The Nine Pound Hammer

by John Claude Bemis

  They went out to the platform at the back of the caboose. Conker sat on the metal grating, dangling his feet over the railing. Ray settled down next to him. “So who are they?” he asked. “The Ramblers?”

  Conker cast one glance back at Shacks in the caboose’s cupola. “I ain’t for sure,” he said. “Nel don’t like talking about them, but I heard a little from Buck. You know in the old stories, Ray, where there’s knights adventuring around, protecting the weak, standing up against the wicked? Ramblers are kind of like that. You ask the regular old person and they’d never have heard of them. But they knew what they did. Some goodness that came to pass, some terrible event that was averted: the Ramblers were usually behind it. They didn’t take credit, didn’t ask for no money or parades or recognition. They just did what they was suppose to do and slipped away again into the wilderness.”

  “And you think your parents and Si’s and the others’ were Ramblers?” Ray asked.

  “My daddy was.” Conker nodded. “And I think some of the others’ were. There’s things I’ve heard Buck or Nel mention that made me put it together. Things about how they all died way back around the same time. And besides, how come else we could do these things?”

  “So how did you wind up with Mister Nel?”

  Conker said, “My mama, she was a good friend of Nel’s.”

  “Do you remember her?”

  “Not really. Just little snippets and such.”

  “But how did she die?” Ray asked.

  Conker sighed. “That I don’t know.”

  Ray wondered over it all for a moment before saying, “I met this man when I was lost in the woods—before you and Si found me—named Hobnob. He worked for this Pirate Queen.”

  “There’s pirates still around?”

  “I guess so,” Ray said. “He told me the Ramblers were killed by the Gog.”

  Conker frowned. “Never heard of no Gog.”

  “Hobnob also said John Henry destroyed the Gog’s machine. I’ve heard of John Henry, but not about a machine. I didn’t even know John Henry was real.”

  “I don’t know nothing about that machine,” Conker said, a fierce look forming on his face. “But John Henry … he was real.”

  “Really?” Ray asked.

  “Sure,” Conker said. “He was my daddy.”

  Ray’s eyes widened. “He was?”

  Conker nodded. “I hear so many stories about him, I don’t know half of what’s true. But I know he was a hero.” He squeezed his fists tightly. “And, well, look at me, Ray. I’m big. I’m strong. But I ain’t a hero, not like my daddy.”

  “You fought that bear,” Ray reminded him.

  “And I was scared, too. Only did it ’cause I was worried about Si.”

  Ray sat next to Conker in silence for a while, watching the shadows of clouds racing over the land. Ray’s hand clutched the lodestone through the fabric of his britches, and finally he said, “Conker, I think there’s some reason I wound up meeting you.”

  “Why’s that?” Conker asked, turning his head to look down at Ray.

  Ray took the lodestone from his pocket and began telling Conker about his parents and why he had left his sister to follow the lodestone’s strange pull and the mysterious dream with Buck. “But now it’s not moving anymore,” Ray said at last.

  “So you reckon it led you here?” Conker asked. “Why you think it did that?”

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “My father told me it would guide me when I had a need.”

  Conker clutched his knees with his huge hands, drumming his fingers as he thought. “But what need did you have?”

  “That’s what I haven’t figured out yet,” Ray said.

  Late in the afternoon, the Ballyhoo stopped outside the town of Winston. The show was not scheduled until the following afternoon, and Nel decided the stage could be set up in the morning. Seth, Redfeather, and Marisol headed into the town to get a soda at a drugstore. The rest lounged around to listen to the Everett men practicing songs in the shade of a grove of trees.

  “Si,” Peg Leg Nel called from the window of his car. “I need to hasten you and Conker on an errand.”

  “More supplies?” she asked, approaching his car. Conker and Ray followed.

  Nel ran quickly through a list of herbs and roots, “… bindweed root, maybe some boneset or sumac, just a few leaves of fern, Devil’s shoestrings if you can find them. I suppose that’s it.”

  “Can Ray come?” Conker asked.

  Nel blinked several times, as if just noticing Ray standing there. “Why, of course. Educate the lad on the task of woodland pilfering. We’ll add it to his professional duties. Hurry, before night falls.”

  Conker turned to smile at Ray, who returned the smile eagerly. When he smiled at Si, she only glowered.

  “Come on, you grinning idiots,” she said.

  Si led them from the lot next to town, where the medicine show would be held, across a field of tobacco, and into a forest of beech and elms and cedars. Long shadows crisscrossed the muggy forest, and soon they reached a creek bed bursting with full summer foliage.

  “So what should I look for?” Ray asked.

  Si was already kneeling to cut a small brown root from the earth with her knife. “What’s that one?” Ray asked, screwing his nose up at what seemed to be a mass of tentacles trailing from the bottom.

  “A root,” Si replied dryly, placing the cluster in a sack.

  “I know that,” Ray said. “What kind?”

  “That’s the bindweed,” Conker explained. He then pointed to a number of sprouts pushing their way from the leaves and bracken. “Look over there. See them, with the little green leaves. Those are Indian cucumbers. Dig up some of them.”

  Ray pulled out the silver dagger. “No, don’t mess that up,” Conker said. “Here you go.” He handed Ray a brown-handled barlow knife. Ray unfolded it, got down on his knees, and began to dig the plants from the ground.

  “I don’t remember Mister Nel mentioning these,” Ray said.

  “No, they ain’t for Nel,” Conker said. “They’re for Ma Everett. She likes these for pickling. Awful good, too.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Si said. “You usually eat the whole jar before anyone else gets a taste.”

  Conker chuckled as he looked for more plants. While they worked, Conker explained how to look at the leaf configuration and what nuts the squirrels were collecting and the fleshiness of fruit to determine what was edible. Ray caught on quickly how to spot curly dock and cattail stands, wild plums and black walnuts.

  After an hour, they had found all the roots and herbs Nel needed, along with many greens, fruits, nuts, and tubers for Ma Everett’s kitchen. By the time they returned to the Ballyhoo with the berry-red sun setting in the west, Ray’s head was swimming with all Conker had shown him.

  Si took the sack for Nel to his car, while Conker and Ray headed for Ma Everett’s mess car. She wouldn’t use their findings tonight, as the table was already set for supper. As they approached her car, Conker stopped Ray.

  “I been thinking on that lodestone of yours and how come it led you to us.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Ray asked, pulling his thoughts from the lists of wild plants he had learned.

  “What about the dreams?” Conker asked in a low voice. “Maybe another one of them dreams will tell you how come the lodestone stopped moving when you got here.”

  Ray nodded slowly, remembering the horrible hound. The idea of seeing it again frightened him. He would have to muster all his courage. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “Do that.” Conker smiled. “Come on. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  * * *

  That night, after a long, raucous meal followed by a concert in the moonlight by the Everetts and Nel, Ray made his way to his room. He untied the twine knotted around the lodestone. As he undressed and pulled the quilt up over his waist, Ray took a deep breath and clutched the lodestone, holding it to his chest.

  Soon he fe
ll asleep.

  He dreamed of the Hound.

  Ray again found his vantage point in the dream to be that of the man who was helping Buck and the girl escape.

  The man ran faster than before, fueled by something stronger than fear. He had to lead the Hound away from the trail the other two had taken through the swamp. He gauged his speed, not wanting to go so quickly that the Hound caught the others’ path. The frosty beast was slowed by its sheer size. Small trees toppled as it passed, but also hampered its pursuit.

  Reaching the edge of a pond, the man rushed into the black water, wading at first with great steps and eventually having to swim. At the far side, he pulled himself up, heavy with mud and rank water as he turned to wait.

  A howling wind had risen. The trees all around croaked and groaned with the force. He planted his feet at the edge of the water and touched his hand to the flannel bag at his belt. His wet clothes began to harden with ice. Shivering, he stomped his feet and shook his arms as he fought to keep the deadly cold from slowing his movements.

  Caught in the roar of the wind were a thousand smaller horrible sounds; whines and moans—like the rusty gears of a long-fallen machine suddenly coming to life—pierced his ears. Plants that had barely felt a frost, rarely seen a snow, never had a hard freeze, suddenly all constricted at once with the plummeting cold. There were snaps and screeches like taut wires breaking apart. And under all the noise came a low, guttural growl. The man shifted his feet and opened the red flannel pouch tied to his belt.

  Across the pond, a snout emerged six feet above the frozen bracken. White teeth bared. Clouds of frost puffed from its white nose. The snout pushed forward, revealing steel-colored eyes. The hungry rumble from its chest shook the earth. Squeezing out from the trees, the Hound toppled full-grown cypresses at their roots until it stood opposite the man at the other bank of the pond. The beast pulled back and unleashed a hurricane-force roar.

  The man’s clothes tightened across his chest, rippling at the back. He had to take a step to brace his stance. Bitter cold encased him, stiffening his muscles into knots. The trees behind him exploded into a thousand shards. A white wave of solid ice swept out across the pond, encasing one of the man’s tall boots where he stood. He pulled a yellow stub of tallow candle from his flannel pouch and held it at his hip.

  “Come to me, Hoarhound!” he cried. The beast responded with another roar. The man’s shirt and pants became a heavy plate of ice. The man raised the candle and it burst into flame. An enormous orange light surrounded him. The Hoarhound stepped out onto the ice, cracks extending from its heavy paws with each step.

  “Come, you clockwork devil, so I can drive you back into the Gloaming, where you were forged!” the man shouted.

  The Hoarhound continued forward slowly. Its fur was bone white, as were its curling gums and claws. It lowered its face until its nose was nearly touching the frozen pond.

  With his other hand, the man removed a small, wrapped parcel of ground herbs. He squeezed it until the paper crumbled in his palm. The Hoarhound reared back on its haunches, its muscles tightening like the coils of a spring.

  As it leaped forward, the man cast the powder into the air in a great arc. It caught fire and swept out to meet the Hoarhound in an explosive collision. For a moment the spot, midway across the pond, burned in a blinding flash. The man rushed onto the ice, running toward the wall of flame. Out of the light the Hoarhound burst, teeth snapping, swinging its jaws back and forth. Frost-laden wind whipped apart the flames.

  The two fought: The Hoarhound with its clanking jaws and hammerlike snout. The man with charms of root and bone, powerful talismans of glass and stone. Finally, when his charms were exhausted, the man leaped upon the beast in a frenzied impact: fire meeting ice, fur and flesh, man and hound.

  Ray knew—the man knew—that he would not defeat the beast. He had to escape. Mustering all his strength, all his power, the man changed. He transformed. At that moment, as he was disappearing from the swamp, transporting himself a great distance, the jaws of the beast closed over his hand, teeth sinking into bone.

  The two locked together and vanished.

  Ray woke with something heavy shaking his shoulder. A pair of full-moon eyes peered out of the dark. “You okay, Ray?” Conker asked.

  Ray sat up, trembling with the nightmare vision and struggling to regain his senses.

  “I heard you from the hallway. Thought you might be catching fever again—”

  “No. I did it!” Ray opened his damp palm to show the lodestone.

  “You have that same nightmare again?” Conker asked, squeezing into the shallow space on the floor by Ray’s bed.

  “I saw what happened after that monstrous hound found the man. It’s called a Hoarhound, and it’s mechanical. The man knew that, the man who I was in the dream. He had this pouch with all these charms and objects inside. He was so powerful.”

  “A Rambler!” Conker gasped.

  Ray mashed his fist to his temple, thinking. “Has Buck left the medicine show recently?”

  “He’s always leaving unexpectedly. Disappears for a few days or a few weeks, then comes back.”

  “When was the last time?” Ray asked.

  “Left maybe a month ago. Got back”—Conker paused, his eyes widening—“around the same time Nel bought that car.”

  “A month ago, Conker,” Ray said. “That was about the same time I started dreaming of the Hound. The same time the lodestone began guiding me here.”

  They were quiet a moment before Conker asked, “Why’s the lodestone showing you that man?”

  “I don’t know, but I know who does,” Ray said.

  “Buck?” Conker’s eyes bulged.

  “I don’t mean Buck,” Ray said. “I mean the girl.”

  “The girl from the dream?”

  “What if Buck brought her here after they escaped from that Hoarhound? She could be the one who was singing in that locked car.” Ray tapped a finger to his chin. “Will Si help us?”

  Conker whistled a low, cautious whistle. “She won’t like this. … ”

  Ray was certain she wouldn’t.

  WITH LITTLE JEWELS OF DEW STILL SPARKLING IN THE grass, the busy work of preparing for the medicine show began. Nel shouted instructions from behind the briarwood pipe clamped in his teeth. Place the stage there. Hoist the tent. Tie the curtain a little higher on the Ballyhoo. Put those crates of tonics up on the stage.

  Soon all the supplies from the boxcar were unloaded. The timing was right. There wouldn’t be anybody around the locked car.

  As Ray and Conker secured the ropes for the tent, their eyes flickered toward the back of the train.

  “She said she’d do it?” Ray asked as he held the peg for Conker to hammer into the soft earth.

  “Took a little convincing,” Conker whispered. “I had to tell her about your lodestone and the dream. Hope that’s all right?”

  Ray nodded. “Sure. When’s she doing it?”

  “Now. Look! Here she comes,” Conker said, wrapping the rope around the peg and tightening the tension on the tent.

  Si had a bundle of ribbon in her arms to rope off the performance area. She was grinding her teeth when she reached Ray and Conker. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody was listening, she growled, “Okay, I unlocked the door. I hope you two know what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks, Si,” Ray said. “I really appreciate—”

  Si snatched Ray by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down until they were nearly nose to nose. “If you get us into any kind of trouble doing this, you won’t have to worry about what Buck does to you … ’cause you’ll have me to deal with. You understand?”

  “Y-yes,” Ray stammered. “I … just want to find out why the lodestone led me here. That’s all.”

  Still holding Ray’s collar tightly, Si shook her head in confusion. Conker reached in to gently pull Si back. “Don’t worry, Si. You can trust him. Ray’s a good guy.”

  Si let go of Ray�
��s shirt and began untangling the ribbon.

  Conker looked around. “Okay, Ray. Buck’s over there talking to Mister Everett. Looks like everyone’s out here working. Get on over there and be back quick, before someone notices.”

  Ray gave one sly glance around the lot as he adjusted his cap. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Ray cut through the gap in the Ballyhoo’s cars and turned once he was on the back side of the train.

  When Ray reached the car, he walked tentatively up the steps. He decided to give a knock, rather than just barge in. “Hello,” he called softly. There was no answer, and he grasped the handle.

  The door opened with a click, and he slipped inside.

  His eyes took a moment to adjust after the bright sunlight outside. The interior was a vast boxcar with narrow windows near the ceiling, but they did little to illuminate the dark. The first quarter of the space was an ante chamber with a dresser decorated with a solitary oil lamp. This seemed ordinary enough, but what surprised Ray was that the remainder of the car was encased in glass three-quarters of the way to the ceiling and filled with water. Wax and pitch sealed the seams.

  What was this? he wondered. Where was the girl? There was a dresser, but no bed, no chairs. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Buck and Nel were not hiding the girl here. So what was so important that Nel and Buck needed to act secretive about a circus car full of water?

  As he faced the tank, Ray felt a chill come over him.

  Slowly he approached the glass. The tank must have extended to the other end of the car. Ray squinted but could not see that far. As the light from the narrow windows entered the water, it dwindled rapidly into deep midnight murk. Ray leaned closer and pressed his hands to the glass. Had he heard something? A splash, maybe. He listened. There was the faint ring of hammers in the distance, but the tank was silent. For an instant he thought he saw a shadow move in the watery gloom. His pulse quickened as he put his nose nearly to the glass.

  A burst of bubbles struck the tank in front of him, scattering like a school of minnows. Ray yelped and jerked back from the glass. When the bubbles parted, a face appeared before him. For a moment, Ray was panic-stricken that the girl might be drowning in the tank. But then he saw her expression; it was not the face of one drowning.