The Vagrant. Peter Newman

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      ‘So what happened this time?’

      ‘I got careless.’

      ‘You’ve always been careless, it’s a wonder you survived this long. Tell me something I don’t know.’

      ‘Two of the workers attacked me, caught me by surprise. Bastards left me out for the worms.’

      ‘Hold still. I think they’ve cracked a rib. Which ones? No, let me guess, one of the bunch that came from the north, Kell or one of his … I thought so. Now what aren’t you telling me? Come on, Ventris, don’t make me do something you’d regret.’

      ‘I stashed a little pasha, sneaked it out. Guess I didn’t sneak it well enough.’

      There is the sound of an ear being flicked and a grunt of discomfort.

      ‘You bloody fool! You’re lucky it was Kell that saw you and not one of the Overseer’s crew or I’d need more than a few threads to put you back together.’

      ‘I wasn’t that careless, none of them saw.’ Another flick is heard. ‘Ow, easy, Lil!’

      ‘And if they notice something was taken, what then? I’ve a good mind to unstitch this and roll you outside for the scavs.’

      ‘You’re a good friend, Lil. Not many like you left.’

      ‘Don’t push your luck. This is the last time, you hear me? Any more stupidity and I’ll shoot you myself and take what’s left for trade.’

      Unnoticed, the goat picks up a glove from the table and starts to chew.

      ‘So,’ she continues, voice not low enough, ‘who’s the guy that dragged your sorry carcass to my door?’

      ‘Damned if I know. He’s not one for conversation. Hasn’t said a word to me, just popped up out of nowhere and brought me here. Maybe he’s one of the half-breeds? I’ve heard stories that some of the unlucky ones don’t get regular tongues.’

      ‘He doesn’t look like a half-breed to me.’ There is the clink of something metallic being placed on a tray. ‘I don’t know what he does look like and that worries me. Don’t think there’s much room for a trader who can’t shout. He’s no slave either.’

      ‘Well he’s got some means.’

      ‘Not that you’d know by his clothes.’

      The man’s chuckle is cut off by a hiss. ‘Damned ribs!’

      ‘And did you notice the way he moved? He’s trying to hide something. I don’t know if he’s deformed or armed but I know that man’s trouble.’

      ‘Not like you to care what’s under a man’s coat, Lil.’

      ‘I’ve seen under your coat enough times, Ventris. Nothing much to care about there!’

      For a while there are only the quiet rustlings of needle against skin. Shadows pass the murky windows and flies buzz industrious at the door. Now an irregular snoring issues from inside the tent, and soon a woman and her gun follow.

      ‘Okay, stranger, what’s your angle?’

      The Vagrant looks up, amber eyes tired.

      ‘Let’s be clear. Ventris hasn’t got anything to give you, besides stories and advice and they’re worth less than the air behind them. So if you’re waiting for a reward you might as well leave.’

      The Vagrant waves the idea away.

      ‘So who are you and what do you want?’ Her gaze is relentless, the gun’s barrel unwavering. ‘Well, you don’t look dumb to me. You don’t look shy either, so how about you stop playing games and give me some answers?’

      The Vagrant takes a breath. His jaw works, but the air from his lips is empty. He looks away, eyes pressed shut. There is silence. The woman closes the space between them, laying a hand on his shoulder.

      ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t …’ she begins but is cut off as she finally gets a response, a soft cry coming from his armpit. ‘What the …?’

      His shoulders drop a fraction as he lets his arm fall. She opens the coat and the baby gurgles happily, its feet now free to wriggle. With a jerk she throws the gun to the floor.

      Chewing and snoring and gurgling blend in the stillness. The woman lifts the baby to her face, caught between grief and some thought now lost.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      A few days pass in unlikely peace. The world outside is cruel, but within the bubble of Lil’s place an illusion of sanity holds sway.

      Sunslight points through cracks in the doorframe, painting the dust red. Tiny fingers reach for sparkling dirt. They might as well reach for the stars themselves.

      The Vagrant sweeps the floor methodically. His shoulders hang low, robbed of their usual tension.

      Slowly, the goat chews, a mangled fabric finger hanging from her mouth. Her black eyes never leave the glove’s twin, sat helpless on the table.

      This quiet industry is underscored by a woman’s voice. Lil is not normally one for talking but has been unable to stop since her new guests took up residence. She shares her observations about the workers at Kendall’s Folly, which ones to watch out for, which to avoid, and the few who will last. She talks about her role as surgeon, how the workers often get injured. Those that can pay for treatment do so with food or supplies, those that can’t are turned away. Lil is clear that she isn’t in the habit of charity.

      She pauses but the Vagrant doesn’t take the bait, his broom’s rhythm is unbroken.

      Eventually she talks about her own story, how her grandfather raised her, taught her to survive. How he gave her a trade to make a living, and a gun to protect it. She remembers why she never talks about him, tears thought long gone returning to her cheeks. She retreats quickly to the back of the tent, her grandfather’s voice alive in her thoughts: ‘Tears are no good to you, Lil, tears will get you killed.’

      As the light fails, Ventris gathers his scars and limps to the door.

      ‘Thanks again, stranger,’ he says, smile more space than teeth. His eyes flicker briefly to the baby, asleep in the Vagrant’s arms. The smile grows a fraction.

      After the old man has gone, the Vagrant stares at the door. Tension creeps back into his shoulders.

      Faeces and sweet decay vie for dominance in the Overseer’s domain, each smell determined to maintain a separate identity. Once the dwelling would have borne the name of office but now the walls breathe, as half-bred as their new master.

      Vestigial wings sprout from the Overseer’s back, small nubs mocking her bulbous body. Their only use is to indicate her mood to those that serve. Tonight they hum pleasantly.

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ