Children of Eternity Omnibus

by P. T. Dilloway

  She wakes up in the middle of the night with his arm around her. His body feels so warm against her. Through the thin layers of fabric separating them she feels his flesh. Her husband lying right here, entwined with her. She’s safe. He will protect her.

  She moves his arm, causing him to stir. “Are you all right?” he asks.

  “I am now,” she says, rolling atop him. His wife at last.

  He patted her on the shoulder, giving her a hint of a smile. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. The flap of the tent dropped and she was alone.

  ***

  Wendell awoke to sharp pains in his stomach and left arm. The pain in his stomach came from ravenous hunger churning his entire midsection. The repeated pain in his arm had a different source altogether. He opened his eyes to find a man poking him with a walking stick. “Who are you, boy?” the man said.

  “I’m—” he stopped when he held up an adult arm instead of the tiny child’s arm he remembered before waking up. It was all a dream, he thought. But then if it had been a dream, who was he? Where was he? Who was this person poking him? “I’m not exactly sure,” he said.

  “You’re not sure? How can you not know your own name?”

  He thought back to the dream. “My name’s Wendell. Maybe.”

  “Wendell Maybe? I don’t remember your name on the manifest. Are you a stowaway?”

  “Manifest?” He realized then he was sitting on a beach with pieces of a ship around him. “Oh. I’m with the crew.”

  “You? With those little chicken wings? There’s not a captain in Britain who’d take a scrawny little thing like you. Now, out with the truth, boy. Where did you come from?”

  “I don’t know. I swear, I can’t remember.” His stomach rumbled again. “Could I have something to eat?”

  “We earn our food here. You do some work and then you can have some food,” the man said. He motioned to the beach. “Start cleaning this up. Put the wood in one pile and anything else of value in another.”

  “All right. Sounds easy enough.”

  The man grabbed his arm, squeezing until Wendell winced. “If I catch you stealing anything I’ll have you quartered.” The man swatted Wendell in the ribs to emphasize his point before stomping away. He waved at a sandy-haired man and an older man. Wendell squinted, thinking they looked familiar, but he couldn’t be certain.

  His stomach continued to plague him as he dragged heavy pieces of wood from the shallow water onto the beach. He took off his wet shirt, tearing it into strips to protect his hands from splinters. After wrestling four pieces of wood ashore, he sank to his knees in the sand to rest.

  On a rise above a line of boulders, he saw canvas tents and wooden lean-tos that didn’t look as though they could survive a stiff breeze. In his mind he saw how to fashion the tents and shacks into sturdy buildings, but the dull ache in his left arm reminded him no one would listen to him.

  He got to his feet and shuffled along the beach to bring in more of the driftwood before the man with the walking stick showed up. A glint of metal in the surf caught his eye. He squatted down to find a curve of silver in the sand. He brushed the sand away to reveal a pocket watch.

  The glass on the face of the watch was shattered and the hands stuck at seven thirty-five. With a jagged piece of glass he popped open the works, staring with fascination at the gears. With the right tools I could get this working, he thought. A fine watch like this would fetch a fine price—

  The walking stick came down on Wendell’s hands, knocking the watch to the ground. The man seized Wendell by the neck, lifting him into the air. “I knew it! You’re nothing more than a thieving wretch. Thought you’d take that watch for yourself, did you? Now you’ll see what we do with thieves.”

  The sandy-haired man put a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “Easy now, David. Don’t be so hard on the boy. We’ll need every able-bodied man we can get.”

  David threw Wendell to the ground. “My apologies, Reverend for letting my temper get the best of me.” David snatched the watch from the ground and then glared at Wendell. “Get back to work, boy. Don’t let me catch you stealing again.”

  The older man with the reverend stared at Wendell throughout this exchange. “I’ve got my eye on you,” he growled and then went to join the other two. Wendell gulped, wondering what kind of terrible place he’d ended up in.

  The older man stared at him again as Wendell dragged a piece of mast over to the pile. “You’re certain,” David said.

  “Jonas saw their heathen village,” the reverend said. He borrowed David’s walking stick to draw a circle in the sand. “It’s through the forest, near a stream with plentiful drinking water. We won’t find a better site.” He marked a spot near the edge of the circle with an X.

  “How big of a village?” David asked.

  The older man—Jonas, Wendell assumed—growled something Wendell couldn’t make out. “That’s too many with our present numbers. The elders won’t agree—”

  “We must persuade them,” the reverend said. The reverend noticed Wendell standing nearby for the first time and wiped away his drawing in the sand. “Go on now and get something to eat, my boy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wendell dragged the piece of mast over to the pile and then hurried away towards the cluster of ramshackle buildings and tents. On the way, a piece of parchment blew onto his foot. On it were a list of names: Applegate, Robert and Rebecca; Baker, Phyllis; Bloom, John and Helena; Brigham, Molly; Davenport, Mark and Annabelle; Gooddell, Rodney and Prudence. The rest of the page had smeared. He squinted at the swirls of ink in a vain attempt to make out his own name. Maybe I am a stowaway, he thought.

  He sits on the end of the wharf, gnawing on the rotted corpse of an apple. His stomach rumbles its displeasure at this meager offering. He can’t remember not being hungry anymore. The pain has become a constant companion spurring him on from place to place in search of food: an apple from a vendor’s cart, a pie left on a windowsill, a bit of moldy bread rotting in an alley. Like a mindless animal his days revolve entirely around finding enough food to survive.

  He’s tried to find work. None of the ship captains will hire him even for a cabin boy. When he gives them his proper age—twenty—they scoff. “I have a son half your age bigger than you,” one tells him.

  “Please, sir, give me a chance to prove myself,” he pleads, but no one listens. He’s too small. He’s too weak. His clothes are too torn and stained. He smells too foul. He has too little education.

  He manages to pick up work here and there. One day in a tannery, another in a counting house. Each time he thinks he’s found a new home, a new beginning, but each time something goes wrong. He asks too many questions. He makes too many suggestions for changing what doesn’t need changed. Each time he ends up back here, on the street, grubbing for food.

  As he finishes the rancid apple—including the core—he stares at a ship docked nearby. The crew scurries about, getting it ready to set sail. Other men and women in drab gray clothes mill about. Passengers to some unknown destination. One is so monstrously fat he mistakes her for two people.

  He hates this mountainous woman. She’s never known hunger. She’s never worked a day in her pampered life. She’s never had to sleep on hard ground or in a dirty alley with the rats. He wants to go up to her and spit in her fleshy face.

  He gets halfway there before he stops himself. What good would it do? She’d have him locked away in prison. At least they might feed me there, he thinks. But he couldn’t stand to be locked in a dark cell with nothing to stare at but blank walls. He would go insane within a week.

  The fat woman is leaning close to a much thinner man like a small child. He looks about old enough to be her father, at least until he bends down to kiss her on the lips and whisper something into her ear. Wendell’s fists curl with rage at this fat pig with her loving husband. He starts towards them again.

  The husband looks in his direction and Wendell expects him to shout a warning to stay back. Instead,
the fat woman’s husband says, “You there, can you give me a hand with this trunk?” He gestures to a wooden trunk big enough for Wendell to fit into.

  “Me?” Wendell asks in disbelief.

  “Yes, if you aren’t on more pressing business.”

  “Where do you suppose Molly’s gotten off to? If she isn’t here soon—” the fat woman’s face turns red and she seems on the verge of tears. Her husband kisses her on a flabby cheek.

  “There’s no need to worry. She’ll be here. You know how flighty that girl can be.” He reaches into his pocket to press a schilling into Wendell’s hand. “This strong young lad and I will take the trunk below. You wait here for Molly.”

  “All right,” the fat woman says.

  Wendell slips the schilling into his pocket and then takes his end of the trunk. The weight of it strains his arm muscles until he thinks they’ll burst. “Try to be careful,” the fat woman’s husband says. “There are precious artifacts in here. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to them.”

  Wendell is straining too hard to say anything. He walks up a ramp with the fat woman’s husband, onto the deck of a ship called the Primrose. Once on the deck, he runs into a man with steel-gray hair tying a rope. “Watch it,” the man snaps.

  “Sorry,” Wendell says through his teeth. All this trouble for a schilling, he thinks. Still, that schilling will allow him to eat tonight. A feast arises in his imagination: a plump chicken, crispy potatoes, warm bread, spiced pudding, and a mug of sweet ale. Enough to silence his stomach for a week.

  So busy planning this imaginary feast, he trips on the stairs going down into the hold. The trunk slips from his grasp. Remembering what the fat woman’s husband said—and not wanting to lose the precious schilling—he tries to catch the trunk before it falls.

  He hears a snap in his right arm and screams as the trunk bangs against the deck. The fat woman’s husband takes hold of his arm, touching it to make him scream again. “This is unfortunate. Stay right here. I’ll fetch Dr. Morris.”

  Wendell sits down on the trunk, cradling his arm. Through eyes stained with tears he looks around the ship. His highly-trained nose detects the smell of food coming from below, easing the pain in his arm. He creeps down the stairs to find barrels of salted meat and biscuits. There’s enough food here to keep him alive for years.

  He looks back up the stairs. After the doctor gets here they’ll force him off the ship, back to the streets and his animal-like existence. Wherever the Primrose is heading, it can’t be worse. “Where’d you go, lad?” the fat woman’s husband calls out. Wendell dives behind the barrels, all pain forgotten for the moment as he thinks of a new life awaiting him.

  He let the paper drop to the beach and looked out to sea at the remains of the Primrose. Rocks had gashed the ship from the bow midway to the stern. It’s never going to sail again, he thought. We’re stranded. But still, it must be better than where he had come from. He climbed up the rise to the encampment, pausing to look down at the three men still talking. Their plans didn’t matter at the moment; he hurried along to quell the rumbling in his stomach at last.

  Chapter 13: The Rage

  Joey lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s not fair, he thought. The others had all left without him. He wiped at his nose with his sleeve and tried to think of why they all hated him.

  He couldn’t remember having done anything to them, but then again he couldn’t remember anything at all. He remembered waking up in a mud house, on a bed with the redheaded twins. What is this place? Who are these people? he wondered.

  A fat girl with dark hair leaned over his bed. “Mommy?”

  She smiled and then patted him on the cheek. “No, Joey, I’m not Mommy. I’m Veronica. I’m going to take care of you.”

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “You’re on Eternity. You’re safe here.”

  “Where is Mommy?”

  “She’s had to go away for a while. She asked me to take care of you until she comes back.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I’m not sure.” She took his hand and then helped him out of bed. “We had better get you cleaned up before you meet your new friends.”

  He pointed to the twins on the bed. “Are they my friends?”

  “Yes. And there’s a little girl named Samantha. Today’s her birthday and we’re going to give her a big surprise.” Veronica took him outside to bathe him and comb his hair. As she did, he tried to figure out why Mommy had left. Didn’t she love him anymore? He asked Veronica, but she only said, “Mommy had some very important things to do.”

  What could be so important that she had to leave him behind? He dressed and then followed Veronica back inside to find the twins arguing. “You peed on me!” the girl screamed.

  “I didn’t mean to,” the boy said, his lip trembling as though on the verge of crying.

  “I’m all wet and stinky now,” the girl said. “It’s your fault. You stupid baby.”

  “Children, children, let’s not get upset,” Veronica said. She helped the redheaded boy from the bed and pressed him close. “It’s no one’s fault. We’ll go outside and get you both cleaned up, good as new.”

  The girl climbed out of bed and glared at Joey. “Who are you?” she said.

  “This is Joey. Joey, this is Prudence and Wendell. You’re all going to be the best of friends, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t like him,” Prudence said. “He’s a snotface.”

  Joey wiped at his nose with his sleeve. “Prudence, you shouldn’t say things like that. It’s not very nice.”

  “I don’t care. He is a snotface.”

  “I want to go home,” Wendell said.

  “You are home, at least for now,” Veronica said. “Joey, you stay here while I take care of these two.” She took Prudence’s hand and then led the twins outside.

  As Joey waited, the door opened and an older redheaded girl came inside. “Hello, Joey. I’m Molly,” she said. “I’m going to help Veronica take care of you.”

  “I don’t want you or Veronica. I want Mommy,” he said and began to cry. Molly knelt down, putting an arm around him.

  “I know, dear, but Mommy will be back soon. Until then we have to make the best of things.” She wiped at his nose with the hem of her dress and then smoothed down his cowlick. “You’re such a handsome little boy. Samantha is going to be so happy to see you.”

  Except she wasn’t. For two hours Joey sat inside the wooden cylinder of the false cake, listening to the twins bicker. The dust made his nose run even worse until he could hardly breathe. Then a man in black opened the top of the cake and one at a time pulled them out. He heard Samantha’s elation at meeting the twins. Then the man hauled Joey out and thrust him towards a little fat girl with reddish skin and black hair. He wiped his nose and then tried to shake her hand. “Gwoss!” she squealed, recoiling from him.

  She didn’t care about his explanation either. One look into her eyes told him that she hated him. Molly led him away in disgrace. “It’s all right, dear,” she said. “You have to give her time.”

  “Everyone hates me,” he said.

  “No, of course not. I think you’re a wonderful boy.”

  “But Veronica said they were going to be my friends.”

  “I know and they will be. It will just take time for them to accept you.”

  They still didn’t accept him and now they were gone. He sniffled and then rolled over to face the wall. I don’t need them, he told himself. Why should he care that some fat baby and her little friends didn’t like him? He was only here for a little while until Mommy came back.

  He heard a gasp from the other room and then Molly asked, “Joey, where are the others?”

  “I don’t know,” he said without rolling over.

  “When did they leave?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again.

  “Oh, this is terrible. Veronica is going to be so upset.” Molly rolled Joey over to face her. “I
have to go look for the others. Do you promise to be a good boy and stay here until I get back?” He nodded. She kissed him on the forehead and then dashed away.

  Joey lay in bed after she left. The stupid fat girl and her friends were in big trouble now. He thought of the commotion earlier when Veronica had spanked Samantha. He couldn’t imagine the punishment Veronica would dole out for this. It’s good I didn’t go, he thought. With a contented smile he rolled over and went to sleep.

  He awoke in the morning to the sound of a crash. “God damn it!” Veronica roared. “They’re gone! How could you let this happen? You were supposed to watch them!”

  “I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “I ought to throw you in there after them.” Joey heard another crash. “And you, how could you let them fall in? Why didn’t you stop them?”

  “I tried,” a man’s voice growled. “It was too late.”

  “This is just great,” Veronica said. “All the planning and work to make this happen and they’re gone.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” the man said.

  “Not like that! I could have kept the charade going for years. I could have kept her like that forever. Now it’s ruined thanks to you two.” Joey heard pots and pans crash to the floor. He caught a glimpse of Veronica stomping across the room, kicking something into the hearth. “And the worst part is now the fountain is useless. What is that red stuff?”

  “I don’t know,” the man said. “Some kind of algae.”

  “We have to find a way to get rid of it.”

  “How?” Molly asked.

  “I don’t know. David and I will think of something. You stay here and look after the other one. If you can manage that without fucking up.”

  “I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I won’t let you down again.”

  “You better not,” Veronica said. The door slammed shut. Joey curled up beneath his blankets and cried. Mommy, where are you? he wondered.