"Pinter must hev lost all hit"s virtue whin I went back on what ye told me," the boy said miserably. "You bin so good t" me, en I step on my d.i.c.k ever" time I turn around. Reckon I"ll git back t" my place afore I cause more trouble."
"Set, boy," said Old Nathan. "Ye"ll go whin I say go . . . and ye"ll do this time what I say ye"ll do."
"Yessir," replied Bowsmith, taken aback. When he tried instinctively to straighten his shoulders, the chair rocked beneath him. He lurched to his feet in response. Instead of spilling the cat, he used the animal as a balancer and then clutched him back to his chest.
"Yessir," he repeated, standing upright and looking confused but not frightened. And not, somehow, ridiculous, for all his ragged spray of hair and the grumbling tomcat in his arms.
Old Nathan set the book he held down on the table, his spectacles still marking his place against the stiff binding which struggled to close the volume. With both hands free, he gripped the table itself and walked over to the fireplace alcove.
Bowsmith poured the cat back onto the floor as soon as he understood what his host was about, but he paused on realizing that his help was not needed. The tabletop was forty inches to a side, sawn from thick planks and set on an equally solid framework-all of oak. The cunning man shifted the table without concern for its weight and awkwardness. He had never been a giant for strength, but even now he was no one to trifle with either.
"Ye kin fetch the straight chair to it," he said over his shoulder while he fumbled with the lock of one of the chests flanking the fireplace. "I"ll need the light t" copy out the words ye"ll need."
"Sir, I cain"t read," the boy said in a voice of pale, peeping despair.
"Hit don"t signify," replied the cunning man. The lid of the chest creaked open. "Fetch the chair."
Old Nathan set a bundle of turkey quills onto the table, then a pot of ink stoppered with a cork. The ink moved sluggishly and could have used a dram of water to thin it, but it was fluid enough for writing as it was.
Still kneeling before the chest, the cunning man raised a doc.u.ment case and untied the ribbon which closed it. Bowsmith placed the straight chair by the table, moving the rocker aside to make room. Then he watched over the cunning man"s shoulder, finding in the written word a magic as real as anything Old Nathan had woven or forged.
"Not this one," the older man said, laying aside the first of the letters he took from the case. It was in a woman"s hand, the paper fine but age-spotted. He could not read the words without his gla.s.ses, but he did not need to reread what he had not been able to forget even at this distance in time. "Nor this."
"Coo . . ." Bowsmith murmured as the first doc.u.ment was covered by the second, this one written on parchment with a wax seal and ribbons which the case had kept a red as bright as that of the day they were impressed onto the doc.u.ment.
Old Nathan smiled despite his mood. "A commendation from General Sevier," he said in quiet pride as he took another letter from the case.
"You fit the Redcoats et New Or-Leens like they say, thin?" the younger man asked.
Old Nathan looked back at him with an expression suddenly as blank as a board. "No, boy," he said, "hit was et King"s Mountain, en they didn"t wear red coats, the most uv thim."
He paused and then added in a kindlier tone, "En I reckon thet when I was yer age en ol" fools wuz jawin" about Quebec and Cartagena and all thet like, hit didn"t matter a bean betwixt them t" me neither.
And mebbe there wuz more truth t" thet thin I"ve thought since."
"I don"t rightly foller," said Bowsmith.
"Don"t reckon ye need to," the older man replied. "Throw a stick uv lightwood on the fire."
Holding the sheet he had just removed from the case, Old Nathan stood upright and squinted to be sure of what he had. It seemed to be one of his brother"s last letters to him, a decade old but no more important for that. It was written on both sides of the sheet, but the cuttlefish ink had faded to its permanent state of rich brown. The paper would serve as well for the cunning man"s present need as a clean sheet which could not have been found closer than Holden"s store in the settlement-and that dearly.
He sat down on the chair and donned his spectacles, using the letter as a placeholder in the book in their stead. The turkey quills were held together by a wisp of twine which, with his gla.s.ses on, he could see to untie.
After choosing a likely quill, Old Nathan scowled and said, "Turn yer head, boy." When he felt the movement of Bowsmith behind him, obedient if uncertain, the cunning man reached out with his eyes closed and brought his hand back holding the jackknife.
Some of Old Nathan"s magic was done in public to impress visitors and those to whom they might babble in awe. Some things that he might have hidden from others he did before Bowsmith, because he knew that the boy would never attempt to duplicate the acts on his own. But this one trick was the cunning man"s secret of secrets, and he didn"t want to frighten the boy.
The knife is the most useful of Mankind"s tools, dating from ages before he was even human. But a knife is also a weapon, and the sole reason for storing it-somewhere else-rather than in a pants pocket was that on some future date an enemy might remove a weapon from your pants. Better to plan for a need which never eventuated than to be caught by unexpected disaster.
"Ye kin turn and help me now, Eldon Bowsmith," the cunning man said as he trimmed his pen with the wire edge of the smaller blade. "Ye kin hold open the book fer me."
"Yessir," said the boy and obeyed with the clumsy nervousness of a bachelor asked to hold an infant for the first time. He gripped the volume with an effort which an axehelve would have better justified. The shaking of his limbs would make the print even harder to read.
Old Nathan sighed. "Gently, boy," he said. "Hit won"t bite ye."
Though there was reason to fear this book. It named itself Testamentum Athanasii on a t.i.tle page which gave no other information regarding its provenance. The volume was old, but it had been printed with movable type and bound or rebound recently enough that the leather hinges showed no sign of cracking.
The receipt to which the book now opened was one Old Nathan had read frequently in the months since Spanish King had won his last battle and, winning, had died. Not till now had he really considered employing the formula. Not really.
"Boy," lied the cunning man, "we cain"t git yer horse back, so I"ll give ye the strength uv a bull thet ye kin plow."
Bowsmith"s face found a neutral pattern and held it while his mind worked on the sentence he had just been offered. Usually conversations took standard patterns. "G"day t" ye, Simp." "G"day t" ye Mister/Miz. . . ." "Ev"nin", Eldon. Come en set." "Ev"nin" Mar" Beth. Don"t mind effen I do." Patterns like that made a conversation easier, without the confusing precipices which talking to Old Nathan entailed.
"Druther hev Jen back, sir," said the boy at last. "Effen you don"t mind."
The cunning man raised his left hand. The gesture was not quite a physical threat because the hand held his spectacles, and their lenses refracted spitting orange firelight across the book and the face of the younger man. "Mind, boy?" said Old Nathan. "Mind? You mind me, thet"s the long and the short uv it now, d"ye hear?"
"Yessir."
The cunning man dipped his pen in the ink and wiped it on the bottle"s rim, cursing the fluid"s consistency.
"Give ye the strength uv a bull," he lied again, "en a strong bull et thet." He began to write, his present strokes crossing those of his brother in the original letter. He held the spectacles a few inches in front of his eyes, squinting and adjusting them as he copied from the page of the book.
"Ever ketch rabbits, feller?" asked the cat as he leaped to the tabletop and landed without a stir because all four paws touched down together.
"Good feller," muttered Bowsmith, holding the book with the thumb and spread fingers of one hand so that the other could stroke the cat. The trembling which had disturbed the pages until then ceased, though the cat occasionally b.u.mped a corner of the volume. "Good feller. . . ."
The click of clawtips against oak, the scritch of the pen nib leaving crisp black lines across the sepia complaints beneath, and the sputtering pine knot that lighted the cabin wove themselves into a sinister unity that was darker than the nighted forest outside.
Yet not so dark as the cunning man"s intent.
When he finished, the boy and the cat were both staring at him, and it was the cat who rumbled, "Bad ez all thet?" smelling the emotions in the old man"s sweat.
"What"ll be," Old Nathan rasped through a throat drier than he had realized till he spoke, "will be." He looked down at the doc.u.ment he had just indited, folded his spectacles one-handed, and then turned to hurl the quill pen into the fire with a violence that only hinted his fury at what he was about to do.
"Sir?" said Bowsmith.
"Shut the book, boy," said Old Nathan wearily. His fingers made a tentative pa.s.s toward the paper, to send it the way the quill had gone. A casuist would have said that he was not acting and therefore bore no guilt . . . but a man who sets a snare for a rabbit cannot claim the throttled rabbit caused its own death by stepping into the noose.
The cunning man stood and handed the receipt to his visitor, folding it along the creases of the original letter. "Put it in yer pocket fer now, lad," he said. He took the book, closed now as he had directed, and scooped up the cat gently with a hand beneath the rib cage and the beast"s haunches in the crook of his elbow.
"Now, carry the table acrosst t" the other side," the cunning man continued, motioning Bowsmith with a thrust of his beard because he did not care to point with the leather-covered book. "Fetch me down the strop uv bullhide there. Hit"s got a peg drove through each earhole t" hold it."
"That ol" bull," said the cat, turning his head to watch Bowsmith walk across the room balancing the heavy table on one hand. "Ye know, I git t" missin" him sometimes?"
"As do I," Old Nathan agreed grimly. "But I don"t choose t" live in a world where I don"t see the prices till the final day."
"Sir?" queried the boy, looking down from the table which he had mounted in a flat-footed jump that crashed its legs down on the puncheons.
"Don"t let it trouble ye, boy," the cunning man replied. "I talk t" my cat, sometimes. Fetch me down Spanish King, en I"ll deal with yer problem the way I"ve set myself t" do."
The cat sprang free of the encircling arm, startled by what he heard in his master"s voice.
It was an hour past sunset, and Baron Neill held court on the porch over an entourage of two of his three sons and four of the six grandsons. Inside the cabin, built English-fashion of sawn timber but double sized, the women of the clan cleared off the truck from supper and talked in low voices among themselves. The false crow calls from the look-out tree raucously penetrated the background of cicadas and tree frogs.
" "Bout time," said the youngest son, taking a swig from the jug. He was in his early forties, balding and feral.
"Mar" Beth," called Baron Neill without turning his head or taking from his mouth the long stem of his meerschaum pipe.
There was silence from within the cabin but no immediate response.
The Baron dropped his feet from the porch rail with a crash and stood up. The Neill patriarch looked more like a rat than anything on two legs had a right to do. His nose was prominent, and the remainder of his body seemed to spread outward from it down to the fleshy b.u.t.tocks supported by a pair of spindly shanks. "Mar" Beth!" he shouted, hunched forward as he faced the cabin door.
"Well, I"m comin", ain"t I?" said a woman who was by convention the Baron"s youngest daughter and was in any case close kin to him. She stepped out of the lamplit cabin, hitching the checked ap.r.o.n a little straighter on her homespun dress. The oil light behind her colored her hair more of a yellow than the sun would have brought out, emphasizing the translucent gradations of her single tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb.
"Simp"s comin" back," said the Baron, relaxing enough to clamp the pipe again between his teeth. "Tyse jist called. Git down t" the trail en bring him back."
The woman stood hipshot, the desire to scowl tempered by the knowledge that the patriarch would strike her if the expression were not hidden by the angle of the light. "I"m poorly," she said.
One of the boys snickered, and Baron Neill roared, "Don"t I know thet? You do ez I tell ye, girl."
Mary Beth stepped off the porch with an exaggerated sway to her hips. The pair of hogs sprawled beneath the boards awakened but snorted and flopped back down after questing with their long flexible snouts.
"Could be I don"t mind," the woman threw back over her shoulder from a safe distance. "Could be Simp looks right good stacked up agin some I"ve seed."
One of her brothers sent after her a curse and the block of poplar he was whittling, neither with serious intent.
"Jeth," said the Baron, "go fetch Dave and Sim from the still. Never know when two more guns might be the difference betwixt somethin" er somethin" else. En bring another jug back with ye."
"Lotta durn work for a durned old plowhorse," grumbled one of the younger Neills.
The Baron sat down again on his chair and lifted his boots to the porch rail. "Ain"t about a horse," he said, holding out his hand and having it filled by the stoneware whiskey jug without him needing to ask.
"Hain"t been about a horse since he brung Old Nathan into hit. Fancies himself, that "un does."
The rat-faced old man took a deep draw on his pipe and mingled in his mouth the harsh flavors of burley tobacco and raw whiskey. "Well, I fancy myself, too. We"ll jist see who"s got the rights uv it."
Eldon Bowsmith tried to step apart from the woman when the path curved back in sight of the cabin.
Mary Beth giggled throatily and pulled herself close again, causing the youth to sway like a sapling in the wind. He stretched out the heavy bundle in his opposite hand in order to recover his balance.
"What in tarnation is that ye got, boy?" demanded Baron Neill from the porch. The air above his pipe bowl glowed orange as he drew on the mouthpiece.
"Got a strop uv bullhide, Bar"n," Bowsmith called back. "Got the horns, tail, and the strip offen the backbone besides."
He swayed again, then said in a voice that carried better than he would have intended, "Mar" Beth, ye mustn"t touch me like thet here." But the words were not a serious reproach, and his laughter joined the woman"s renewed giggle.
There was snorting laughter from the porch as well. One of the men there might have spoken had not Baron Neill snarled his offspring to silence.
The couple separated when they reached the steps, Mary Beth leading the visitor with her hips swaying in even greater emphasis than when she had left the cabin.
"Tarnation," the Baron repeated as he stood and took the rolled strip of hide from Bowsmith. The boy"s hand started to resist, but he quickly released the bundle when he remembered where he was.
"Set a spell, boy," said the patriarch. "Zeph, hand him the jug."
"I reckon I need yer help, Bar"n," Bowsmith said, rubbing his right sole against his left calf. The stoneware jug-a full one just brought from the still by the Baron"s two grandsons-was pressed into his hands and he took a brief sip.
"Now, don"t ye insult my squeezin"s, boy," said one of the younger men. "Drink hit down like a man er ye"ll answer t" me." In this, as in most things, the clan worked as a unit to achieve its ends. Simp Bowsmith was little enough of a problem sober; but with a few swallows of wildcat in him, the boy ran like b.u.t.ter.
"Why, you know we"d do the world for ye, lad," said the rat-faced elder as he shifted to bring the bundle into the lamplight spilling from the open door. It was just what the boy had claimed, a strop of heavy leather, tanned with the hair still on, and including the stiff-boned tail as well as the long, translucent horns.
Bowsmith handed the jug to one of the men around him, then spluttered and coughed as he swallowed the last of the mouthful he had taken. "Ye see, sir," he said quickly in an attempt to cover the tears which the liquor had brought to his eyes, "I"ve a spell t" say, but I need some "un t" speak the words over whilst I git thim right. He writ thim down fer me, Mister Nathan did. But I cain"t read, so"s he told me go down t"
the settlemint en hev Mister Holden er the sheriff say thim with me."
He carefully unb.u.t.toned the pocket of his shirt, out at the elbows now that his mother was not alive to patch it. With the reverence for writing that other men might have reserved for gold, he handed the rewritten doc.u.ment to Baron Neill.
The patriarch thrust the rolled bullhide to the nearest of his offspring and took the receipt. Turning, he saw Mary Beth and said, "You-girl. Fetch the lamp out here, and thin you git back whar ye belong. Ye know better thin t" nose around whin thar"s men talkin"."
"But I mustn"t speak the spell out whole till ever"thing"s perpared," Bowsmith went on, gouging his calf again with the nail of his big toe. "Thet"s cuz hit"ll work only the onct, Mister Nathan sez. En effen I"m not wearin" the strop over me when I says it, thin I"ll gain some strength but not the whole strength uv the bull."
There was a sharp altercation within the cabin, one female voice shrieking, "En what"re we s"posed t" do with no more light thin inside the Devil"s b.u.t.thole? You put that lamp down, Mar" Beth Neill!"
"Zeph," said the Baron in a low voice, but two of his sons were already moving toward the doorway, shifting their rifles to free their right hands.
"Anyhows, I thought ye might read the spell out with me, sir," Bowsmith said. "Thim folk down t" the settlemint, I reckon they don"t hev much use fer me."
"I wuz jist-" a woman cried on a rising inflection that ended with the thud of knuckles instead of a slap.
The light through the doorway shifted, then brightened. The men came out, one of them carrying a copper lamp with a gla.s.s chimney.
The circle of lamplight lay like the finger of G.o.d on the group of men. That the Neills were all one family was obvious; that they were a species removed from humanity was possible. They were short men; in their midst, Eldon Bowsmith looked like a scrawny chicken surrounded by rats standing upright. The hair on their scalps was black and straight, thinning even on the youngest, and their foreheads sloped sharply.
Several of the clan were chewing tobacco, but the Baron alone smoked a pipe. The stem of that yellow-bowled meerschaum served him as an officer"s swagger stick or a conductor"s baton.
"Hold the durn lamp," the patriarch snapped to the son who tried to hand him the instrument. While Bowsmith clasped his hands and watched the Baron in nervous hopefulness, the remainder of the Neill clan eyed the boy sidelong and whispered at the edge of the lighted circle.
Baron Neill unfolded the doc.u.ment carefully and held it high so that the lamp illuminated the writing from behind his shoulder. Smoke dribbled from his nostrils in short puffs as his teeth clenched on the stem of his pipe.
When the Baron lowered the receipt, he removed the pipe from his mouth. His eyes were glaring blank fury, but his tongue said only, "I wonder, boy, effen yer Mister Nathan warn"t funnin" ye along. This paper he give ye, hit don"t hev word one on it. Hit"s jist Babel."
One of the younger Neills took the doc.u.ment which the Baron held spurned at his side. Three of the others crowded closer and began to argue in whispers, one of them tracing with his finger the words written in sepia ink beneath the receipt.
"Well, they hain"t words, Bar"n," said the boy, surprised that he knew something which the other man-any other man, he might have said-did not. "I mean, not like we"d speak. Mister Nathan, he said what he writ out wuz the sounds, so"s I didn"t hev occasion t" be consarned they wuz furrin words."