“FOUR MILES!” she shouted in her toneless voice. “PULL LIVELY, YOUNG MAN! I’D GIVE YOU MY GLOVES BUT YOUR HANDS ARE TOO BIG! I’LL GIVE YOU SOME GOOD LINIMENT FOR THEM WHEN WE’RE UNDER COVER! MY OWN RECIPE AND IT’S DAMN GOOD! THEY LOOK MIGHTY SORE!”
5
By the time we neared Claudia’s the day was darkening and I was all but done in. Two days of pulling Dora’s cart made football practice seem like a breeze. Ahead of us, maybe a mile or two farther on, I could see the start of what might have been suburbs, although that word hardly fits—they were cottages like Dora’s, but with broken roofs. They sat at a distance from one another at first, with little yards or garden plots, but shoulder to shoulder as they approached the city walls. There were chimneys, but no smoke came from any of them. Roads and streets began to sprout off here and there. Some kind of vehicle—I couldn’t tell what—was stopped dead in the middle of the main road. At first I thought it was a long wagon for hauling freight. When we got closer, I thought it might be a bus. I pointed to it.
“TROLLEY!” Claudia boomed. “BEEN THERE FOR A LONG LONG TIME! PULL ON, YOUNG MAN! STRAIN YOUR POOPER!” That one I’d never heard before; I’d save it for Andy Chen, assuming I ever saw him again. “ALMOST THERE!”
From across the distance between the city and where we were there came the sound of three bells, spaced out and solemn: DONG and DONG and DONG. Claudia saw Radar perk up and turn toward the sound.
“THREE BELLS?”
I nodded.
“IN THE OLD DAYS THAT MEANT QUIT YOUR LABORS AND GO HOME TO SUPPER! NOW THERE’S NO LABOR AND NO ONE TO DO IT BUT THE BELLS RING ON! I CAN’T HEAR EM BUT I CAN FEEL EM IN MY TEETH, ESPECIALLY WHEN IT STORMS!”
Claudia’s house stood on a weedy patch of ground in front of a scummy pond shrouded in bushes. The house was round and constructed of scavenged boards and pieces of tin. It looked mighty flimsy to me, making it hard not to think of the pigs and the wolf again. Woody’s was a house of bricks, Claudia’s a house of sticks. If there was another royal relative who’d been living in a house of straw, I guessed he or she had been gobbled up long ago.
When we reached it, I saw a number of dead wolves, three or four in front and another, paws sticking up out of the weeds, to one side. I couldn’t see that one very well, but those in front were pretty decayed, with ribcages poking out through the remains of their fur. Their eyes were gone, probably plucked out by hungry crows, and the sockets seemed to stare at me as we turned onto the beaten path leading up to the door. I was relieved to see that they weren’t gigantic, like the insect life… but they were plenty big. Or had been when still alive. Death had put them on a strict diet, as I suppose is the case with all living things.
“I SHOOT EM WHEN I CAN!” Claudia said, dismounting her trike. “KEEPS THE OTHERS AWAY MOST OF THE TIME! WHEN THE SMELL WEARS THIN I SHOOT A FEW MORE OF THE FUCKERS!”
For royalty, I thought, she’s certainly got a foul mouth.
I put down the cart poles, tapped her on the shoulder, and pulled Mr. Bowditch’s revolver out of the holster. I raised my eyebrows in a question. I wasn’t sure she’d understand, but she did. Her grin showed several missing teeth.
“NAH, NAH, I DON’T HAVE ONE OF THOSE! CROSSBOW!” She mimed raising one. “MADE IT MYSELF! AND THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE, EVEN BETTER! ADRIAN BROUGHT IT WHEN THAT ONE THERE WASN’T MUCH MORE THAN A PUP!”
She went up to the door and pushed it open with a brawny shoulder. I got Radar out of the cart and tried her on her feet. She was able to stand and walk, but at the stone step she paused and looked to me for help. I lifted her in. The house consisted of one large round room and what I assumed was a smaller one hidden by a blue velvet curtain enlivened with threads of scarlet and gold. There was a stove, a tiny kitchen, and a worktable scattered with tools. Also on the table were arrows in various stages of completion, and a wicker basket holding half a dozen finished ones. The tips glittered when she produced a long match and lit a couple of oil lamps. I picked one of the arrows up for a closer look at the tip. It was gold. And sharp. When I touched the pad of my index finger to one, a bead of blood immediately welled.
“HERE, HERE, DO YOU WANT TO GIVE YOURSELF AN AFFLICTION?”
She grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me to a tin-lined sink. There was a hand-pump hanging over it. Claudia gave the handle several hard plunges to get it going, then held my bleeding finger in the freezing water.