tupic said. He sat in the back, trying hard to compensate for such a clumsy partner. “And don't stab the water.”

“I haven't paddled a lot of damn canoes!” Aiden said.

“You paddle like you're chopping down a tree.”

“Well, how should I paddle?”

“Smooth, like you are brushing your horse's neck.”

“I haven't brushed a lot of horse necks either.”

Suddenly the heaviness between them began to lighten. The afternoon was sunny and mild, the current light, and after a while Aiden did get the hang of paddling, though Tupic still had to work to keep them near a straight line. For a little while it began to feel like just a pleasant outing, two old friends off to fish and camp in the woods.

lthough he had walked alongside this same river when Jackson had first brought them to East Royal St. Petersburg, Aiden didn't remember anything of the landscape. It seemed like an eternity ago, though it was just over four months. They stopped to camp when Aiden guessed they were several miles from Seattle. Aiden knew the camp supplies had come up the river two days earlier, so there wouldn't be another of Gilivrey's boats for three days. Still, he preferred to remain hidden from the world.

They had no hooks or line for fishing, no leather or twine to make a snare and no bow and arrows for any birds or small game, so they had to be content with the last bits of bread and ham for a poor supper. It barely stopped their stomachs from growling. They did not risk a fire but made a simple lean-to for shelter, carpeting the ground with pine needles. It was a rare clear night, cold, but not unbearably so. If they kept their heads covered and huddled close beneath the one blanket, they might even sleep some. With so little to do, they lay down long before they were sleepy, poking their heads out of the lean-to so they could look at the stars through the branches overhead.

“That's the one thing I miss from the prairie,” Aiden said. “On a moonless night, the sky is just dripping with stars. It feels like you could just reach up and scoop up a
handful. Toss them around, eat them, feed them to the chickens if you like.”

“What would they taste like?” Tupic laughed.

“Cold, I always thought, and a little sour.”

“I always thought sweet. Like rock candy.”

“You just like candy.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe if you floated up there and ate them directly, they'd be sweet,” Aiden agreed. “But I think everything turns sour that comes to earth.”

“In our stories, the night sky is a very busy place,” Tupic said. “There are always people being turned into stars; usually lovers who can't marry each other. Powerful shamans may become stars, and certain animals who bring gifts to the people. And warriors, of course,” he laughed. “Especially if they also have the love problem! I think anyone can be a star with a good story.”

“When I was a child,” Aiden said, “I thought the sky was a blanket, separating earth from heaven, and the stars were holes in the blanket, letting the light shine through. Whenever someone good died they poked a hole in the blanket, so finally, there would be enough holes made in the blanket that it would just crumble away, and then we would all be in heaven.”

“Is that the Bible or Aesop?”

“No,” Aiden said. “Just childish thoughts.”

“It is a long time since we were children.”

“Yes,” Aiden said. Wispy clouds filmed across the sky, blurring the stars. “I have to tell you something. When you asked about Maddy, I lied. I didn't want to talk of it then. But the truth is, she died, drowned.” He told the story in the
barest of words. Tupic listened silently, then turned on his side, rustling the pine needles.

“So now there is one more hole in your blanket.”

“Yes.”