Camp Arcanum

by Josef Matulich

  “Your job is to be an inspiring figurehead,” Eleazar urged. “You’re not fit for anything else.”

  “I have never ducked out on a day’s work when I have been able—”

  “You are not able,” Eleazar said sharply. “You are the least able man I have seen in the longest time. You were beaten half to death and limped a mile and a half back to your trailer.”

  Marc turned away with a grunt. Eleazar placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him back again.

  “If you’re not careful,” Eleazar said, “you’ll hurt yourself all over again and then Brenwyn will have me drawn, quartered, and reassembled.”

  Eleazar tilted his head to one side.

  “Actually,” he asked, “did she ever tell you what she could do to someone she hated?”

  “I only know the kind of damage she inflicts on the people she loves,” Marc grumbled.

  Eleazar’s hand went to cover his mouth in a fearful gesture.

  “That is enough to freeze the marrow in a man’s bones.”

  Eleazar’s sense of drama was taking over again. Marc had no time for street theater.

  “You just freeze right there,” Marc said as he bent over to pick up the McCulloch. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Eleazar again looked at him with that odd tilt of the head.

  “Do whatever you like,” Eleazar said, “just hug me first.”

  “Hug you?” Marc looked sideways at his friend; it was not like Eleazar to get “touchie feelie” with people without breasts.

  “A last request,” Eleazar said sadly, “from a man soon to suffer a painful, supernatural death.”

  “Whatever.”

  Eleazar opened his arms wide and Marc stepped forward to awkwardly wrap his arms around him. Eleazar wrapped his arms around Marc. He could feel Eleazar lace his fingers together, but by then it was too late.

  As Eleazar squeezed, Marc felt bone grinding on bone in his ribcage. Marc’s vision went red with gold sparkles. Everything below his chin, his spleen included, seemed to scream in pain.

  Marc tried to not scream out loud in front of the men. He managed to keep it down to a high, guttural squeal trapped behind clenched teeth. A few of the crew looked over his way, shrugged and went back to lumberjacking.

  Eleazar retrieved Marc’s clipboard.

  “Here, take this and look managerial,” he said curtly. “By the way, have a cookie.”

  Eleazar passed him a small, sealed packet of chocolate chip cookies, one of dozens in the leather bag on his shoulder.

  “When I am back to a hundred percent,” Marc muttered, “I’m going to kick your rennie ass from here to Toledo.”

  “Not so long as you need my complicity with Brenwyn,” replied Eleazar. He shook his head to throw his long, red hair away from his face. “By the time you are done with me there, I’ll come up with a new scheme.”

  Eleazar grinned, but still stepped back out of easy reach.

  Marc responded with a low growl. He turned and walked carefully to the map board where he could supervise. He scanned the tree line for the progress of the work.

  Randy, his grey-blond hair in a tight braid hanging out from under his hard hat, finished the front wedge on his tree. Marc pointed him out to Eleazar as he completed the back cut.

  Randy stepped back and put aside his chainsaw.

  “Timber!” he shouted through cupped hands.

  The tree fell into the clearing and bounced once. The rest of Randy’s team of attacked it with chainsaws and axes like scavengers picking at the body of a beached whale. Within minutes, it was only a long, straight stick. The workers dragged the branches off to Michael’s team at the chippers to be ground into mulch.

  Eleazar capered over to them and shouted over the sound of the power tools.

  “Congratulations!” the jongleur called out in his best sideshow barker voice. “You’ve cut down the very first tree! You get a prize!”

  He tossed each member of the team a bag of cookies with grand flourishes and showmanship. The workers caught them and tore into them with glee.

  One lumberjack from another team shouldered his ax and ambled over to within arm’s length of Eleazar. Marc recognized the man as Nathan, a local farmer easily twice Eleazar’s size. Marc watched from a distance, expecting mayhem with ax and chainsaw.

  “Where’s my cookie?” Nathan rumbled.

  “Where’s your tree?” Eleazar asked brightly. “You can’t have your cookie till you finish your tree!”

  Nathan stared flatly at Eleazar. Eleazar easily smiled back at the lumberjack and then waved a packet of cookies as he would wave a bone above a hungry dog.

  The lumberjack glared from under bushy eyebrows for a moment, then laughed and called back to his own team.

  “Hey! Get a move on!” Nathan shouted over his shoulder. “I had to skip breakfast this morning!”

  Nathan went back to his tree and everyone else re-doubled their efforts.

  Marc couldn’t help but enjoy the spectacle as trees fell one after another and Eleazar went from crew to crew tossing his cookies.

  * * * * *

  Eleazar and Theodora led the parade back to camp at the end of the day. He guided Theodora to a gentle stop beside the picnic table at the center of the gravel drive. The pick-ups followed in a train and pulled into their berths beside the barn.

  Eleazar climbed atop the roll cage to call out a farewell to the lumber crew.

  Marc saw Randy step out of the cab and put on his hard hat. He grabbed his lunch box and joined the stream of workers trekking to their own trucks. He passed Michael and Marc, who slumped wearily in the bed of Theodora. They waved back weakly.

  “See you the same time tomorrow, gentleman,” Eleazar called out as he waved enthusiastically. “And the first tree gets a Danish!”

  The crew waved dismissively and chuckled, not turning from their goal of a ride home and a beer.

  “Make mine apple!” someone shouted.

  “Can I have a cinnamon roll?” a thick-necked young worker named Albert asked.

  “Albert needs a prune Danish!” someone else yelled derisively.

  As the last of the crew departed, Michael and Marc stood and slowly trudged towards their trailers. Eleazar dismounted from Theodora in two easy leaps and caught up with the other two. He even made a quick lap around them as they crossed the gravel.

  “Remind me tomorrow,” Marc muttered to Michael, “to put lead weights in his pockets.”

  Chapter 16

  Stupid in Love

  ELEAZAR WATCHED WITH MILD CURIOSITY as their Fearless Leader climbed the steps to his trailer like some bald, bedraggled thing that the cat had dragged in.

  “Let me get cleaned up a bit,” Marc said, “and then we’ll go into town to get a bite. I think we deserve a reward.”

  Michael groaned in agreement and disappeared into his trailer.

  “I have no argument wit’ ye, milord,” Eleazar replied, “as long as you’re paying.”

  Marc opened the screen door, but stopped short as he noticed a small envelope taped to the door. It was lavender, about palm-sized, with only a few markings on it. Marc shrugged and pulled it free.

  “It is far too small to be a letter bomb,” Eleazar observed.

  “It could be nuclear,” Marc replied wryly.

  Eleazar stepped up closer to base of the stairs, so that he might look past Marc’s elbow. On the front of the envelope, written in a florid woman’s hand, was one word: “Marc”.

  Marc turned it over to reveal a white gobbet of some unknown material on the flap.

  “There’s a wax seal on this,” Marc observed. Though they were not frequently seen outside of ren faires, Eleazar guessed they would be a commonplace for Arcanum.

  “So, let me hazard a guess,” said Eleazar, “a ‘B’ for Brenwyn?”

  “No,” said Marc, sounding confused. “It’s something like a crow or a raven.”

  “Interesting,” Eleazar murmured. “Perhaps we should sta
nd here and meditate upon it a little longer. If only we had some way to ascertain its contents.”

  Marc snorted and popped out his multi tool. Two flicks of the wrist extracted a knife blade and slit open the envelope.

  Eleazar watched with a hope of gleaning some information from his master’s expression as he read. Marc’s face was guarded at first, then a simpleton’s smile spread over it. This was an embarrassing spectacle from a man who always held himself above romance and sentiment.

  “Great God in Heaven and Choirs of Angels!” Eleazar muttered. “You are hopeless!”

  “I’m sorry, Eleazar, but I’m not used to getting love notes from beautiful women.” His smile had turned to sheepish, or perhaps a little wooly-witted. “I usually only get notes from Steve and my credit card company.”

  Marc held up the missive, pale lavender paper to match the envelope.

  “She calls me her ‘Knight in Battered Armor.’”

  It was beyond all normal understanding how Eleazar could end up in the position of being the level-headed, practical one, but he tried the role on for size:

  “And might she have told you when she’ll be dropping by tonight, milord?”

  “The note says a quarter to six,” Marc said.

  Marc checked his watch and his expression of sentimental bliss transformed instantly to one of sheer panic.

  “That’s three minutes from now!” Marc exclaimed. “Eleazar, you have to hide me!”

  “Hide you?” Eleazar could not feign to follow this sudden leap in the conversation.

  “If I hide in my trailer, she’ll know I’m there. To be honest, I’m not sure I could hold out if I heard her voice.” Again, that fatuous grin wedged itself onto the corner of his mouth. Marc quickly beat it back down. “If you run interference for me, maybe you could throw her off the scent.”

  Without waiting for consent, Marc started for Eleazar’s trailer door. Eleazar wheeled around to follow.

  “You want me to secrete you somewhere in my trailer and then openly lie to her face?” Marc’s intentions here were obvious, but Eleazar wanted confirmation on something this mutton-headed.

  “Yes, yes.” Marc was already up the stairs and at the door. “But hurry, we’re almost out of time.”

  Eleazar paused as he unlocked his trailer door.

  “Have I ever told you that you’re a great cheese-headed blatherskite?” Eleazar asked politely.

  “No,” said Marc, “that’s a new term.”

  “Let’s make that an official pronouncement,” Eleazar replied. “If I had a woman like her interested in me, I’d spend my days on my knees thanking God and my nights with her in a goose down bed behind locked doors.”

  “Don’t you think I want that?” Marc whined. “But I’m in charge here. None of us can afford to have this project fall through. I don’t have that many ‘Get out of Firing Free’ cards left.”

  Eleazar realized careers and money were all well and good, but there were a few truly important things in life.

  “I will go along with your wrong-headed reasoning with one proviso.”

  “What?” There was a dual note of irritation and desperation in Marc’s voice.

  “I get first dibs on her when you foul this up,” Eleazar stated.

  “And I’ll strangle you with your own rubber chicken.”

  As threats went, it was not one of Marc’s best.

  “Time to discuss rubber sex toys later,” Eleazar said evenly. “Get your hindquarters in there before somebody sees you.”

  Marc ducked inside quickly as Eleazar stood at the door and surveyed the landscape for approaching witches. A memory from his childhood of odd-ball comedy and Saturday morning cartoons bubbled to the top of his brain. An evil grin spread across his face unbidden.

  “Aye, rabbit,” Eleazar said in his best cartoon Irish brogue, “you could be hiding Rocko in that oven.”

  * * * * *

  Marc came to a stop within a foot or two of the door. The narrow clear path down the center of the trailer seemed to disappear in the dark. Magazines were stacked high on plastic milk crates that held juggling clubs, colored balls, and machetes. Marc stepped back and jostled the brass umbrella stand that held swords, canes, and shillelaghs. Daunted by the sheer mass of stuff, Marc opted to wait until Eleazar stepped in and flicked on the lights.

  “My God, there’s more crap in here than in my place,” Marc muttered. “I didn’t think that was possible!”

  “I have to keep my stage props close at hand,” Eleazar said distractedly.

  He puttered into the kitchenette and popped open the oven door.

  “No, too small,” Eleazar mumbled to himself. “If I put you in the bathroom, your breathing would give you away. You don’t suppose you could stop that for a few minutes?”

  Marc stood there helplessly as Eleazar poked and prodded his way through the entire trailer.

  “I’ve got it!” Eleazar shouted. He stood with a finger in the air and held the pose for dramatic effect.

  Marc gave Eleazar his moment, and then made a quick gesture of hurried desperation.

  “The last place anyone would look for a straight man from Pittsburgh,” Eleazar explained. “My bed!”

  Marc looked dubiously at the bed. It was rumpled and worn and it looked like it has seen more traffic than I-40.

  “When was the last time you changed those sheets?” Marc asked.

  Eleazar picked up the pillow and inhaled deeply of its fragrance.

  “Elizabeth.”

  “There’s got to be other places I can hide.” The number of diseases Marc could get just from the sheets quickly sprang to mind. “Your refrigerator, maybe. Behind the sink.”

  “Hark! Is that a rusty relic of Detroit’s former glory I hear?” Eleazar put his hand to his ear in a theatrical gesture. “I’m sure there is a lovelorn witch behind the wheel.”

  This was no time to be finicky. Marc pulled aside the sheets to dive under cover. Eleazar stopped him with an admonishing finger.

  “Aw, aw, aw!” Eleazar said. “Shoes!”

  Marc did hear the sound of Brenwyn’s car in the distance. He hurriedly unlaced his work boots and pitched them under the bed. He leaped under the covers in one quick movement.

  Marc, being completely in the dark, now was dependent on sound to know what was happening

  He could hear Brenwyn’s car pulling into the gravel drive and coming to a stop. He also heard Eleazar’s CD player start. Marc recognized the music as Boiled in Lead, a Celtic-punk band

  “Now you have to be quiet,” Eleazar whispered just above the covers.

  “I’ve got it,” Marc said.

  “Stay under the covers and remain perfectly motionless at all times.”

  Marc felt Eleazar stacking something soft like pillows on top of him.

  “I’ve got it,” Marc grumbled.

  “And try to keep to the edge of the bed,” Eleazar added. “I’m not sure if the wet spot’s completely dry.”

  “I’m making a list of reasons why I should hit you with a shovel, Eleazar!”

  “Can’t wait to see it!” Eleazar responded. Marc could hear him stomp his way towards the kitchen in time to the music.

  Marc willed himself into absolute stillness. He once again went through his “For want of a nail . . .” ritual, running through in his mind every step of constructing the ren faire. First the plots and surveying, then permits and clearing the land . . . Marc meditated upon every point of his task at hand as Eleazar made an ungodly racket in the kitchenette.

  * * * * *

  Eleazar smiled as the CD player started up “Rasputin,” which shifted stylistically from electrified Celtic to brain-fried Russian folk rock. He started dancing along to the boisterous tune. As he got more and more into the spirit, every loose object in the trailer began bouncing in time.

  A very loud knock came at the door.

  Eleazar clogged over to the door and flung it open.

  Brenwyn stood at the doorstep,
as lovely as ever. Her face was a mixture of concern and suspicion. Eleazar flashed on one of his better smiles.

  “Good evening, milady!” Eleazar shouted over the music. He leaned over and cranked down the music a few notches. “How can I help your loveliness tonight?”

  “Good evening, Eleazar,” Brenwyn said. “Marc is not in his trailer. Have you seen him?”

  Eleazar looked around his trailer. Marc was an unmoving lump under the covers, totally invisible to Eleazar.

  “Haven’t seen him lately.” He was technically truthful, which he hoped would spare his life. “Didn’t he tell you where he would be going?”

  “No.” Her word was a short, sharp sound, like a stone dropped in a well. “And he did not warn me he was going out to work with the crews this morning. Is something wrong?”

  “I ask him that twenty times a fortnight.” His contempt and disappointment for Marc was not put on. “He told me it was just that he was tired of lying in bed like an invalid. You know how pig-headed he can be.”

  With that last remark, Brenwyn’s face changed as if an invisible switch had been thrown: she was her normal witchy self instead of a concerned girlfriend. She steadily looked Eleazar in the eyes.

  “Men in general do the wrong things for their own right reasons,” she said. Eleazar felt as if she were speaking about his own specific faults. “Some are so frightened by the world of women and emotion they will jump into their beds and hide beneath the covers.”

  Brenwyn craned her neck to look around Eleazar.

  “Now, where did Marc say he was going?”

  “H-he had a doctor’s appointment,” Eleazar stammered.

  “Really.” Her tone made Eleazar feel cold and clammy all over. He worried if this was the first symptom of being transformed into some amphibian.

  “Yes, that’s it exactly,” he extemporized. “He is going to one of those urogogologists, you know. One of those doctors that specializes in male plumbing. He’s doing it for your sake you know.”

  “How is that, Eleazar?”

  It felt to Eleazar as if he had dug himself into a hole and Brenwyn kept handing him larger and larger shovels.

  “We both know his,” Eleazar discretely cleared his throat, “manhood—received collateral damage in the fight. He was afraid it would heal crooked or disfigured. The doctor will be putting it in a splint or sling. I don’t recall the precise medical terms.”