“I got a job,” I repeat.
“Nay, I got that part. The part about the king.”
“The job’s working for the king,” I say with a shrug, as if it’s no big deal.
Wes scoffs. “C’mon, Dazz. Where are you really working?”
“He’s working for the king,” Joles says, her hands on her hips, looking more like a mother than a sister. I laugh and put an arm around her. She’s always given me more credit than I deserve. But for once, it’s not misplaced.
“But how…?” Wes’s expression alone is worth all the bad things that happened yesterday. Was it really just yesterday that I broke up with the witch? So much has happened that it seems like last year.
“What can I say, the king has an uncanny ability to recognize talent,” I say, grinning. This is great.
Wes shakes his head, still coming to terms with the possibility that I’m not lying. He fills his own mug with boiling water, takes a sip.
“Buff’s working with me too,” I blurt out.
Wes spews a mouthful of tea across the room, causing Joles to erupt into a fit of laughter. I can’t help cracking up, too. Everything about this morning is turning out to be perfect. While Wes is wiping his mouth and trying to compose himself, I add, “We start tomorrow, under a two month contract. If things work out, who knows? It could become permanent.”
Wes uses a cloth to wipe up the mess on the floor. Then he stands, looks me in the eyes, says, “Well done, Dazz. I’m really—really proud of you.” I swear there’s melted snow in his eyes, but then it’s gone. “So what kind of work will you be doing?”
It’s not something that should be hard to answer, but Nasal-Talker wasn’t very forthcoming with details before we left the Hole last night. As we repaid as much of the loan as we could with Buff’s silver, she told us where to show up and when, and that was it. She wouldn’t tell us anything else, except that the job wasn’t difficult, paid well, and was of the utmost importance to the king. Who were we to argue? Under the circumstances, the job was a gift.
“Uhhh…stuff,” I say. Well said.
“What sort of stuff?” Wes pushes.
“Tell him, Dazz,” Joles urges, as if she knows exactly what I’ll be doing. I wish she did so she could tell me.
“Important stuff,” I add, winking. “Yah, uh, really important stuff that’s top-secret and I can’t really talk about it.”
“Like spy stuff?” Jolie asks, excitement building in her eyes.
“That’s all I can say.”
“Are you for real?” Wes asks, frowning.
“I wish I could say more, but I’d lose my job.”
Wes gives me a hard look, but then his face lightens. “Well, whatever you’ll be doing, it’s a big step. You’re becoming a man.” I ignore the implication of his last comment—that I’m not already a man—because I’m just happy that he’s not asking anymore questions.
Wes slaps me on the back, ruffles Jolie’s hair, gives Mother a kiss on the cheek, and then says, “I’m heading out to grab a few things. See you later?”
Jolie and I nod. Mother says, “Tell your father to bring in another load of firewood.” Her hands are still cupped around her full mug of tea. The tea’s cold.
Chapter Six
We’re right where we’re supposed to be. The only problem: there’s no one else here.
“She did say Skeleton Rock, didn’t she?” Buff asks.
I gaze up at the large rock formation that protrudes from the mountainside. As its name suggests, the rocks are arranged in such a way that it looks like the decomposed remains of a large beast. The biggest rock is the skull and is shaped almost like a human’s head. The story goes that there was a tribe of ogre-like creatures, called Yags, that once roamed the mountainside, eating everything in sight, from rabbits to bears to humans. But when the Star Rock crashed into earth, and our ancestors hid in the Heart of the Mountain, the Yags disappeared, either killed or having found somewhere else to hide. Some of the older Icers still believe there are a few of them left, and they get the blame whenever something unusual happens, like when a kid gets mysteriously killed, or a dead bear is found in the forest with no sign of how it died. The Yags musta done it! people say. I think it’s all a load of shiver.
“Definitely Skeleton Rock,” I say, scraping away a bit of the freshly fallen snow from the rocks with my toe. “And arsecrack of dawn, right?”
As if remembering how early it is, Buff yawns, rubs his eyes. “That’s what she said, only without the arse…or the crack.”
“Maybe we just misheard on account of the extreme nasalness of her voice.”
Buff laughs, rips the pastry we bought in town in half, hands me a chunk. Wes gave me two sickles so I could buy it, as a sort of congratulations on the new job. A day’s pay. For a second we both chew, relishing the warmth of the fresh bread.
The black of the clouds begins to lighten to a dark gray. It’s snowing, but not heavily, which is the same as a clear sky for this time of year.
I sit down in a snow bank. “Do you think the king will show up personally?”
“Yah,” Buff says. “And he’ll personally tell us how proud he is that we were able to lose so badly in b-’n-a.”
I grunt. “So badly and pathetically that he’d want to offer us a job.” I pack a snowball, but don’t throw it, just let it sit at my feet, start on another. “Must be a pretty shivvy job,” I say, “if he’d pick two of the biggest losers around to do it.”
“Hey, speak for yourself,” Buff says, throwing a handful of snow in my face. I return the favor with my two snowballs, one in the chest, one in the kisser. For a minute we both wipe the cold off our faces and just laugh. Being frozen solider than an ice block will make you a little crazy sometimes, like wild-eyed Jarp down in the Brown District. Sitting on the corner, he’ll laugh at most everything. A bird flying overhead, a misshapen cloud, a normal-shapen cloud, a person walking by: he’ll laugh so hard he has to hold his sides, as if his skin might tear open and let his insides out.
I start packing another snowball while we wait for…whatever it is we’re waiting for. We wait and wait, wondering when Nasal-Talker is going to come by and tell us it was all a joke and that we better find a real job to pay back our debts before she gets someone to break our legs.
Right when I’m considering avoiding all that and heading back to the village, the mountain starts shaking beneath us, like it’s awakening from a long sleep, ready to buck us off. It’s a surreal feeling I’ve felt many times before, but it still leaves me breathless and clutching at the ground. “Are we in trouble?” Buff shouts above the earthy thunder.
We’re both wondering the same thing, but slowly coming to the same conclusion. We shake our heads at the same time. “Nay,” I say, voicing Buff’s thoughts. “The avalanche must be a good two miles away. The west side of the mountain maybe?”
Buff nods. “It’s a good guess.”
As the tremors subside, I breathe easier in our consensus that whatever massive load of boulders and snow and ice is plummeting down the mountainside won’t come anywhere near us. We typically get at least one nasty rockslide each winter, which might take out a handful of houses and maybe kill someone who’s even unluckier than me, but we haven’t had a “Village Killer” avalanche since before I was born. Since before my mother was born even. The last VK was more than fitty years ago and wiped out most of the Brown District and a good chunk of the Red too. The middle-class Blue District was hit less severely, and the castle and the White District were well above the melee, avoiding it completely. Big shocker. Even nature bows down to the rich.