by Dan Abnett
David and Michael looked at each other, confused, but Eliza was already stomping off back down the road home.
Jake was so distracted by his anger at Eliza that he let his guard down, and, before he knew it, he was being pinned down while Horace punched his belly. Jake squirmed, but the bullies held him tight. He twisted his body away, and Horace’s next blow bounced off his hip bone.
‘Argh!’ shouted Horace, stretching the fingers of his sore hand and trying to shake out the pain. Jake began to fight harder.
Will held Jake by the left arm, while John held his right. Jake pulled and dragged on his left side, realizing that Will was weaker than John. Will held on tight, but Jake fought so hard that something had to give way. Jake twisted hard, and suddenly his arm sailed through the air, ripping the left sleeve clean off Daniel’s jacket, leaving it hanging in Will’s grasp. Jake was finally free.
Jake’s left fist flew across his body and connected with the side of John’s head, sending him sprawling. Will tried to grab hold of his left arm again, but stopped in his tracks. He gasped and stared at Jake. Horace followed Will’s stare, and, as soon as he had recovered, John also noticed that they were all unnaturally still and quiet. Jake was the last to look at his left arm.
He had been wearing one of Daniel’s short-sleeved shirts because it was the only one that fitted, and the sleeve of Jake’s borrowed jacket was still in Will’s hand.
The bandages that had covered Jake’s arm for the last three or four weeks had come loose with all the pulling and grabbing, and had collected around Jake’s wrist. He pulled them free. The bandage on his hand remained in place because Mrs Garrett changed it regularly and was an expert at tying a bandage.
Horace, Will and John each took a step forward to get a closer look at Jake’s arm. Jake stared too. This was the first time he could remember seeing his arm since the fire. It was covered in the flaming scars from the fire, but it was also covered in the beautifully tattooed outlines of a long curling tail around his wrist and a beautiful wing reaching all the way up his arm. He had a tattoo just like the one he’d seen on Yellow Cloud’s arm. Perhaps some of his dreams had been real, after all.
The boys stood mesmerized for several long seconds. Then Horace blinked and huffed, and threw a fist at Jake’s gut. He caught Jake unawares, knocking the wind out of him with the lucky punch, and the spell was broken. Jake’s knees buckled under him, and, clutching his stomach, he fell to the muddy ground.
Horace laughed his nervous, squealing laugh, and the other two quickly joined in. They danced around their fallen victim for a moment or two, and then they ran away, shrieking and giggling.
Horace turned back once and yelled, ‘Freak!’ before running off to join his cronies.
Jake got his breath back, and then he gathered up the torn sleeve and pulled it back up his arm, trying to cover up the tattoo. He had never felt so ashamed or so angry in all his life, but at least now he was forced to do something, and he knew exactly what that something was going to be.
Jake was determined to leave McKenzie’s Prospect.
Mr and Mrs Garret had been very kind, and he liked Miss Ballantine, but Eliza must have told Horace McKenzie and his cronies about his dragon stories and made him a laughing stock. Besides, two things mattered to Jake more than anything in the world: knowing what had happened to his family, and finding the dragons. There didn’t seem to be any hope of getting answers to any of his questions if he stayed in the little town.
Jake knew that he would miss Michael and David, who in some small way made up for the loss of Emmie, but he knew they would manage without him. Besides, Emmie might still be alive somewhere, and, if she was, it was up to Jake to find her.
Jake thought hard about what to do next, and then he headed for the schoolhouse. It had no near neighbours, and, since school was over for the day, there should be nobody there to see him. Jake was determined to head west, but he knew that he couldn’t go anywhere without supplies. He had no intention of seeing Eliza again, and the Garret house would be full of people all afternoon, so he couldn’t go back yet for the things that he needed for his journey, or for a meal, despite his hunger.
As he walked back to the schoolhouse, Jake thought about getting what he needed from somewhere else. He’d need warm clothes, a blanket and a compass to help him on his way. He’d have to take food too. He thought about taking a gun with him, since he planned to head for the forest. He might need to defend himself against wild animals or even hunt for food.
Most of the houses in town would have all of those things, and the mercantile too, but that would mean stealing, and Jake couldn’t bear to add ‘common thief’ to the list of things the local people probably called him. If he took the things he needed from the Garrets, at least he could convince himself he was only borrowing them. So Jake decided to go back to the forge much later, when the house was quiet.
Jake had seen Miss Ballantine lock the schoolhouse door with a large key, so he didn’t try to get in. He didn’t want to be seen by anyone who might pass by, so, on his hands and knees, he crawled under the schoolhouse steps. They were sturdily built of wood, but the steps had no risers, so Jake could sit behind them and still see anyone nearby through them. They, on the other hand, would not see him unless they looked very hard.
Jake took Miss Ballantine’s book out of his pocket, made himself comfortable and settled down to read. He’d only read a page or two before he realized that he wasn’t really reading at all because he was too busy thinking about his next adventure.
Jake didn’t know where or how far away the Native settlement was, except that it was west of the town, but he felt sure he would find the landmarks from his dreams, if he looked for them hard enough. He felt sure that when he was free of McKenzie’s Prospect, the landscape would open up and guide him back to the Natives.
He had so many questions, and it seemed to him that the Native camp held all the answers. If Doc Trelawny’s talk of the lack of bodies was to be believed, anything might have happened after the fire. Ma, Pa and Emmie might still be alive, and, if they had all been killed, Jake was determined to find out how they had died and take his revenge.
Jake put the book down and pulled the sleeve off his left arm. He traced the lines of the tattoo down from his shoulder and around his wrist, and marvelled at it. Why is it there? he wondered. Part of him wanted to be proud of it, but then he thought about Horace calling him a freak. Jake had seen tattoos on Yellow Cloud and Tall Elk, but why did they think he was like them? He wasn’t a Native.
Then Jake began to wonder what was under the bandages around his left hand. It was still sore, though, and he didn’t want to risk being ill again, so he decided to leave well alone. Surely Mrs Garret would have told him if there was something beneath the bandages, but then why hadn’t she talked to him about the tattoos?
Jake felt that he should trust no one until he found out whether his family was dead and why he had the tattoo. He wanted proof of what was real and what was make-believe. He had dreamed of someone drawing on his arm, and felt the pins and needles as he’d been tattooed. He’d thought it was a dream and yet here he was with a tattoo the length of his arm. What else could he prove was real?
Could Jake prove that there were dragons?
Jake was startled from his thoughts by the sound of distant voices and booted feet walking around in front of the schoolhouse steps, apparently with some purpose. He heard the single word ‘Jake’ spoken in a low voice that was also somehow gentle. It was Pius Garret’s voice, and, for a moment, Jake was sorry not to answer his call.
A few minutes later, David and Michael ran around the schoolhouse calling his name, bu
t neither of the twins checked his hiding place under the steps. The boys called out to their father in unison, ‘He’s not here, Papa!’ Then they were gone, scampering back to their father’s side in the fading light.
When he could no longer hear footsteps, Jake crept out from under the schoolhouse steps and dashed across the open ground in front of the school. He kept to the shadows and out of sight as he hurried back to the forge.
The house was lit up, but, as he hovered nearby, Jake could hear no sounds inside. There was no light in the forge, and he couldn’t hear Eliza or Mrs Garret in the kitchen, so perhaps they’d joined the search. Jake could not think of a single reason why Eliza would look for him, since she was clearly responsible for telling his secrets to the other kids. It didn’t matter. He was just glad she wasn’t home.
The door was not locked, and Jake went into the house. He took a good wool blanket and spread it on Eliza’s bed. He looked at Daniel’s pyjamas folded on the pillow and blessed Mrs Garret for her kindness, but he didn’t want to dwell on that. He took the clothes that he’d arrived in and one of Garret’s old forge jackets, and placed them on the blanket. He realized that he’d arrived in their home with almost nothing.
Jake bundled up the blanket and took it downstairs. He took the end of a loaf of bread and the last of the ham, complete with its bone, off the dresser. Then he took three crisp, green apples out of the fruit bowl. Next, he opened the dresser drawer and found a good gutting knife and a compass with a cracked glass. He also took a ball of string and a bodkin. He wasn’t sure what he’d use them for, but they were the sorts of objects that Pa Watkiss always said would come in useful one day. Jake felt sorry about taking the compass because he knew that David and Michael played exploring games with it. One day he’d return it and tell them of his own adventures.
Jake tied the blanket carefully around the things in it and slung it over his shoulder like a sack. It wasn’t heavy, but it was clumsy to carry.
He looked at the rifle that hung next to the kitchen door. He’d never seen anyone use it and didn’t even know if it fired properly. He’d been taught to shoot, of course. He wasn’t a kid. He didn’t like the idea of shooting anything, though. He’d only ever shot at targets. His Uncle Jonas had taught him to shoot at bottles standing on a wall, but he’d never even shot at rats. He’d been on the trail for weeks, but the men, or the older boys on their horses, had carried the guns.
Jake started to take the gun from its hook, but thought better of it. Besides, he thought he heard something and decided to leave quickly. He ducked across the yard into the shadows of the line of trees opposite and listened. He heard nothing. He looked back across the yard and noticed that a chink of light was visible where he’d left the door ajar. It couldn’t be helped. That chink of light was the last Jake expected to see of the Garret house or any other house in McKenzie’s Prospect for a very long time.
He adjusted the blanket sack on his shoulder and, keeping to the shadows, Jake Polson spared a final thought for the town and the people that had taken him in and headed west.
It was twilight, and the sun hovered low over the western horizon, showing Jake which direction to take, so he wouldn’t need the compass.
The dirt road out of town took Jake the first three miles and the first hour of his journey. He had missed lunch and was hungry, but he was determined not to stop until nightfall. He’d make camp when it was properly dark.
He checked the compass, to be sure he was still travelling west, and veered off the dirt road on to a footpath that soon became steep as it wove up through rocky ground. Four miles from the forge, Jake ducked beneath a branch to follow the path into woodland.
He wasn’t sure how far he’d walked, or what the time was, but it was getting too dark to continue, and his right hand was sore from carrying the bundle over his shoulder. Twenty or thirty yards from the path, Jake unwrapped the blanket. He’d stayed warm enough while he was walking, but now that he’d stopped he realized how cold it was. He took off the jacket with its torn sleeve and put on Garret’s forge jacket, which wasn’t torn and was a better fit.
Jake looked at the objects in the blanket and wondered whether he’d be able to make a fire. He’d never lit a fire on his own in the dark and damp, and he didn’t much like his chances, but he thought he’d better try. Then he remembered the scow man talking about the dangers of the forest and warning against lighting a fire. The memory only made Jake more determined. He wasn’t afraid of dragons.
Autumn leaves had begun to fall from the trees, and he foraged in the undergrowth for twigs and sticks, but everything was damp. Jake looked around for dry kindling, but it was proving impossible to find. Besides, he wasn’t sure how he’d strike a flame. He knew it could be done with a couple of sticks of dry wood, but Pa had always used a flint and tinderbox, and Jake didn’t have either of those things. He felt foolish for forgetting them.
Scouting around, Jake found a more comfortable site for his camp. It was sheltered and there was a wide log to sit on, rather than the damp earth. He sat on Daniel’s old jacket and ate some of the bread and ham. He was getting colder, and he only had the jackets and the blanket to keep out the chill of the night. He’d only brought the scraps of clothes he’d been wearing when he’d arrived in McKenzie’s Prospect because they were his only real belongings. They weren’t good for much.
Jake looked at the knife and realized that he might have the tools to make a spark, after all. He rummaged around in the undergrowth until he found a small jagged stone that would fit neatly in his palm. Then he took the knife in his right hand and struck the stone with the edge of the blade. He was right; a spark did fly off the blade. It was only then that Jake remembered he’d need tinder and firewood.
Jake put the stone in his pocket and the knife back in the ham. He scooped some of the undergrowth away to build the fire on the bare earth. He thought about making a little ring of stones, like Pa Watkiss always did, but his fire would only be small, and, as long as there was nothing flammable nearby, it should be safe.
Jake arranged the sticks that he’d gathered in a lopsided cone-shape and pushed some dead leaves into the centre. None of the material was dry enough to use for tinder; Jake didn’t want to tear up the jackets or the blanket, and he couldn’t bear to sacrifice his own clothes. Then he realized that the bandages on his left hand were dry, and he reasoned that they were only old rags cut up, so were of little use to anyone else.
Carefully, Jake began to unwrap Mrs Garret’s bandages. He wound the cloth from his left hand on to his right, so that he could rewrap the left hand without the bandages getting dirty in the process. When he had taken off about half of them, he could see the edges of dark brown scabs, and the new skin was very pink. A wave of nausea hit him and suddenly taking off the bandages didn’t seem like such a good idea. So he stopped. He bit through the cloth and secured the end of the bandage on his left hand. Jake made a little heap of the cloth and held it in his left hand with the stone. He bent close to the little pile of twigs, and pulled the knife out of the ham and wiped the grease off on his trousers.
Jake struck the edge of the stone with the knife blade. Nothing happened. Jake struck again and again, and then several more times in quick succession. He was beginning to feel frantic, and there was still no spark. He took a deep breath, and he heard his father’s voice in his head saying, ‘More haste, less speed, Jacobs, neh?’
Jake took another breath and struck the stone once with the blade. Nothing happened. Then he struck the blade against the jagged point of the rock. Two great sparks flew in different directions. Neither of them lit the bandage tinder.
Jake turned the stone in his hand and
rearranged the bandage. Then he struck the blade against the stone once more, and another spark flew. It caught on the rags and began, very slowly, to curl the cloth. Jake brought his hand up close to his face, and he could just see the beginning of a flame. Holding the rags in his fingers so that the bandage around his hand wouldn’t catch light, Jake blew gently on the little flame. Then he smiled broadly as the tinder caught. He placed it in the base of the fire and bent down on the damp earth to blow on the flame some more.
Jake thought that he would get nothing more than the ragged smoke that began to drift out of the little pile of sticks. Then the leaves at the centre of the fire began to shrivel up, and a couple of the sticks began to turn black, even though Jake couldn’t see any real flames.
He persisted with his efforts and soon had a proper fire lit. Even though it spat and popped with the dampness of the fuel, the fire made him feel much safer and much more confident. He had a sudden, sharp memory of the Native kicking over the fire in the wagon-train camp and smiled to himself. He didn’t want to keep the dragons away. He wanted to find them.
Next, Jake took out Daniel’s old jacket. He wanted to wear it under Garret’s jacket to sleep in, but the torn sleeve would make that difficult. Then Jake remembered the string and the bodkin, and he set about sewing the sleeve back on to the jacket. By the time he had finished, he was ready to sleep. He put on Daniel’s jacket and then Garret’s, buttoned both up as far as he could and pulled the collars up around his neck. Then he wrapped himself in the blanket and rolled as far under the log as he could manage, so that he was protected from the weather.
Jake’s day had begun with his first morning at school and ended with the little fire in the woods, miles away from his home of the past couple of weeks. He closed his eyes and thought about Pa and Ma and Emmie, and hoped, more than anything in the world, that he might one day see them again.
