The Devil's Workshop

by Donnally Miller

  That evening he tried to settle into a bed they’d made him in a second floor room. It had a window and he could see fields and trees. He was facing west, not towards the ocean. The sun was setting behind a bank of clouds. There was little wind and the smoke from a campfire in the woods trailed straight into the sky. It made for a scene of rural peace and contentment of a sort that Tom had thought he’d probably not be seeing again. Josh was back from town, and he’d brought with him two pairs of pants and a pair of boots. They were dingy and dirty and had seen a good deal of hard use, but Tom figured they were about his size.

  “Where’d you get these?” he’d asked.

  “There’s a rag and bone shop on Mortimer Street where you can get just about anything if you don’t mind how dirty and foul it is. The man who owns it has an eye patch and his name’s Scruto. He picks up all the odd leavings when people die or get killed. There’s always tramps and drifters there, sorting through the trash, seeing what they can get.”

  “Sounds like a lively place.”

  “It is. And you never know what you’ll find. But even as strange as the things there are the people that come in. All sorts like you wouldn’t see collected in one spot anywhere else.”

  “Did any think it odd you looking for pants for a man? They’re a good deal too big for you.”

  “It did get a little laugh from Scruto. He knows Agata and you could see he thought maybe she’d got herself a man. But I told him it was just for a strange seaman that had dropped in.”

  “Did he ask you where the strange seaman came from?”

  “He didn’t. And if he had I couldn’t have told him, because you never told me. There was another gentleman though, seemed to take an interest. Asked me who the man was and where I lived.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. First place I don’t know nothing about you. You could be King Neptune himself for all I know, and with your green beard you did bear a resemblance. Second place my Mom told me never to tell strangers nothing.”

  “You told me where you live.”

  “There’s some I trust and others I don’t. I knew I could trust you but this other one was one of the ones I don’t.”

  “So you’ll trust a man with a green beard and no pants, but this other customer didn’t look so dependable as that?”

  “No sir,” said Josh, scratching a freckle. “But he did give me a piece of licorice and told me he was my friend.”

  “You may not be the best judge of character, but it’s all one now I’ve got my pants.”

  “So are you going to hang around and earn the money to pay my Mom back for those clothes?”

  “Yes I will, but I won’t be staying long. I’m headed back to Port Jay. There’s a lassie there who’s an ache in my heart. It’s a long and a languishing time since last I saw her.”

  “I’ve never been to Port Jay. What’s it like?”

  “It’s a big city. The buildings, most of them, are made of wood and they’ve been aged by the wind and the sun. They look like rows of grand old gray-haired ladies standing out in the weather. In the right light it’s a beautiful city, and a busy one too. The port there’s never still. There’s vessels putting in from all over the world. They load them and unload them in a flash and then they’re out again.”

  “When I’m older I’m going to live in Kashahar. I see how the people live there. It looks like a good life for most of them.”

  “You don’t like living on the farm?”

  “Don’t see no future in it. I want to get out and live some. Don’t tell my Mom I said that.”

  “Your secret’s good with me.”

  Meanwhile at the campsite in the woods where the little log fire was burning, Vincenzo, Diego and Mr. Chips were having a dispute. Vincenzo and Mr. Chips were in favor of staking out the farmhouse, killing the people there and taking it over. Diego wanted to cut and run; head east and get as far from Barnacle Jack as possible.

  Mr. Chips adjusted the sling on his broken arm. “I say let him go. Give him his third. We’ll take care of business here.” He threw another log on the fire.

  “I don’t want to scarper on my own,” said Diego. “I’d prefer not to. And I agree it’s a nice farm. But you’re too close to Kashahar. Too close to the sea. You won’t last the week. He’ll find you, and his friends are close. Anyway I never lived on a farm.”

  “It’s a good point you raise,” said Vincenzo, “but we can’t be always running. We’ve run a few days, we’ve covered some ground for sure, and now I say that’s enough. This farmhouse looks like a good setup. Once I’m dug in here no one’s going to dig me back out.”

  “They could come any night. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder. If you –“

  “I said you raise a good point. You want to leave no footprints. So go. That’s not me. I’ll set myself up and I’ll challenge any man to knock me down. There’s not one will do it.”

  “Then let’s divide the bags. These two are mine. We’re all agreed to that. It’s just this bag we must divide now. One third of it is mine.” As he said this he brought one of the money bags forward near the fire, so all could see.

  They counted out the doubloons, making three piles. When they’d all been counted Diego clutched his pile and pulled it next to him.

  “So those are yours,” said Mr. Chips. “What are you going to be carrying them in, because this bag is staying with the two of us.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about there. I’ve got many pockets in this jacket. I’ll just fill them all.” And he proceeded to do so. It was a warm night, but he had his jacket bundled around himself. Then he hefted the two bags, one on each shoulder. The weight was something of an impediment but he’d accustomed himself to it the past few days. “How do I look?”

  “Like the good country squire, out beating the bounds,” said Vincenzo.

  Hands were shaken and last farewells said, and Diego was off. Vincenzo and Mr. Chips sat together by the fire. Neither said a word. Finally Vincenzo cocked his eye at Chippy and said, “You didn’t think I’d let him go, did you?”

  “I don’t think he thought you’d let him go.”

  “He’ll likely spend all night looking behind himself, wondering when we’ll be creeping up on him. A frail, scared man like that I don’t want him around. He made me nervous. Sometimes it’s good to be honest.” Then a thought came to him. “Think you when we come to the pearly gates we’ll get credit for the things we didn’t do?”

  “That’d be a winner if we did, because we’ll not be getting any for the things we did do.” They laughed.

  “Let’s bury the rest of these bags here,” said Vincenzo.

  “No need to bury them. Just hide them a little out of the way. We’ll be back soon enough.”

  “Are you set for tonight’s work?”

  “I am and no mistaking. Only one hand’s needed to hold a pistol.”

  “It’s just a woman and a boy. They’ll make no trouble. They should be grateful to us for taking the farm off their hands. I’ve got the knife . . . And I was thinking, now I’m turning honest, maybe we’ll let the lady live. It’ll be nice to have a lassie in the house.”

  “Not an old biddy the like of that. She’s used up.”

  “You’re right.”

  “She’s done in. What are you thinking of?”

  “No point in a soft heart. Let’s go.”

  Under cover of darkness, the two set out towards the farmhouse.

  Josh had gone out to take care of some chores, closing up for the night. Agata came and knocked on Tom’s door, see if he was settled in right. There was still a stench of the fish on him, it’d take a couple of days to wash that off. Maybe he really had been in the belly of a fish. Who can tell? It was strange times now.

  “Why’s this place called Coldblood Farm?” he asked. The window was open. It was a still night and sounds carried. They could hear the creak of the gate when Josh went out to the henhouse. And always in the
distance was the low roar of the surf.

  “The story goes when they come here first they brought a dowser to look for a place for a well. He spent three days going up and down and all over, finally found the spot he liked. So they dug there. And when they dug down to where they thought the water’d be, up it came trickling, cold as ice, but red as blood. They thought it was blood at first, thought the land was bleeding. Thought there’d been some sort of grand old crime and the land was suffering. They called it Coldblood and the name stuck. I think it was just some of the red clay like you find around here. It got in the water, gave it a reddish color. But who knows now.”

  “That’s a thought, that the land would bleed like a man. But then I guess there’s many things that bleed. Anyway, as I was saying, if there’s anything I can do to help out the next couple of days, just tell me. I aim to pay you back for the clothes and the room and the board.”

  “There’s not much really needs doing. It’s a big spread but I don’t farm but the half of it since Josh’s dad left. Just chickens mostly. If there was a man around I think we’d rise to a few cows, there’s good pasturage in those fields to the south, you can’t really see them so good now. But for just Josh and me chickens are plenty. You ever lived on a farm?”

  “No, ma’am, that’s not been my fate. Brought up in the dockyard I was, a fisherman’s son. Made the sea my life.”

  The room didn’t hold much furniture, just a small table, a couple chairs and a bed. Tom had been seated on the bed and Agata, deciding she’d stay a while, sat down on one of the chairs and made herself comfortable. “How many boats have you been on?” she asked. They could hear Josh taking the little wagon out to move some eggs.

  “Too many to count.”

  “That’s the exact same number of chickens I’ve killed. Exactly the same. A miracle . . . You want to play some cards? It passes the time and I have a pack.” She produced a deck of cards from a pocket in her smock.

  “That casts a shadow across my heart, to be sure. I’ve unhappy memories of a game of cards.”

  “I’m guessing you lost a wager, one maybe you shouldn’t have made.”

  “I’m certain I did.”

  “You’d think there’d be an even distribution of winners and losers. But that’s not how it is. All you ever meet are the losers. Where are the winners?”

  “The winners know better than to let you know they’ve won. It’s a perilous thing to be a winner. They hide themselves among the losers like myself. It makes for a great confluence of losers.”

  She placed the little table between the two of them and dealt the cards for a game of Nasty Notions. It was a recreation known commonly up and down the Coast, though the rules are long forgotten. Now a game of cards played between men and a game played between a man and a woman are very different things. When a man and a woman are together their minds need to be occupied, and for them to be occupied properly it is best if there be periods of silence as well as conversation, and this is best allowed for by playing cards. Conversation alone tends to be carried on just to avoid silence, but when playing cards there is no such compulsion. In the conversation that follows little note is taken of the pauses that occurred, but one shouldn’t think they did not occur; they did. It was in the silences that perhaps they understood one another the best, and when people understand one another it is natural they smile. And the smiles best understood are those not made by the lips, but by the eyes. But to return to Tom and Agata, as she dealt the cards, she asked, “How long you been traveling?”

  “Don’t rightly know. I lost all track of the days and weeks when I was in the fish. It seemed like an hour might last a year in there.”

  “Did you have a deck of cards to while away the time while you were in that fish?”

  “I did not.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I had a companion, and amazingly we did not slit one another’s throats. Had there been a deck of cards, I’m sure matters would have turned out otherwise.”

  They were playing now.

  “A deck of cards is a calendar,” said Agata. “Did you know that?”

  “I did hear tell of such a thing once on a time.”

  “There’s fifty-two cards in a deck and there’s fifty-two weeks of the year. I lay down a seven.” She tossed her head to get her curls out of her eyes. “Four suits for the four seasons, and each of them has thirteen cards for the thirteen weeks of each season . . .” She looked at him and could see he was thinking it over. “Can’t you imagine the old farmers long ago, watching the sun making her solstices and her equinoxes and then noting them in the cards?”

  “And the moon also, making her thirteen trips across the sky.”

  “And that’s how many times the blood of a woman is moved. I bet they saw the hand of God in it the way it all worked out . . . And when you add all the pips on all the cards there are exactly three hundred and sixty-four, which is a grand old number that tells the days of the year.”

  “Yet a year has three hundred sixty-five days.”

  “There’s your joker.” She spun the card at him and laughed. She took off her smock. She was wearing a light cotton shirt underneath. “You’ve played your whole hand. Oh, you’re clever at this. You win.”

  He was enjoying the conversation, so he asked, “Another hand? I’ll deal.”

  “No, it’s my deal”

  Tom had been tired when first he settled in, but found he wasn’t tired now. He felt a little regret about asking for another hand, at least part of him did, but there wasn’t much all the parts of him agreed on. “Maybe it’s too late,” he said.

  “We’ll stop when Josh comes in.” She dealt the cards. “I know you’re not asking about his father. Shows you’ve some sense. Likely you don’t want to know what happened, but . . . Are you thirsty?”

  “My throat is a little dry.”

  “I’ll get some cider in a minute.”

  “It’s funny like you say, how it all works out. I mean the year. The sun and the moon and the planets, they don’t seem to work together but they all get to their appointments on time.” She’d finished the deal and was just looking at him. He noticed the contours of her face were more rounded than they’d seemed before. Also her breast was not flat, nor were her hips narrow. “So what did happen?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. He decided he wanted to go for a soldier. Couldn’t live on a farm –“ She broke off. There was a sound downstairs. “Did you hear that?”

  Tom nodded yes.

  “Josh?” she called. There was no answer. They realized it had been some time since last they’d heard him. “Oh no.” They held very still and listened intently. Someone was downstairs, and it wasn’t Josh.

  Tom stood and moved toward the stairwell. “Have you any weapons?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head no.

  When he started down the stairs he saw Josh a few steps below looking up at him. Josh whispered, “In the top drawer in the bedroom in back,” and pointed.

  Tom waved to Josh to come up the stairs and then stealthily trying to muffle his footsteps, walked to the room in back. He turned at one point to ask who was downstairs, but Josh wasn’t there. When he got to the room Josh had pointed him to there was a chest of drawers, and in the top drawer, along with some old broken toys and other oddments there was a knife with a sharp six inch blade. Taking the knife he went back to the stairwell. He passed Agata on the way. She was shaking and almost crying with fear. He whispered to her to stay with Josh, which got him a quizzical look, and then went downstairs.

  The ground floor was completely dark except for a little moonlight from the windows. He remembered seeing a candle in a candlestick holder on the dining room table earlier in the day, and he went cautiously down the hall in that direction. The door to the dining room was open and he paused stock still before going through it. Just as he did he heard a footstep from behind, so he went quickly into the dining room and as he reached for the candlestick another hand grab
bed his arm and he was spun about. Trying to keep his balance, he grappled with his attacker, and the two of them tumbled noisily over a chair onto the floor. The other man was on top of him, but Tom got onto all fours and rolled over, pinning him to the floor. His right hand was still holding the knife, and he was struggling to get a grip on his assailant’s throat when he felt the muzzle of a revolver on the back of his head and a hard, cold voice said, “Hold it right there.”

  Tom froze, allowing the man beneath him to get up and get to the candle on the table. When he lit the candle there was a round of amazed gasps as those in the scuffle saw one another. Holding a knife in his other hand, Vincenzo lifted the candle up to Tom’s face.

  “Well, well, well. And isn’t this a night full of surprises.” Vincenzo laughed. “Of all the people I might run into again it never crossed my mind one of them would be my old cabin mate Tom.”

  “Vincenzo,” said Tom. “Sure there must be a curse on me keeps putting you in my way.”

  “We thought you’d drowned.”

  “I did drown. But then I remembered you cheated me, so I’ve come back to get what you owe.”

  Mr. Chips laughed.

  “I owe you nothing,” said Vincenzo. “And I owe your ghost less. Oh, you are a madman. You know what I owe you? I think I know. I owe you a good scar on the face. Then we’re even. Give me that knife.” Placing the candle on the floor he snatched the knife from Tom’s nerveless hand, so now he held two. The scene was all lit from below, giving their faces a queer, otherworldly look.

  “I’m thinking your face is much improved since last I saw it,” said Tom. “That’s a wicked good looking scar you bear.”

  “That’s a bold way to talk. Aren’t you the brave one. You like this scar, I’ll give you one better. I’ll give you a smile for the ladies. But first, where’s your old biddy. You’ve got her upstairs?”

  “I’ll not tell you.” Mr. Chips knocked on his skull with the butt of the gun.