In a loose huddle the guards and Daniel Charlie and Jessica speculated among themselves in low and secretive tones as to what might have gone on back there in the brush near Langley’s building.
Margaret lay near the remains of Will’s fire, watching for King to return.
Hemlock the Messenger sat down on the curb near Frost’s feet. He did not turn toward Frost. After a while Will stopped crying. Hemlock cleared his throat and said in his sad and throbbing baritone. “Too bad about the Church Gang.”
Frost continued to stroke Will’s hair and said nothing.
In the middle of the roadway Margaret rose. She looked down the bridge toward Town and wagged her tail. Standing above her, Daniel Charlie called “Come on, King! Come on, boy!” He squatted to greet the dog.
Hemlock cleared his throat again. He said “What you said, Frost? Last time I saw yous? How Noor already gots herself a man? How she already gots Robson at the Church Gang?”
Frost stopped stroking Will’s hair. He stared at the back of Hemlock’s head, at the twists of filthy brown hair hanging over the top of the nylon backpack, at the crescent of bald and sunburnt skin between the hair and the pink toque. He said in a pained whisper “Christ sake, Hemlock.”
“I mean, I ain’t getting’ any younger. And like I says, Noor is all growed up now. I mean… That ain’t exactly what I mean…”
Now Frost cleared his throat. He said “Thanks for the messages. Daniel will get you some grub. I won’t keep you. I know you’ve got to walk.”
At last Hemlock turned and looked squarely at Frost. There was a soft light in the dull eyes, almost a smile. He said quietly, eagerly “Maybe I done enough walkin’. I was thinkin’ maybe I’d give up walkin’ and stay on Frost’s Farm.”
Frost gently eased Will from his lap. The boy stood, wiped the drying tears from his cheeks. Frost also stood. He leaned on the railing and stared away toward Fundy’s bridge and beyond.
Hemlock said “I can work. I picked spuds before. I ain’t just good for walkin’ and rememberin’.”
Frost said evenly “Thanks for the offer, Hemlock, but I know you’ve got to walk.”
“Last time you said Noor was a growed woman. You said I ought to ask her myself. But I thought I better ask you first, seeing as…”
Frost spun around. Both fists were clenched. He screamed “Get off my god damn bridge!”
When Margaret saw that Hemlock had departed and was well down the span she stopped trying to lick the blood from King’s muzzle and took off after her master. King watched her for a few seconds, then went to Will.
42
The moon had already set. The sky blazed with a sprawl of stars, but between his fur hat and his fur poncho Tyrell’s dark face was invisible against the night. He stood at the east railing, looking out over the river, which was imperceptible except for the low sound of its flow and an occasional spark where a star was reflected. He looked also over the empty flatland south of the river, which was black completely.
On the western side of the lane divider a pale thread of smoke rose from an all but extinguished fire. Around this the guards were trying to sleep. A couple of them snored under skin throws. The rest were curled up like cats because of the cold. King lay against Noor, with his tail spread over his head. On the Town side of the fire Frost paced slowly from one side of his bridge to the other. As he stepped over the lane divider he looked briefly down the bridge toward Town.
Beside Tyrell at the railing he stared with him for a minute into the eastern darkness. Tyrell muttered “See where the Big Dipper is? We’ll get some light in an hour.” Frost turned and paced back in the other direction. He stepped over the divider and looked briefly again toward Town. He stood above the sleepers for a minute, observing them in the insipid glow of the embers. Then he walked to the western railing and leaned on the freezing metal. In the starlight he could make out Fundy’s Bridge, its darker mass against the dark sky. He could see no fire on that bridge. He listened, heard only a random splash of the river, the snoring of his guards.
Then he spun around, because King was on the far sidewalk beside Tyrell, barking into the darkness. Among the confused exclamations of the waking guards Frost leapt the lane divider. But Tyrell was already running toward the south end of the bridge, away from Town, toward Frost’s Farm. His voice boomed “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” Somewhere ahead of him down the bridge King’s barking was growing fainter.
They grabbed weapons and raced down the span. Frost ran on the sidewalk, where there was less clumped grass to trip over. He could not keep up. At the bottom he jogged down the exit and onto his farm. His heart was crashing, and he was gasping for breath. He followed King’s barking and kept on until he got to the point where the River Trail passed under the bridge. He made out the blur of the skin ponchos of his guards, slightly paler than the surrounding darkness. Behind them he stopped. His breath came in shrill wheezes. He wavered on his feet. But he stood straight and peered over the heads of the guards into the space under the bridge, where he saw nothing.
When Frost could speak he said “Settle down.” King stopped barking.
Soon Frost was able to make out some shapes under the bridge, fur ponchos like smudges in the dark. He detected also the paler shapes of store-bought synthetics. He heard the clink of crossbow bolts. Someone hawked, spat.
A match flared. Frost saw Langley’s clean-shaven and blotched face. Frost’s guards had maneuvered into a single line. They stood with arrows on their bows, ready to draw them. Frost stepped between the guards to the front. King had a leash on now. Frost took it from Tyrell.
Langley said “We got matches, Frost. You got matches? You guys ever seen a match? Noor, you ever seen a match? This here is a match.” Next to Langley Freeway could now be seen in the light from the flame, which was motionless in the windless night. Its light reflected from an aluminum baseball bat that Freeway held toward Langley. A wad of rags was wrapped around the end of the bat. Langley said “We got torches. You got torches?” He held the match to the wad of rags. The rags caught slowly, but in a few seconds they were burning with a steady strength. Langley said “Oil, Frost. You ever heard of oil? We got it.” He flicked the match toward Frost, but it fell well short and lay burning on the ground for a few seconds.
Freeway turned and moved among the soldiers, lighting six more rag torches from his own. Black smoke rose. The smell of the burning oil was strong. There were about thirty soldiers. They held drawn crossbows. Those who had the torches held their crossbows with their free hands.
Freeway came back with the torch and stood again beside Langley, who had no crossbow, just a sword in his belt, and the baseball bat torch. Langley said “You can get it out of cars. BC got it for us. He said you took his skag. You short on skag, Frost?”
Frost said “Get off my farm.”
A few of the guards spoke up as well. Frost took another wrap of the leash as King pulled forward.
Langley hawked, spat in Frost’s direction, wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his leather jacket. He said “Nice to see your men again. Your men and Noor. I thought there was more of yous. Where’s the rest? Over on Fundy’s Bridge, I guess. Right, Frost? ’Cause this is just sad. Five men. Five men and Noor and old Frost. And one dog. Where’s the rest of your dogs, Frost? I thought you had a lot of dogs. A whole bunch of nasty killer dogs to protect your farm. They run away or what?”
Frost said “Get off my farm.”
Langley stretched his arm out and behind. One of his men placed a rifle in his hand. Langley aimed the rifle at Frost’s face. He held the aim for a few seconds.