Blood Red Road
Page 47
Oh no, he ain’t! Ike rushes of .
Jack grins at me. Poor Ike, he says, tappin the side of his forehead. Crazy as a coot.
Somehow I don’t think so.
The men mut er among theirselves as they sit back down at the big table an git to work on their meal. Ash elbows through ’em an l s three trenchers fer her, Epona an Emmi. The one with the eyepatch tries to slide his arm around her an she gives him a sharp rap over the head with the stew ladle.
Then they pul three chairs close to the re an tuck in. Both Ash an Epona keep their crossbows close. Nero perches on the back of Emmi’s chair an sets about dryin hisself an put in his feathers into some kinda order. He hates git in wet.
I rol the stif ness out a my shoulders, let the warmth of the room soak into my cold bones.
Jack motions me over to join him an Ike at a table in a dim lit corner. It looks like the kinda spot where plots git hatched.
I pul up a stool an sit down.
No hard feelins? I says to Ike.
Naw, he says. I like yer style.
Ike’s got a big head to match the rest of him. With a bushy beard an moustache an straight black hair down to his shoulders. His eyes is dark an set deep. His voice rumbles from somewhere down near his toes.
Ike, this is Saba, says Jack.
I hold out my hand fer Ike to shake but he grabs it, lifts it to his mouth an gives it a big wet smack of a kiss.
Marry me, he says. I got al my own teeth, I wash twice a year an I’l cut you in fer half the business here.
My cheeks flame hot. No thanks, I says. I try to pul my hand away, but he clutches it tight to his chest.
Maybe not right away, he says, but once we git to know each other. A week or so. I don’t mind a lit le wait. Jest don’t keep me simmerin too long, sweetheart.
I don’t real y think I … uh …, I says.
I shoot Jack a help-me-out-here-yer-friend’s-crazy kinda look but he don’t even look at me. He leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head an his legs stretched out.
Wil wonders never cease, he says. Ike Twelvetrees nal y caught in the net of love. I got a hand it to you, Saba. Name the rst boy after me, wil you?
The first—! I shove back my stool an jump up. I ain’t marryin Ike! I ain’t marryin nobody! What the—?
Then I catch the look that passes between ’em. Jack’s mouth twitches an they bust out laughin. I glare as they hoot an slap each other on the back like a couple of idiots. Bloody Jack. There he goes agin, makin me look like a fool.
Very funny, I says. Couple of hyenas. Go on, laugh it up.
I turn to leave but Ike’s long arm shoots out an grabs my wrist. Aw, don’t, he says, wipin his eyes. Stay. We don’t mean nuthin by it, do we Jack? It’s jest us havin some fun. You don’t hafta marry me … not until yer ready to, that is.
I guess that’l be never then, I says.
He clutches his heart. Wounded! he says. He drags my stool back to the table. Sit, he says. Have a drink. Tel me what brings you to the One-Eyed Man.
He lifts a jug an pours a clear liquid into three chipped mugs.
I stand there with my arms folded over my chest.
What’s the mat er? says Ike. You got a face on you like a slapped polecat.
I don’t like people makin fun of me, I says.
Dangerous an prickly, says Ike. You got yerself quite a handful here, Jack.
I ain’t his handful, I says.
She sure as hel ain’t, says Jack.
Ike raises one shaggy eyebrow. You sure yer sure about that? C’mon, he says to me. Siddown. Drink.
I sit.
Jack lifts his mug. Me an Ike do the same.
To Mol y Prat , says Jack.
Ike scowls at him. Watch yer mouth, he says.
Jeez, Ike, says Jack. Al I’m sayin is … to Mol y Prat .
Ike looks sly. Leans in an waggles his eyebrows. To Mol y Prat , he says, an her fril y red bloomers.
One hel uva woman, says Jack.
One hel uva pair of undies, says Ike.
Then they throw their drinks down their necks.
I take a sip. Fire races over my tongue, down my throat. Tears spring to my eyes.
I take a sip. Fire races over my tongue, down my throat. Tears spring to my eyes.
Jack pounds the table with his fist. Gasps like a landed fish. That’s smooth, Ike, he says. What is it?
Pine sap vodka, says Ike. Down it in one, he says to me. That way you cain’t taste it.
I take a deep breath. I down it in one, like he tel s me to. The fire hits my bel y an starts a slow burn.
Now, says Ike, let’s git down to business. I know you, Jack. You only ever show up when you want somethin. What is it this time?
Freedom Fields, says Ike. Wel wel . Innerestin.
What d’you know about it? I says.
No more’n anybody else in this part of the world, he says. I heard about it.
He looks at Jack before he says it. A quick ick of the eyes, that’s al it is. But it’s enough to make me think he might know more. I’m jest openin my mouth to ask him when a boy comes up an plonks three bowls of stew on the table. I’l bide my time.
This boy ain’t seen no more’n fourteen summers. He’s thin an peely-wal y, like he don’t ever see the light of day, an he’s al elbows an ears an big clumsy feet. Ike reaches out to ruf le his hair.
Thanks, son.
The boy gives Ike a shy smile, ducks his head an hurries away. We tuck in.
I never knew you had a kid, Ike, says Jack.
Oh Tommo ain’t my real son, says Ike. He showed up a few winters back. Found him one mornin, huddled in the lean-to with the horses.
Starvin … you could count every rib.
Where’d he come from? says Jack.
No idea, says Ike. When I asked him, al he said was, “He told me to wait fer him. I waited an waited, but he never come back.” I found out later it was his pa told him to wait. I took him in. What else could I do? Fol ows me around like a dog. He cain’t hear, but he watches yer lips while you talk. Unnerstands most things that way. He’s a good boy, Tommo. A hard worker.
Cain’t say I ever thought of you as the fatherly type, says Jack.
Ike shrugs. Life’s ful of surprises, he says. He fil s my glass. Gives me a shove with his elbow. Go on, he says, drink up.
So, says Jack, Freedom Fields. Whaddya think?
I dunno, says Ike. Business is good. I don’t real y wanna—
Rule of three, Ike, says Jack.
Ah, says Ike. Wel … I cain’t deny that the rule of three applies here.
What? I says.
I saved Ike’s life three times, says Jack.
That means my life belongs to Jack an he can pret y much cal the shots, says Ike. I ain’t ever heard of anybody goin that far. Usual y it’s more like … cal in in a favor.
But the rule of three’s a … a joke, I says.
A joke? says Ike, starin at me. Where’d you git that idea?
Told you, says Jack to me. So, Ike. We could sure use yer help. Wil you come with us?
Sounds like it’s up to you, Ike says to me. He’s yer brother. D’you want my help?
I look at him. Built like a mountain, with a steady, dark gaze. A good man. Dependable. Those was Jack’s words. An he knows more’n he’s let in on.
So does Jack, fer that mat er. Maev was right. There’s secrets in them moonshine eyes of his. Jack vexes me. He bothers me. I wish my heart didn’t beat faster every time he comes near me. But I trust him. Even when I cain’t bring myself to speak to him.
Jack grins at me. Poor Ike, he says, tappin the side of his forehead. Crazy as a coot.
Somehow I don’t think so.
The men mut er among theirselves as they sit back down at the big table an git to work on their meal. Ash elbows through ’em an l s three trenchers fer her, Epona an Emmi. The one with the eyepatch tries to slide his arm around her an she gives him a sharp rap over the head with the stew ladle.
Then they pul three chairs close to the re an tuck in. Both Ash an Epona keep their crossbows close. Nero perches on the back of Emmi’s chair an sets about dryin hisself an put in his feathers into some kinda order. He hates git in wet.
I rol the stif ness out a my shoulders, let the warmth of the room soak into my cold bones.
Jack motions me over to join him an Ike at a table in a dim lit corner. It looks like the kinda spot where plots git hatched.
I pul up a stool an sit down.
No hard feelins? I says to Ike.
Naw, he says. I like yer style.
Ike’s got a big head to match the rest of him. With a bushy beard an moustache an straight black hair down to his shoulders. His eyes is dark an set deep. His voice rumbles from somewhere down near his toes.
Ike, this is Saba, says Jack.
I hold out my hand fer Ike to shake but he grabs it, lifts it to his mouth an gives it a big wet smack of a kiss.
Marry me, he says. I got al my own teeth, I wash twice a year an I’l cut you in fer half the business here.
My cheeks flame hot. No thanks, I says. I try to pul my hand away, but he clutches it tight to his chest.
Maybe not right away, he says, but once we git to know each other. A week or so. I don’t mind a lit le wait. Jest don’t keep me simmerin too long, sweetheart.
I don’t real y think I … uh …, I says.
I shoot Jack a help-me-out-here-yer-friend’s-crazy kinda look but he don’t even look at me. He leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head an his legs stretched out.
Wil wonders never cease, he says. Ike Twelvetrees nal y caught in the net of love. I got a hand it to you, Saba. Name the rst boy after me, wil you?
The first—! I shove back my stool an jump up. I ain’t marryin Ike! I ain’t marryin nobody! What the—?
Then I catch the look that passes between ’em. Jack’s mouth twitches an they bust out laughin. I glare as they hoot an slap each other on the back like a couple of idiots. Bloody Jack. There he goes agin, makin me look like a fool.
Very funny, I says. Couple of hyenas. Go on, laugh it up.
I turn to leave but Ike’s long arm shoots out an grabs my wrist. Aw, don’t, he says, wipin his eyes. Stay. We don’t mean nuthin by it, do we Jack? It’s jest us havin some fun. You don’t hafta marry me … not until yer ready to, that is.
I guess that’l be never then, I says.
He clutches his heart. Wounded! he says. He drags my stool back to the table. Sit, he says. Have a drink. Tel me what brings you to the One-Eyed Man.
He lifts a jug an pours a clear liquid into three chipped mugs.
I stand there with my arms folded over my chest.
What’s the mat er? says Ike. You got a face on you like a slapped polecat.
I don’t like people makin fun of me, I says.
Dangerous an prickly, says Ike. You got yerself quite a handful here, Jack.
I ain’t his handful, I says.
She sure as hel ain’t, says Jack.
Ike raises one shaggy eyebrow. You sure yer sure about that? C’mon, he says to me. Siddown. Drink.
I sit.
Jack lifts his mug. Me an Ike do the same.
To Mol y Prat , says Jack.
Ike scowls at him. Watch yer mouth, he says.
Jeez, Ike, says Jack. Al I’m sayin is … to Mol y Prat .
Ike looks sly. Leans in an waggles his eyebrows. To Mol y Prat , he says, an her fril y red bloomers.
One hel uva woman, says Jack.
One hel uva pair of undies, says Ike.
Then they throw their drinks down their necks.
I take a sip. Fire races over my tongue, down my throat. Tears spring to my eyes.
I take a sip. Fire races over my tongue, down my throat. Tears spring to my eyes.
Jack pounds the table with his fist. Gasps like a landed fish. That’s smooth, Ike, he says. What is it?
Pine sap vodka, says Ike. Down it in one, he says to me. That way you cain’t taste it.
I take a deep breath. I down it in one, like he tel s me to. The fire hits my bel y an starts a slow burn.
Now, says Ike, let’s git down to business. I know you, Jack. You only ever show up when you want somethin. What is it this time?
Freedom Fields, says Ike. Wel wel . Innerestin.
What d’you know about it? I says.
No more’n anybody else in this part of the world, he says. I heard about it.
He looks at Jack before he says it. A quick ick of the eyes, that’s al it is. But it’s enough to make me think he might know more. I’m jest openin my mouth to ask him when a boy comes up an plonks three bowls of stew on the table. I’l bide my time.
This boy ain’t seen no more’n fourteen summers. He’s thin an peely-wal y, like he don’t ever see the light of day, an he’s al elbows an ears an big clumsy feet. Ike reaches out to ruf le his hair.
Thanks, son.
The boy gives Ike a shy smile, ducks his head an hurries away. We tuck in.
I never knew you had a kid, Ike, says Jack.
Oh Tommo ain’t my real son, says Ike. He showed up a few winters back. Found him one mornin, huddled in the lean-to with the horses.
Starvin … you could count every rib.
Where’d he come from? says Jack.
No idea, says Ike. When I asked him, al he said was, “He told me to wait fer him. I waited an waited, but he never come back.” I found out later it was his pa told him to wait. I took him in. What else could I do? Fol ows me around like a dog. He cain’t hear, but he watches yer lips while you talk. Unnerstands most things that way. He’s a good boy, Tommo. A hard worker.
Cain’t say I ever thought of you as the fatherly type, says Jack.
Ike shrugs. Life’s ful of surprises, he says. He fil s my glass. Gives me a shove with his elbow. Go on, he says, drink up.
So, says Jack, Freedom Fields. Whaddya think?
I dunno, says Ike. Business is good. I don’t real y wanna—
Rule of three, Ike, says Jack.
Ah, says Ike. Wel … I cain’t deny that the rule of three applies here.
What? I says.
I saved Ike’s life three times, says Jack.
That means my life belongs to Jack an he can pret y much cal the shots, says Ike. I ain’t ever heard of anybody goin that far. Usual y it’s more like … cal in in a favor.
But the rule of three’s a … a joke, I says.
A joke? says Ike, starin at me. Where’d you git that idea?
Told you, says Jack to me. So, Ike. We could sure use yer help. Wil you come with us?
Sounds like it’s up to you, Ike says to me. He’s yer brother. D’you want my help?
I look at him. Built like a mountain, with a steady, dark gaze. A good man. Dependable. Those was Jack’s words. An he knows more’n he’s let in on.
So does Jack, fer that mat er. Maev was right. There’s secrets in them moonshine eyes of his. Jack vexes me. He bothers me. I wish my heart didn’t beat faster every time he comes near me. But I trust him. Even when I cain’t bring myself to speak to him.
