The Tattooed Tribes (3 page)

“
You’re a bloody little fool!” Bending, Jon
grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him
indoors.

During the
following thirty minutes a violently protesting and verbally
abusive boy was made to shower twice, instructed to eat a large
bowl of porridge, then frogmarched to a bed and told to sleep.

“
I don’t like being told what to do!” he
snarled at Jon.

“
Fine,” Jon replied. “Then you can leave
right now. But, if you do as you’re told, we’ll have a talk when
you wake up. And you’ll get to eat again.”

There was a
brief struggle with pride, and then reluctantly Ian lay down and
was asleep before Jon left the room.

It was several
hours later when he reappeared dressed in some of Jon’s things.

“
I couldn’t find my clothes.”

“
I left those for you,” Jon replied. “Yours
are in the wash.”

Ian flushed.
“I manage to wash myself most of the time, but it’s harder with
clothes.”

He was taller
than Jon, who was not much above average height, a slender
stripling still growing into his bones. A lot of ankle and wrist
showed from his borrowed clothes, but he completely failed to fill
the space Jon’s big shoulders and deep broad chest needed.

Ian gazed
longingly at the plate of sandwiches waiting on the table.

“
Help yourself,” Jon told him and allowed
him to munch his way through two before speaking again. “What were
you doing on my front door step?”

Ian paused in
the middle of a third sandwich to give him a quick grin.

“
I told you, waiting for you to get back,”
he replied before reapplying himself to food.

“
Why?”

“
I’ve been saving. I’ve got two hundred and
seventy three bucks and I know I can find the rest.”

Jon was not
stupid. He had been reasonably sure this would be a plea for
further consideration the moment he realised who cluttered his
porch. It was not the first time he had been followed home by a
disappointed candidate, but the money intrigued him.

“
Where did you find it?” he asked. It was a
considerable sum.

“
Worked for it,” Ian replied.

“
Doing what?”

“
This and that.”

“
Care to elaborate?”

“
Nothing dishonest,” Ian said. “Mainly
supplying some of the restaurants with wild food, mushrooms,
greens, you know the sort of thing.”

“
Poison anyone?” Jon asked.

“
No!” Ian said indignantly. “I told you;
I’ve been camping and living in the woods since I was a small kid.
At least, I have when
they
let me.”

He slowly
finished his fourth sandwich; then looked at Jon.

“
Is it enough?” he asked. “I’ll find the
rest, I promise. I really,
really
want to be a TLO.”

A vision of
Stacey Wainwright rose in Jon’s mind, controlled, sleek and
rich.

“
No,” he said. “It’s not
enough.”

“
I’ll get the rest,” Ian said. “If you
could just give me a few more weeks ...”

“
I can’t,” Jon replied. “I have to decide
in the next couple of days. If I agreed to take you ... and it’s
a
big
if ... is there no way your
parents could help you?”

“
That bastard!” Ian snarled. “I hate
him.”

It was a
juvenile reaction and Jon at last took a long, careful look at his
guest. The gauntness had fooled him, so had the height, but as he
studied the face it occurred to him it had probably never seen a
razor. He also began to wonder exactly why Ian had been living
rough; it seemed an unnecessary gesture.

“
How old are you?”

A wary
expression appeared. “I told you before.”

“
Remind me.”

“
Nearly eighteen.”

“
How nearly?”

There was the
grin again, the one that bothered Jon.

“
A couple of years.”

“
You’re not even sixteen!” Jon
exclaimed.

“
I am sixteen, but I’ve not been for long,”
Ian admitted.

For a second
Jon was going to show him the door, but it crossed his mind any lad
who could keep himself by supplying wild food might possibly be an
ideal TLO.

“
Did you make all that money by supplying
restaurants?”

“
Yes,” Ian replied quickly.

Too
quickly.

He fidgeted in
the silence that followed.

“
Okay,” he said. “I did blag a few meals
along the way and I did a bit of dealing.”

“
Blagged?”

“
Ordered, ate, but couldn’t pay,” Ian
admitted. “But I always offered to work it off.”

“
How did that play?”

“
Okay, most of the time. I got roughed up
once or twice.”

Jon could see
the faint shadow of an old black eye.

“
And the dealing?”

“
Just a few bits here and
there.”

“
What?”

“
Nothing much.”

Jon gave him a
stern look and Ian’s eyes fell before it, but he would not be
drawn.

“
Do your parents know where you are?” Jon
asked, trying a change of tack.

“
No, and they don’t care.”

“
I’m calling them,” Jon said and rose to
his feet. “What’s your father’s name?” He began looking for
numbers.

“
No! You can’t call them.”

“
I think you’ll find I can.”

“
You can’t, because you won’t find them
under Davis,” Ian said.

Jon turned
back to him.

“
My name isn’t Ian Davis. It’s Lucien
Devlin.”

“
Out!” Jon made to take him by the arm and
haul him towards the door.

“
Please no!” Lucien begged. “I didn’t want
to lie to you, but they don’t understand. I can’t go back; they’ll
send me to my grandparents. I can’t leave this world, it’s my home
and I love it.”

Youth and the
weeks of hardship and raw emotion got the better of him. He turned
his head away trying to control himself, but the shaking of his
shoulders and the odd body wracking shudder gave the game away.

Jon watched
him for a short while; then gave one heaving shoulder a comforting
squeeze.

“
Okay, son,” he said. “Let’s see if we can
sort this mess out.”

Once he was
calm Lucien began to speak of his restlessness and dissatisfaction
with Settlement life, and a little about his on-going clashes with
authority figures both at home and school.

“
All I’ve ever wanted to be is a TLO, but
my father kept telling me I’d grow out of it, and I never have.
When the apprenticeship was announced I decided to apply. I thought
if I went home and told him I’d got it, he would come round and
help me.”

“
But you didn’t get it,” Jon pointed
out.

“
I would’ve done, if I’d had the money,”
Lucien protested.

“
Maybe,” Jon agreed. “But maybe
not.”

Lucien looked
a bit stunned by this. “I thought ... anyway, I went home and told
him he had to give me the money.”

“
And then?”

“
He laughed at me,” Lucien said, the wobble
back in his voice. “Then he just ignored me.”

His face took
on a bleak expression.

“
I tried not to lose my temper, but I might
have said a few things and there was a bit of a row. I ended up
telling him I wasn’t staying around to be ordered about like a
small child. And he said I could go any time I liked. So I
went.”

“
Didn’t your mother have anything to
say?”

“
Not really. She did cry a lot.”

“
Do you often row with him?” Jon
asked.

“
Yes. Well, no, not really. I do a bit of
shouting, but he … he’s just mean.”

“
What is he mean about?”

“
The stuff I bring home from the woods to
study, but mainly its school!” the boy said with a decided smirk.
“I’d get suspended … a lot!”

He read the
disapproval on Jon’s face.

“
It’s never for anything bad,” he assured
him. “At least the fool of a Head thinks so, but it isn’t really. I
just can’t take being cooped up in a classroom all day every day,
so I take off occasionally. I like being outside and fending for
myself.”

“
But this is in term time,” Jon
guessed.

The big grin was back. “Yeah,” he replied.
“So he suspends me and my father gets all snide and says things
about me being stupid. I’m
not
stupid.”

“
No, you’re not stupid,” Jon agreed. “But
maybe you aren’t wise.”

Lucien
carefully avoided eye contact at this, but the colour rose in his
cheeks.

“
How bad are your school reports?” Jon
asked.

“
Does it matter?”

“
You tell me, son. Most people seeking an
apprenticeship come with good references, an excellent school
report, first class examination results and the indenture fee, not
to mention parental approval. What have you got?”

Lucien hung
his head. “Nothing, I guess.”

He slumped in
his chair, obviously waiting for Jon to come up with something, but
Jon did not notice, he was doing some serious thinking.

Lucien was
patient for a while, but eventually he began to fidget and look for
a way to end the silence.

He tried a
cough or two, until Jon looked up. “Sorry? Did you say
something?”

“
Yes,” Lucien replied, the picture of
innocence. “I was asking if those are fish tattooed on your
hands.”

Jon smiled at
the obvious ploy, but decided to indulge it.

“
Yes,” he said, stretching out his hands,
to show the tiny fish tattooed there. “A fish is the first mark of
any tribal hunter. If you live by a river it’s likely to be the
first thing you catch.”

He showed
Lucien each finger.

“
Trout, salmon, eel, crawfish,” he said. “A
different technique is needed to catch each one. And on this hand
... bass, clams, grayling, loach.”

Lucien studied
them. “What are the round spots on the joints?” he asked.

“
Pearls,” Jon replied. “You must know about
the fresh water pearls.”

“
Yes. Ma’s got some. She let me see them
once. They’re worth a lot of money, aren’t they?”

“
They are indeed,” Jon agreed.

“
Why haven’t you got any on those two
fingers?”

“
Because to date I’ve only found fourteen.
To show both hands with nine pearls on each is considered a mark of
great importance amongst The People.”

“
Couldn’t you just tattoo the extra ones
on?”

“
That would be a lie and the tribal people
don’t lie.”

“
Never?”

“
No. They may avoid or prevaricate or speak
only the truth which assists them, but all will avoid telling a
bare-faced lie.”

Lucien went a
deep crimson and refused to meet Jon’s eye. “Okay,” Lucien said, a
sulk not far away. “What about the rest?”

This time the
change of subject gambit was so crude that Jon burst out laughing,
but he showed him the three different types of deer, the bison, the
hare and the squirrel all jumbled together in the limited space on
the back of his left hand, and the variety of ducks, geese and
other birds circling his wrists.

“
What about your right hand?”

There were
only four animals there, a bear, a wolf, a moose and a spotted
cat.

Lucien
stretched out a finger and touched the cat.

“
I want to see one of those,” he said
reverentially.

Jon laughed.
“You’ll have to learn a hell of a lot before you get a sight of one
of those.”

Lucien looked
pained. “Will you show me?” he asked. “Is there no way you can take
me on as an apprentice?”

Jon considered
him for a second for two.

“
Do you know-
really
know- what a Tribal Liaison Officer
does?”

Lucien nodded.
“Explores and makes maps,” he replied. “Finds new lands, places
no-one has ever seen before.”

His eyes
glowed at the thought.

“
And I know they keep the peace between the
First Nation people and the rest of us,” he continued, but
obviously considered this a secondary role.

“
And why do we need to do that?”

“
Cos … I suppose there could be trouble if
the Tribes got too close to the settlers.”

“
Wrong,” Jon replied. “It’s in case the
settlers get too close to the tribes. Remember they were here first
and they found a way to survive in a hostile environment after we
abandoned them.”

“
But why did they have to form into
tribes?”

“
Because people need company,” Jon said.
“Everyone likes to belong.”

“
I know,” Lucien said. “I want something to
belong to and I don’t want to end up ashamed of myself.”

Jon looked
deep into his eyes, trying to decide if this was bullshit or
genuine. Lucien meet his gaze and held it, which convinced Jon he
was not being totally honest, but he was telling enough of the
truth to make him a possibility.