by Meg Elison
“The smell is almost covered,” Anric exclaimed. “What is this oil?”
“It comes from a couple of green plants,” Eddy said. “And then carefully purified. I don’t really know, I just know that it’s better than the smell of shit or carcasses.”
“That’s the truth,” Alric said.
Past the trash dumps they walked through a deserted section of town, which was beginning to look more and more like a city to Eddy. After a few streets, they began to hear the sounds of children at play.
Is this really Estiel? Where are you right now?
Eddy struggled, caught up in the memory of freezing black water and the slick of kerosene that slid above it. The Arch creaking in the windy night. He shook it off.
A group of boys were playing a game up ahead. They had a large leather ball and they were shooting it toward a high metal ring on a pole. They ran and shouted, working in teams. They grew quieter as the party drew near.
Eddy could see that the boys were all thin and dressed in skirts. They seemed tall for their babylike faces. Most wore their hair long, but there was no mistaking them for girls. They watched the sheriff and deputies surreptitiously, the game becoming a show.
“Carry on, boys.” Eric waved to them before bringing out a pouch full of dried brown leaves. He began to roll the leaves together with paper, spitting on his hands to make it all stick.
The boys didn’t move.
Eddy looked at them, making eye contact with the one holding the ball. “Is this a school group?” He returned his gaze to Eric, who was examining what he had rolled together.
“It’s the catamites. They don’t go to school.”
Alric whistled at the boys, long and low. They tittered and milled together, the pretense of the game dropped. They were clearly nervous, but not really afraid.
The boys’ eyes were drawn to the flame as Alric lit his cigarette. One of them came forward and smiled at the sheriff.
Eddy watched carefully, seeing the way the boy thrust his hips forward and pursed his lips. He saw the child put a hand on his slim waist and pop his chin toward the man.
Eddy knew at once what a catamite was.
Eric put the roll of dry leaves in his mouth and brought the flame to the end of it, his big hand cupped around the fire. He inhaled through it with a suck and draw, the way Eddy smoked joints with the boys in Nowhere. The brown leaves caught and smoldered. The smell was heavy and unpleasant.
It looks like a joint, but it isn’t cannabis. Eddy knew the Latin names for the varieties of marijuana grown in Nowhere. It was a small crop, but a good one. Worth more when it was dried and stored in the winter. This smelled nothing like that.
The boy, who looked to be about eleven, spoke up. “If you put that in my mouth, I know what to do with it.”
Eric laughed and chucked the kid under the chin. “I bet you do, pretty boy.” He sucked again, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “But this cost me a lot of bullets. So I’ll have to find some other way to see if you know what to do if I put it in your mouth.”
The kid giggled and ran away, seeming like a kid again. Eddy’s mouth was dry.
Flora made no sound, but Eddy saw her finding a way to look at anything but the boys.
“They are so pert at that age,” Alric said, starting to walk again.
“And as pretty as a girl,” Anric added. “Eric, can I have a drag?”
Eric sighed and handed the joint to his brother. “Eddy, you ever smoke the real stuff like this? Did your drug maker sell you any tobacco?”
“Tobacco,” Eddy said, tasting the strange word as he inhaled its smoke. “No, I’ve never seen it before.”
Eric sighed again and accepted his joint back. “This comes from the Republic of Charles. They grow it there.”
Eddy nodded sagely as though he knew what that meant. “We smoke something else where I’m from.”
“Skunkweed?” Alric asked this with some amusement.
Eddy weighed the sometimes skunky smell of cannabis in his mind and guessed that must be what they called it here. “Yes, good skunkweed. I have some of that to trade, as well.”
The three brothers laughed and Flora shot him a look that he couldn’t translate.
“We get that here,” said Alric. “But the Lion’s men don’t smoke it. Addles the brains.”
Eddy nodded and forced a grin as they laughed.
When the Arch first came into view, he had been readying himself to see it for a long time. It still took his breath away.
Flora stared up at it, openmouthed. “I’ve never seen it. I’ve just heard stories . . .”
The sheriff and his men puffed up with pride. “The Arch of Estiel,” Eric said grandly. “Stealing metal from it is punishable by death. It’s owned by the Lion.”
Flora nodded vigorously. Eddy counted his breaths, eight in and eight out.
“You okay, man? Tired?” Anric was looking at him with concern.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sometimes I have the breathing sickness, is all.”
Anric nodded. “Black men. Only guys I’ve known who have the breathing sickness are black. Must be something in your blood.”
Eddy nodded, counting.
Eight in, eight out.
The ruined city of Estiel hulked above them. Steel skeletons sagged and buckled. Some of the older buildings stood gutted by fire. Most of the ancient city had burned, but people built along the sidewalks and held both sides of the river. New buildings made from logs and rough-planed lumber stood in between stalls thrown together with plastic pipe and fabric. They passed people selling gutted game and moonshine, stalls filled with the junk of the old world and the plain black ironwork of the local blacksmiths. Eddy’s sight filled with knives and pokers and he struggled to count his long breaths.
When they passed two stalls in a row selling pin-lock manacles, Eddy crossed the sidewalk and pretended to be very interested in a man selling wild mushrooms.
The baskets were full of small brown and white buttons, interspersed with morels and even truffles. The mushroom man was fat and dirty.
Alice would pay this man good money, Eddy thought. But only if he kept his eyes open for those red ones with the white spots. Amanitas.
He was thinking of the day he had gotten his blood and become a woman; the woody, hateful taste of the mushroom in his mouth. The way the walls of his mother’s house had flexed inwardly at him and how Ina’s voice had seemed to come from everywhere at once. A voice that said—
“Eddy! You wandering off without us?”
Eddy’s head jerked back toward the sound of Alric’s voice.
Where are you right now?
“Sorry, I got distracted.” He wiped his sweating palms on his pants and looked around, trying to see where they were headed.
The men and Flora had split toward a path that led gently uphill. Eddy jogged a few steps to catch them.
The Lion of Estiel lived in an enormous hotel that looked across the river, its back to the Arch. Eddy came up the stairs slowly, looking at the tall, wide building.
Hotels were popular everywhere Eddy had ever traveled. The ones in cities were often made with steel and had held up through the years. He could see that this one had once been mostly glass on the lower floors, with steel framing arranged for view rather than warmth or security. Board siding had been nailed up over much of it, but the wide doors and every third panel or so stayed open and empty. The place was scrubbed clean, whitewashed, and the front grounds were neatly kept.
Eddy caught a strong smell and it took a moment to place it. It was the smell of cats. People kept cats all over Nowhere and other towns he had seen; cats kept mice out of food stores and could be fed with the organs and scraps of a kill. Nevertheless, he hated cats. He hated their stink and their indolence; he hated the screams of their nighttime mating and daytime fighting. He had seen big cats in the wild as he traveled, the size of dogs but far more deadly. Their green flashing eyes in the night. He had awoken more than once to t
he shrieking of a rock cat, thinking he was hearing a woman on fire.
Their oily, sharp stink was in this place. He knew that once a cat claimed a place by piss, that smell would never leave it. He peered into the corners of the cavernous space, dusky even at midday, looking for the flash of cat eyes.
There must be hundreds of them, he thought, taking a deep whiff of the green oil on his balaclava. But he saw none.
“My three boys!” The voice boomed out of the shadow of a man, crossing into the room from the blinding light of an open window on the opposite side. Eddy looked up sharply and saw him, like the black shape of a man cut out of the blue sky and the river that they faced. He was tall and broad, more giant than human. He held chains taut in both hands, but Eddy could not see where they led.
“Father!” All three chorused at once, leading the column out toward the patio where the man who could only be the Lion stood. Eddy followed a few paces behind, walking carefully. He tried to slow his breathing.
The sun blinded him momentarily when he emerged from the shaded darkness inside the hotel lobby. The light flashed off the water and the remaining silver scales on the Arch. He put up a hand to shade his eyes and tried to focus.
The Lion was so much taller than Eddy that he had to tilt his head back to look him in the eye. He was ruddy and tan, with permanent windburn and sunburn in the crescents beneath his eyes. His hair and beard were red gold, long and untamed, the mustache curling into the mouth. His shoulders were broad and massive, like a man who chopped wood or rowed a boat every day. Eddy looked down to check for weapons and saw that the man wore none. His boots were knee-high and made skillfully from good leather.
Eddy’s eyes followed the chain in the Lion’s right hand, and when he came to the end he blinked furiously, thinking he could not possibly be seeing what he was seeing.
At the end of the chain was a full-grown lion.
Not a rock cat, not one of the black or tawny wild things Eddy had seen in the hills or on the plains. This was a lion like Eddy had only seen in pictures: impossibly large, with a mane around its face like the corona of the sun. The animal was bored, lolling on its side on a warm patch of concrete.
Panicked, Eddy looked right and received a shock equal to the first: on the chain in the Lion’s left hand was a tiger, just as large. The tiger sat on its haunches, and Eddy realized with his breath stuck in his throat that it was staring at him. Its posture was negligent, its golden eyes half-lidded. But it was looking directly at him. As it stared, the tiger yawned. Its mouth gaped, huge yellow teeth standing out like a series of silent threats. The tiger licked its lips after, smacking unhurriedly before returning to its princely state of closed-mouth repose.
Eddy didn’t realize he was pissing his pants until his skin felt wet. He clamped those muscles down immediately, shutting off the flow.
They’ll smell it, he thought in a panic.
He didn’t know whether he was worried about the cats or the men.
Eddy remembered Flora and looked to her anxiously. She was staring at the tiger with her mouth open. She had taken more than a few steps backward.
The Lion was openly enjoying her discomfort. He did not speak, but stared her down like her fear was something he could eat or drink. The three brothers seemed to be waiting for him to finish.
Finally, the Lion looked at Eric. “So, what have my boys brought me today?”
“Father, we brought you Eddy, a traveler from the south. He is a drug maker.” Eric bowed his head slightly.
Eddy stepped forward, masking his fear of the cats as best he could. “Not a maker, really. Just a trader. The maker back in my home village.”
“And where is that?”
“South of the Black Mountains,” lied Eddy.
“Black Mountains?” The Lion swiveled his head toward Alric.
“It’s the name some people give to the Odarks, father.” Alric pulled a pocket-size map out of his back pocket and put his finger to it. “Along the southerly route to the Republic of Charles, six or seven hours by truck.”
The Lion nodded. “What manner of drugs do you make there?”
They already know too much. I told them too many things. Whatever it is he’s looking for, I had better not have it.
Eddy cleared his throat. “I have some small amounts I can trade you. Sleeps. Toothache remedy. Some for pain, some for itch.”
“Show me.” The Lion sat in a low, curved-back chair and the cats sat beside him, spreading out lazily in the sun.
Eddy came as close as he dared before kneeling and sliding his pack off his back. He pulled the wooden case out and looked up.
The Lion’s gaze was intent on him, but his body held almost no tension. He was completely at ease.
Eddy laid out his wares as a peddler does. He gave quick explanations for each vial and pot and tiny sack of powder. He glanced at the big cats every few seconds. When he looked up, the Lion’s face was that same visage of relaxed interest.
Eddy pulled out all but the most hidden compartments where the most dangerous poisons and the essence of amanita were kept. He rifled through his bag and laid out one of his deerskin sacks of cannabis.
“I understand your men are forbidden this . . . uh, skunkweed. But in case you’re interested . . .” He trailed off.
“Sir.” The Lion finished.
“I’m sorry?” Eddy looked up, confused.
“In case you’re interested, sir. I am not your Lion, so you need not call me father. But by strangers I am called sir. Don’t you have a sir in your own village?”
Eddy thought of his mother.
“Yes, sir. But I do not call him that. However you wish to be called. Sir.”
The Lion turned his head toward his right, regarding his lion on a leash. Eddy watched the small muscle that crossed from his jaw to his collarbone stand out under his tanned skin. He looked at the corded strength of the Lion, and he waited.
“Have you done much trading?” The Lion did not look back at Eddy.
“Yes, sir. A fair amount. I know what they’re worth.”
The Lion glanced at him sharply.
Too far. Don’t anticipate his reasoning.
“I mean, I know you’ve got drug makers of your own, sir. Obviously. I meant these were quite valuable to people in places like Jeff City, where there’s hardly a doctor to speak of.”
I know you don’t have any such thing. But let’s play dumb.
“Yes, of course.” The Lion jingled the big cats’ chains. “Anric. Go upstairs and pick a handful. I’d like to trade with Eddy.”
Anric went toward the staircase at a jog. They waited.
Flora grew bolder as they watched the tiger lick one of his paws.
“Sir . . . where did they come from?”
The Lion smiled and Eddy wondered if he filed his teeth; they looked sharper than the teeth of any man he had ever seen.
“Why, from right here, horsewoman.”
Flora blushed a little. “I mean, sir, I’ve read about them in books. They come from far away.”
“So they do. But you must have also read that in the old world, they were kept in cages for the amusement of children. Have you heard that?”
Flora nodded vaguely, looking between lion and Lion.
“Well, these were in Estiel in the old world. My great-great-grandfather was their keeper. In the time of the plague, he freed them and they followed him as their leader, sensing his greatness. In time, men sensed it, too. He was the first Lion of Estiel. The lion is the king among animals, you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
You would have agreed with him if he told you that that lion could play the fiddle, Eddy thought. But he didn’t speak up.
“So my grandfathers and my father bred these cats as they bred their sons: with strong females and with a care that they could always lead. We bred for strength and size and intelligence, and we drowned the small and sickly. That’s the way of Lions. The way to keep your line from becoming weak.”
Flora nodded.
“You horsewomen in Jeff City, you’re lucky. You came up with a good use for weakness. I have none.”
Flora’s face burned and Eddy stared at her.
Is he talking about the women they steal from Jeff City? Do the catamites come from there?
He thought of the boys who had sidled and giggled at them, ready to serve. Had they been born free? Bred here?
Anric came downstairs carrying Myles, the toddler who had been taken from Jeff City. Behind him followed a short line of women and girls.
Eddy stared hard. He knew it was Myles; she wore the same simple garment, open at the bottom. The child looked tired, but alright.
Behind Alric, there came a girl of about seven with straight black hair. Then three teenagers, all pregnant. One woman of about twenty and another of about thirty. They were clean and clothed, but they shared a dull, downcast look of vacancy.
All slaves. Some of them born slaves.
Eddy could not look away.
The Lion did not spare them a glance. Alric put Myles down and the oldest woman picked her back up mechanically. The woman was short and generously proportioned. She wore a black dress and a strange kind of white bonnet, made of a fine material that Eddy couldn’t place. He wondered where she was from.
The Lion was waiting when Eddy finally looked back at him. He had pulled the tiger in close and was absently stroking the cat’s big furred ears. Eddy could hear the purring quite clearly.
“I won’t pretend that these aren’t worthy goods,” the Lion began. “My offer is this: one truck with enough deez to take you almost anywhere. A map of places where you can get more from my men. And one of these. Your choice of females, from my own stock.”
The Lion’s lips lay together and the man was perfectly still. Eddy stared him down.
Flora stepped close to him and put her hand on his arm. She drew breath to say something and he moved her hand aside, taking a small step away.
Careful, now. Careful and slow.
I have never traded for a woman in my life.
Eddy glanced up to the ceiling, remembering the pulleys outside that carried goods to the upper floors.
How many women up there? How many girls?
