Marc eyed Eleazar grimly as he came out of the bathroom. Eleazar contemplated possible escape routes. In a worst-case scenario, he could throw some piece of disassembled machinery out of the window and follow it.
“You’ve been keeping very close track of me,” Marc said.
“Michael set up a spreadsheet.” Eleazar shrugged grandly. “Anyway, on the fifth day you declare we must gather a force large enough to invade Luxemburg, which will be ready to march no later than seven ante meridian.”
“And that’s why you think I’m avoiding Brenwyn? I’m just tired of lying in bed like an invalid.”
Marc leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed against his chest. In Eleazar’s estimation, Marc’s body language was practically shouting that he was lying and would fight to someone’s death to deny it. Eleazar would prefer it not to be him.
“You were an invalid, milord,” Eleazar asserted. “I would shoot myself in the leg for that kind of treatment.”
Marc’s forehead furrowed; he seemed to be swatting away the mental image of Eleazar getting that kind of attention from Brenwyn.
“You’re not in charge of this project,” Marc said. “I’ve got deadlines. This place has to be operational by May First.”
“You could do that easily and still convince Steve it was All Done by Elves,” Eleazar replied with an airy wave.
“We still have deadlines imposed by Nature,” Marc grimaced. “First snow will be less than a month. Can you imagine what it’ll be like dropping trees in the snow or pouring concrete footers in ice-cold mud?”
“Fearful concepts indeed, milord,” Eleazar answered without a trace of fear in his voice, “but it doesn’t answer the first question: Why are you determined to be gone when the lovely lady arrives?”
Marc narrowed his eyes and growled.
“Don’t try to frighten me,” Eleazar cajoled. “Dozens of jealous husbands and boyfriends have tried before you.”
Marc quietly crossed the trailer and sat on the bed with a sigh of resignation.
“You’ve seen how I’ve been since Brenwyn showed up,” he said.
“Definitely,” said Eleazar. “You’ve been most entertaining.”
“You’re supposed to be entertaining. I’m supposed to get things done.” Marc rubbed a hand over his bald pate absently. “I slept two days straight after that night at the movies. Four days lost now because of Halloween.”
Again, Eleazar gestured carelessly. There was no way to explain this to a man whose only passion was power tools.
“C’est l’amore,” quoted Eleazar. “That is love, which sometimes hurts.”
“It’s not just the pain,” Marc said. “When Brenwyn comes around, I can’t think about anything else. When she isn’t here, I still think about her ninety percent of the time. I’m useless.”
“You’re not thinking of breaking it off with her?” This could be both good news and bad news for Eleazar, but he chose to concentrate on Marc’s concerns for the moment.
“God, no!” Marc exclaimed. “I just need a way to get my job done. Could you help me with that?”
“I dinnae, sirrah.” Eleazar’s mind literally boggled; it was a peculiar sensation. “It’s beyond mortal ken. Me, helping you choose work over love.”
“Just tell me what you normally would never do,” Marc said. “I’ll do that and be responsible and hard working.”
Eleazar held an insincere smile on his face.
“It’s only our long years of friendship,” he said, “that keep me from pouring this hot coffee in your lap.”
Marc rubbed his forehead, no doubt trying to back up and approach the request from a different angle.
“Look, the last time I was in love was a complete disaster for all involved.” The true desperation was coming through in Marc’s voice. “You’re in love all time. You must have some coping strategies you can share.”
“You’ve got to understand that I am a true libertine,” Eleazar explained. “My love has the shelf life of fresh sushi. My answer to romance is to give over my heart totally to a comely maiden, have our way with each other as many ways and times as we can endure, and then find a new love when we tire of each other.”
“That’s pathetic,” Marc said.
“No, you have been the pathetic and pitiful baird the last fortnight,” Eleazar replied. “I am quite content with my lack of depth.”
Marc sat on his bed, a dark man in a dark room and a dark mood. He sighed.
“Putting our differences aside,” Marc asked, “could you keep me in line?”
“Certainly.” Eleazar’s mind raced through the opportunities this could avail. “May I taunt you mercilessly?”
“Whatever gets the job done,” Marc grumbled. “Now come on. We have some trees to kill.”
Eleazar leaped to his feet.
“Yes sir, General Sherman, Sir!” he shouted as he saluted with a half-eaten bearclaw.
* * * * *
Marc stepped out of the trailer and zipped up his black denim work jacket. It was early November, and the breeze through the leafless branches felt cold on his freshly shaved scalp. He put down as his first mental note for the day a reminder to pick up a watch cap, black if they had it.
He concentrated as he came down the stairs, willing himself not to limp or move too slowly. He wasn’t going to start out with a new crew from a position of weakness.
He surveyed that morning’s turnout: roughly three dozen workers, a legion in plaid flannel, denim, and twill, armed with axes and chainsaws. Like the rest of Arcanum, it was a mixed lot: black, white, and Latino; old farmers working to make ends meet; and young unemployed. Even a few Mennonites, from the hats and beards. They were his army, awaiting his command.
The workers milled around the five Ford F-150s with stock racks that idled in front of the tool barn. Theodora waited at the head of the path through the woods. Michael stood in her bed with a clipboard and megaphone in his hands. He wore brand new Banana Republic khakis that made him look like a slight and nervous version of Jungle Jim.
Eleazar made his grand entrance, exploding from Marc’s trailer with a shout of “Huzzah!” He jogged across the center of the camp up to Theodora and athletically leaped behind her controls with a shout, touching nothing but the seat as he landed. A white aviator’s scarf wrapped around his neck fluttered behind him as he did this.
Marc walked more sedately across the camp, carefully stepping up into the Bobcat’s bed and taking the bullhorn from Michael. With an annoying squawk of feedback from the bullhorn, Marc caught the pained attention of everyone.
“Good morning. It is so nice to see your bright and shining faces,” Marc boomed. The faces were mostly unshaven and gloomy, but he tried to put the best spin on it.
“It is now six fifty-nine. In less than sixty seconds, we will be leaving.” Marc drew out the last word like the space marine from Aliens. His impression did not impress the workers. “If you are not on a truck at that time, you will be left behind. When we return at the end of the day, Eleazar will tease you mercilessly. Do not force us to do that.”
Marc looked out at the farm boys and timber workers, who looked back with bored or confused expressions. There was some grumbling as a scattered few glared at the back of Eleazar’s head. Wives, sisters, and daughters seemed to be the topic of many conversations. Eleazar tried to sink below the controls and seat of Theodora.
“A thousand thank yous, my Captain,” he whispered.
Marc just wasn’t making anybody happy this morning.
“Okay,” Marc muttered as he collected his thoughts and checked the clipboard. “I have a few last-minute notes. We will be dropping trees in close quarters. Do not drop trees or branches on your co-workers. My boss has a phobia about workers’ comp claims.”
As it was, it had taken Steve three days to calm down after the “Wench in the Firepit” incident. Pulling one of the locals out from under a fallen tree would be much worse on everyone’s nerves.
>
“Two, many of you will be operating chainsaws today. I would be very pleased if you could avoid cutting pieces off each other’s bodies. Same reason for that.” The gruesome image of mayhem with a chainsaw got some flicker of attention from the men. “Use your safety equipment. Keep your eyes open. Watch out for local wildlife.”
Undead, skinless wildlife, Marc thought, but let’s not frighten the men with little details like that.
Michael handed Marc a Kevlar helmet with a desert camou cover. Marc frowned as Michael strapped on a similar helmet.
“This is definitely not standard safety equipment,” Marc said as he turned it over in his hands.
Michael simply pointed a finger at Eleazar in silent accusation.
Marc leaned over the Bobcat’s roll cage to discuss this with Eleazar. Eleazar was already wearing his helmet, accessorized with sand goggles and the white aviator’s scarf. He grinned maniacally and gave Marc a left-handed salute as he started the engine.
Before they could exchange words, Michael’s digital stopwatch “bleeped” to announce seven am exactly. Marc quickly stood, and with one hand hooked on the roll bar, he bellowed through the bullhorn:
“Saddle up! We are outta here!”
The workers packed themselves into the cabs of the pick-ups quickly. Eleazar gunned Theodora’s engine and took off at high speed. The tires kicked up twin rooster tails of gravel as Marc and Michael clung to the roll cage. Theodora zipped down the path, bounced once and disappeared into the woods. Looking back with both arms wrapped around the roll cage, Marc could see the trucks rumble after them at a more dignified pace.
* * * * *
Theodora careened into the clearing Marc called “Beachhead” with Marc and Michael still clinging tightly to the pipes of the roll cage. Michael had a look of absolute panic in his eyes. Marc just set his jaw and imagined the kind of damage he could do with a shovel. He felt the rough ride in every inch of his bruised and battered body.
The bobcat fishtailed through the leaf litter as it stopped. Michael finally lost his grip and rolled to the ground.
“Everything intact, Michael?” Marc asked quickly. It looked like a minor tumble, but Michael had bones like a bird’s.
“Except for my dignity.” Michael rubbed his bruised backside as he rose to standing. “But I lost that long ago. Right after I met Eleazar.”
Marc removed his helmet and counted to ten under his breath. He then took the long step down to the ground as he tried to coddle cracked ribs and the pulled muscle in his lower back. He limped up to the cab and shoved the bullhorn against the side of Eleazar’s helmet.
“Nice driving, Dale Earnhardt!” Marc shouted through the bullhorn.
Eleazar was nearly blown into the passenger seat by the sound. He looked rattled, but not nearly contrite enough.
“You know that he’s dead,” Eleazar responded mildly.
“That’s my point,” Marc growled. “I swear, if you broke anything of Michael’s, I’m taking the replacement part off of you!”
Eleazar calmly removed his helmet and unwrapped his scarf from around his neck.
“You shouldn’t be threatening me, milord,” he quipped, “if you’d be expecting an intervention for your twelve-step Brenwyn program.”
Marc chose to hobble over to the center of clearing rather than get back into that conversation. The hand-drawn plot for the completed faire was far more worthy of his attention. It was mounted to a four-by-eight piece of plywood under clear plastic and held aloft in a four-by-four frame. A series of trails and clearings radiated from this one point and connected to make room for all the buildings, greens, and tournament fields.
Marc looked around to see the color-coded flags and marked trees that delineated the three main paths. Only a little bit was already clear to sky and rendered down to clean logs and wood chips. Marc looked back to the plot, half expecting to see a little red arrow with the legend: “You are here and behind schedule.”
“Let’s set the machines turning,” Marc called out to Michael. “We have a forest to gut and only ten hours of daylight.”
Michael came over to the sign and conferred with Marc from his three-inch binder of notes. Eleazar crept over to peer over their shoulders as the trucks rumbled into the clearing. The workers slumped out of the trucks and gathered around Marc, Michael, and Eleazar. The workers seemed to be expecting something inspirational from Marc.
“Okay guys,” Marc started off uneasily. “Michael’s given you your assignments. You know what to do. I know it looks like a lot of work in a short time, but we can do it. Right?”
The workers looked back at him, scratching themselves. Marc only heard the sound of wind through the trees. It was too cold for crickets and too far east for tumbleweeds.
“I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm,” Marc muttered to Eleazar.
“Let a trained professional handle this,” Eleazar said.
Eleazar scaled one side of the signboard like a squirrel climbing a flagpole. He stood effortlessly balanced on the four-by-four post at one end. The workmen below were surprised and mildly entertained. Marc offered him the bullhorn, but Eleazar waved it away.
“Good morning gentleman,” Eleazar bellowed. “I am very excited to have you join us at the start of this monumental project. Aren’t you?”
“You betcha!” Marc shouted, trying his best to shill for Eleazar. Michael just looked confused.
“It creates a sense of community when people who live around a tourist attraction work hand-in-hand with an entrepreneur who desperately needs to spend millions and millions of dollars to bring his dreams to fruition.” Eleazar interlaced his fingers to illustrate his point. “Marc and I believe in this community. Right?”
“Absolutely.” Marc replied enthusiastically. Michael looked from Eleazar to Marc and then back. A low-wattage light bulb metaphorically lit up over Michael’s head.
“But we were talking to Mr. Weiss last night and he wants to get this job done as soon as we can.” Eleazar took to casually strolling back and forth along the two-by-four atop the signboard. “He wanted to hire professional crews from the northwest. But Marc said ‘No’.”
“Damn straight,” Marc grunted.
Michael nodded earnestly.
“Marc said last night that he believes you can do anything that is asked of you. He has faith that the good men of Darke County can clear these woods before the first snow. Do you know why?” Eleazar shouted out to the men.
“Why?” Marc shouted back. Michael joined in, though a second late.
“Because we’re men with power tools and we’re not scared,” Eleazar shouted with a thump to his chest. “Say it with me!”
Marc and Michael shouted back in unison, along with a handful of the men in plaid and khaki:
“We’re men with power tools and were not scared!”
“Again!” Eleazar pumped his fist in the air.
“We’re men with power tools and were not scared!”
Most of the men joined in this time. Whatever Eleazar was selling, the workman were buying it.
“I want that man with all that money burning a hole in his pocket to hear you!” Eleazar pointed in a likely direction for Steve to be hiding.
Everyone joined in with their fists in the air.
“We’re men with power tools and were not scared!”
“Who are we?” Eleazar cupped both hands to his ears
“We’re men with power tools!” everyone shouted back.
“Are we scared?” Eleazar gestured as broadly as his narrow perch would allow.
“No!” The sound echoed through the forest and frightened squirrels and woodpeckers out of the trees.
Eleazar extended a hand to Marc.
“They’re all yours.”
No matter what else, Eleazar always came through with a crowd. Marc grinned as he put the bullhorn up to his lips.
“Let’s do it!” Marc shouted. “Unload the trucks. I want to see if we can put trees on t
he ground in fifteen minutes!”
The workers rushed the trees as if they had hundred dollar bills stapled to their trunks. Eleazar cheered them on, pumping his fist in the air as he did.
Once the men had scattered, Eleazar somersaulted from the top of the signboard to land at Michael’s feet in a crouch.
“Huzzah!” he shouted as he sprang back to his original upright position.
“What the Hell was that?” Michael asked.
“Motivational speaking,” Eleazar muttered as he offhandedly acknowledged applause from the crew.
Michael leaned in close, whispering so Marc could barely hear him.
“But you know Steve doesn’t have millions of dollars that he’s willing to just throw around.”
Eleazar leaned in to nearly touch noses with Michael and responded in an equally conspiratorial tone.
“Did I in any way equate our boss with that hypothetical entrepreneur?”
“No, but . . .”
A dozen chainsaws and wood chippers started as one, rendering further whispered conversation impossible.
“That was a ballyhoo!” Eleazar shouted over the noise. “The only thing less truthful is a presidential press conference.”
The jongleur waved Michael toward the timber crew. “Now, go marshal your forces. Have a good time exploiting our natural resources. I have to toss my cookies.”
With a too-common look of confusion and dismay on his face, Michael rushed over to the team manning the chippers as Eleazar ambled back to Theodora.
Marc took this moment to stroll casually over to one of the trucks and retrieve his favorite McCulloch chainsaw. Lifting it down from the tailgate strained several recent injuries, but Marc just gritted his teeth. The ten-gallon steel gas can was more than he could handle, though. He lost his grip lifting that down. He groaned in pain in spite of himself and the jerry can fell to the ground with a crash.
Eleazar quickly ran over to him.
“What in bloody blue blazes do you think you are doing?” Eleazar shouted.
“My job.”
Marc leaned over, one hand on the tailgate, and slowly righted the fuel can.
Camp Arcanum Page 18