The Nine Pound Hammer (25 page)

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Ma Everett fretted about the kitchen. Her hands shook, and she seemed to have no capacity—nor would anybody expect it of her—to cook a hot meal. They ate what was left over from dinner, and few did more than pick at their plates as Marisol told them about the encounter in the forest.

Seth narrowed his eyes at Marisol’s retelling of the events. Nel paced the middle of the kitchen car, his hard mahogany leg thumping throughout the telling. The others listened while they sat upon sacks of beans and flour or in chairs. When Marisol described how Ray had stopped the monstrous Hoarhound simply by touching it, she got up and came over to him.

“Te agradezco,
” Marisol said as she held Ray in an embrace. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “You saved me, Ray.”

Ray did not know what to say and tried to keep his eyes on the floor, but Seth’s gaze was burning a hole into him.

“But how?” Nel asked, almost rhetorically. His pounding peg leg stopped, causing Ray to look up.

“I don’t know,” Ray said.

“It’s … inexplicable!” Nel said. “I’ve never heard of such—”

Ma Everett asked, “What was the beast?”

“The Gog’s Hoarhound,” Ray said.

Buck asked, “Was the Gog there? Did you see him?”

“There were the three men Marisol described. I don’t think any of them were the Gog. They seemed … ordinary in many respects, just hired men following orders.”

“Stinking Pinkerton agents,” Buck snarled.

Nel’s peg leg barked on the wooden floor as he turned. He swayed a moment with the motion of the train, his hand clutching the silver fox paw through his shirt. “The rabbit’s foot,” he said. “How he’s done it, I can’t divine, but, Ray, your father has worked some hoodoo into that foot.”

“They’ll be after us,” Buck said.

“And soon.” Nel nodded. “Ox is looking for a place for us to hide.”

Ray thought again about the battle, about the Gog’s agents. “I recognized one of the men. I’ve seen him before.” As Ray’s eyes fell on Seth, the boy shifted uncomfortably. Ray hesitated before saying, “He was talking to Seth after one of the shows.”

Nel pivoted sharply toward Seth. “Is this true? Did one of the Gog’s men approach you?”

“I—I didn’t know who he was,” Seth stammered. “He said he worked for another show. He was asking if I wanted to be hired on. I told him no, of course!”

“What else did he say?” Buck snarled, his pale eyes emerging from his trembling brow.

Seth was shaking as he spoke, wringing his hands together. “He was asking about the siren. I didn’t tell him anything. I swear!”

Nel leaned heavily against the back of a chair. “The Gog’s agents had already found us when he spoke to you, Seth. I’m sure you didn’t do anything to give us away.” Ray saw that Buck did not look so certain and was trying to contain his fury. “But somehow they discerned she was here.”

“Or were told,” Buck said.

“Leave the boy alone, Buck,” Nel said. “Seth’s been through enough as it is. We don’t need to turn on one another. Our attention needs to be firmly placed on keeping Jolie safe and finding somewhere to hide.”

Ray looked to Jolie, her expression a tangle of guilt and fear.

“Until what?” Ray asked.

Nel frowned. “Until we figure out what’s the best course of action. We can’t afford to be impetuous. There are lives at stake here, son! But there’s no denying it. Our performing days are over. We are a medicine show no longer.”

The
Ballyhoo
rushed on into the night.

A few hours later, while sitting with Jolie, Si, and Conker in the jumbled hallway of the sleeper car, Ray felt the train slow and heard the sharp whine of brakes. As the four stepped out onto the vestibule, the
Ballyhoo
was stopping. Marisol peered out the window of her room. Nel and Buck came out from their car.

Eddie ran down the side of the train shouting, “Pa’s found a track! Everyone up to the locomotive.”

Ox had located a new trestle that had been built over a shallow river. As he had hoped, the old track split off just before the crossing. With no other trains using it and with a dense forest all around, he hoped it would make a sufficient hiding place.

There was some brush on the old track, which everyone frantically worked to clear off. After the
Ballyhoo
made its way slowly down the unused line, Conker toppled a stout poplar over the track behind them for good measure.

Soon they found a spot to stop in the thickest part of the forest. Ray heard the whistle of a train in the distance passing over the new trestle and hoped the
Ballyhoo
was far enough away to remain unnoticed.

“I want those bottletrees set up,” Nel ordered. “No one is to take one step outside their perimeter. We’ll take turns keeping watch. For now, two down past the caboose. Ray, you and Conker take that first. Two down past the locomotive. How about you, Si and Marisol? And Seth, Redfeather, Eddie, and Shacks scattered in the forest along the sides. Jolie, to your car. Buck, why don’t you keep watch outside her door? We must be vigilant! No need to be heroes. If you see anything, run back to the train immediately and let us know. Hopefully we won’t be here long. Mister Everett and I will figure out what to do.”

Ray followed Conker to his room, where the giant took out the Nine Pound Hammer from under his mattress and unwrapped it from the black cerecloth. As they stepped
onto the vestibule, they heard Seth and Redfeather walking down the side of the train. “You believe that about that Hound?” Seth scoffed. “They’re delusional. Crazy as Nel!”

“You think they’re lying?” Redfeather asked in a quiet voice. “Marisol too?”

“Course I do! She fancies Ray now. And that jealous rube just wants to play Rambler because he’s sore he can’t be on stage. The worst is Nel believes them! Now there’s no more shows! Nel probably …” The boys’ voices disappeared into the forest.

Ray irritably swung a pair of bottletrees around to hand to Conker.

Conker said, “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Ray asked, picking up two more bottletrees.

“I know what you’re thinking. You reckon Seth told that agent about Jolie. He’s got a little meanness to him, but he wouldn’t do that.”

Ray shook his head. “I’m thinking worse than that, Conker.”

They walked down the track, past the caboose, until they saw a good spot to plant the first bottletrees, marking the boundary of safety. They turned and walked farther into the forest to a lichen-speckled boulder, where they planted the next bottletree.

“I’ll walk a little ways,” Conker said. “Get an idea of the land. Put out the others.”

Ray nodded. The silence of the trees was welcome after the terrifying night. He settled his back against the cool
stone and closed his eyes against the thoughts storming his head.

What kind of plan was Nel devising? To run away. To hide. Jolie needed to be kept safe, but ultimately, the Gog had to be stopped. How could he be? Ray squeezed a fist to his temple.

The cackle of crows broke his thoughts. A pair of the large black birds fluttered around one another in a small tornado before swooping up to separate branches nearby.

Ray watched them, trying to find a way to calm his raging thoughts. Their caws sounded almost like laughter, as if they were mocking Ray’s frustration. “Yeah, go ahead,” Ray mumbled. “What do you know? You’re just a couple of ugly crows.”

But they weren’t ugly, he realized. Ray had never given much thought to how a crow looked. As he saw the light reflecting off the smooth folds of their backs and wings, the way their colors ran from black to purple to blue, he decided these were beautiful animals. He had never appreciated them, maybe because they were not colorful like cardinals or bluebirds.

The crows cocked their heads and turned their oil-spot eyes to look down at Ray. They called back and forth to one another, and Ray noticed the subtlety of the sounds they made: sometimes sharp barks, sometimes low, drawn-out croaks and caws.

Ray closed his eyes and focused his thoughts fully on
the crows. Suddenly it was as if a voice whispered inside his head, “He’s coming.”

Ray’s eyes popped open. The crows were looking at something, bobbing their heads and shifting on their branches. Ray turned.

Nel was walking into the woods ten feet away. “Whatever they said,” Nel called, “their advice should be taken with a grain of salt.”

“What?” Ray asked with a perplexed turn of his voice.

“You were listening to them, or trying to at least. I was watching you.”

Nel reached the boulder and settled himself down next to Ray by steadying a hand on his knee above the wooden leg. He then looked around. “Where’s Conker?”

Ray nodded to the left. “Just over there. Putting out the bottletrees. He’ll be back.” Ray sat up, leaning toward Nel. “Could you teach me to hear them, to better understand what they’re saying?”

“I’m afraid not,” Nel sighed. “If I’ve once understood how to discern the speech of animals, it’s been lost to me. Besides, understanding animals isn’t something anyone can teach. It comes from being in the wild. You grew up in the city, Ray. You didn’t have the same exposure from a young age that your father had or I had. It would be hard for you to learn, but not too late.”

Ray wondered how different things might have been if his father had never left.

“When you’re a baby, nobody actually teaches you to talk,” Nel said. “You need a reason for communicating, and in time as a baby you learn to speak by listening. Keep listening to them, Ray, and you just might pick up something.”

“Is that how you learned, Mister Nel? Listening to animals?”

“I spent my formative years around many woods.”

“But how did you become a Rambler?”

Nel took his briarwood pipe from his jacket and lit it before speaking. “I was born a slave down on the Santee River in South Carolina. My people were Gullah, and, like generations before them, they worked the rice plantations down in that marshy country. I knew slaves that ran off, heading up north. And when I was a little younger than you, I escaped as well. But there were times before my eventual escape, when I was still on the farm, that I was sent out in the woods to collect wood or herbs. The wild had a particular power that I felt. It wasn’t until I followed that group of runaways, hiding by day and heading up through the woods by night, that I really discovered what I could do.”

“What was that?”

“Understand the speech of animals, for one,” Nel said. “And live off the land. Not just survive, but really experience the feeling of being alive for the first time.”

“Was that when you learned how to change, to become a fox?” Ray asked.

“No, that came later,” Nel said, making circles in the air with his pipe. “I helped those of us that ran away reach Ohio. Up there I met a family of abolitionists, Reverend Mason and his sister, who took me in. They had been helping runaways get jobs and settle into new lives, as well as secretly funding groups down south that helped others escape. The Reverend and Missus Mason housed me, educated me, and in return, I helped with the abolitionist cause. I went back south and led others to safety. I had skills that only the wild could teach: tracking both men and animals, foraging for berries and tubers and tender shoots, finding shelter, reading the signs of winterberry and clouds, knowing the ways of the forest. There were other gifts, too, now forgotten. It was during that time that I met up with a Rambler named Porter Wallace. He was a great man, Ray. He showed me that I was a Rambler and didn’t even know it. He’s the one who taught me about making tonics and root working.

“And in time, I learned to change into the fox. They were rare moments and hard now to recall. But when I was thinking a certain way—when my thoughts were able to extend beyond myself to something vaster and wilder—I was able to become a fox. I was able to cross into the Gloaming.”

“I want to learn, Mister Nel. I want to be a Rambler,” Ray said.

“You’re already doing it, Ray. It’s just a matter of finding the right path and listening to yourself.”

This didn’t make Ray feel better. In fact, it worried him. How would he know the right path?

“If I listen to myself, then it’s telling me to find my father. If he’s still alive, Mister Nel, maybe he can help us stop the Gog, to stop him from building his Machine.”

Nel drew on his briarwood pipe before answering. “I don’t want you to have false hopes. I don’t know whether your father survived.”

“I have to find out.”

“Would you leave us? Leave Jolie?” Nel replied.

“Can we go on running and hiding forever?” Ray asked. “Maybe my path is to face the Gog.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that, son.” The heavy lids darkened Nel’s eyes. “Jolie must be kept safe. I need to figure things out for the medicine show, figure out how I can keep us all safe. I need you here, now. I’m depending on you. I need you to do something.”

“What’s that?”

“From what you said, the rabbit’s foot seems to indicate when the Hound is near. I need you to be on guard. Watch the foot.”

“I can do that,” Ray said.

“But it’s not that easy.” Nel nodded back toward the train. “I saw you and Conker listening to Seth. I heard what he said, too.”

“He’s a jerk, Mister Nel! How can he really think that?”

“He’s angry and is letting his disappointment cloud his reason. I somehow failed that boy along the way. … ” Nel
grew quiet for a moment before continuing. “Seth doesn’t seem to grasp the peril we’re all in. I need you to stay away from him. You need to be vigilant. Stay out here with Conker near the edge of the bottletrees. I trust you two enormously, as you must know. But trust me to work out a plan that’s in our … in Jolie’s best interest.”

Ray nodded. Nel’s careworn face relaxed into a smile. He put a hand on Ray’s shoulder as he stood up. “I know I can count on you, Ray. And in time, you’ll make a fine Rambler.”

Those were strange, quiet days for the former medicine show. To Ma Everett’s displeasure, they no longer ate together around the makeshift table. Keeping everyone on duty at all times was impossible, but each took a turn, alone or in pairs, and came back to the train to eat and briefly sleep.