The Nine Pound Hammer

by John Claude Bemis

  “I have no interest in hearing that now,” he said. “Soon, I’ll have you singing it for others, and we’ll build quite a following. But save your tongue. Your charm has no effect on me.”

  The Gog extended the ebony walking stick toward Ray. Ray squeezed his eyes shut. With a terrifying roar, Conker sprang at the Gog. A flash burst from the Gog’s stick, but Conker was between Ray and the blast. The Gog’s spell broke on the Nine Pound Hammer’s head, deflected, and crushed into the engineer’s cab, just to Ray’s side.

  Conker rose before the Gog and swung the Nine Pound Hammer. The Gog released Jolie to wield his walking stick with both hands. The hammer and the stick met with a thunderous clap.

  Conker and the Gog faced one another, all of their strength directed into the locked weapons. Conker roared and pushed his weight into the hammer. Despite his appearance as an older man, the Gog was equal to Conker’s might. The Gog stepped back and pulled the ebony stick away. The Nine Pound Hammer struck, bursting the metal of the tender’s roof and released a cloud of black dust from the coal within.

  Jolie had scrambled away from the battle and was calling to Ray. Ray reached from the back of the locomotive to take Jolie’s outstretched hands.

  The Gog danced around Conker and swung his ebony stick; its blast threw Conker off balance. Conker managed to spring forward, swinging the hammer with one hand.

  The two weapons met again in a sizzle of force.

  “We’ve got to get off the train!” Jolie shouted.

  The Pitch Dark Train moved slowly now over the tracks. Marsh gave way to water, and the tracks continued onto a trestle of wood and steel, high over the Mississippi River. It was time to jump.

  “We can’t leave Conker!” Ray cried.

  Despite Conker’s immense size and strength, and despite the Nine Pound Hammer, his friend was struggling. The gunshot wounds were bleeding freely, and Conker seemed to be faltering before the Gog’s terrible power. The hammer and the Gog’s ebony stick met again and again; Conker staggered, while the Gog smiled grimly, stoic and fierce.

  Conker hooked the Gog’s stick with the iron head of his hammer and pulled up, trying to wrestle the ebony stick from the Gog. The Gog kicked, catching Conker’s knee and hobbling the giant. With a burst of force from the walking stick, the Gog sent Conker flying through the air. He flipped and landed on top of the locomotive. One hand caught the smokestack, the other grasped the hammer.

  But the blow had also snapped the walking stick from the Gog’s hands—where it spun to the end of the tender—and the Gog fell from the side of the train. His gloved fingers gripped the metal edge as the Gog dangled against the side of the tender.

  “Ray! Jolie!” Conker cried from the nose of the locomotive. “Quick, you got to jump. Get off the train!”

  Ray looked down at the dark river below. Even if he survived the impact of the fall, he could not swim. Jolie tightened her grip on his hand.

  “We’ll jump together,” she assured him.

  Ray turned back to Conker. “Go before he reaches his stick!”

  Conker shook his head. “No! It’s got to be finished, Ray. That’s what I got to do. We may not have destroyed the Machine, but I’m going to destroy its maker.”

  “No!” Ray cried. “Just jump!”

  The Gog pulled himself onto one elbow and swung a knee up onto the tender.

  Balanced upon the top of the locomotive, Conker lifted the Nine Pound Hammer high above his head. “Ray! Jolie! Go now!”

  The Gog reached the top of the tender. Crawling and scuttling, he moved toward the stick.

  Jolie squeezed Ray’s hand and jumped, jerking Ray off the train. Ray and Jolie tumbled from the side and into the air.

  Conker howled and brought the hammer down, piercing the locomotive’s metal skin and exposing the fiery boiler.

  The engine erupted in a great explosion of fire and twisted shards of metal, consuming Conker and the Gog. The front of the train buckled, tumbling and blurring into a kaleidoscope of whipping flames and rocketing debris.

  Ray fell with Jolie’s hand clinging to his, the two spinning over and over, until her fingers slipped. Ray and Jolie tumbled apart. Ray reached for her, letting go of the rabbit’s foot. But it was too late. He hit the hard surface of the river. And then all became black.

  RAY SANK INTO THE DARK UNIVERSE OF WATER. IT WAS quiet and still. He was alone, and he was conscious of nothing and nobody. Many forces worked upon him, holding him suspended between the hard pull of the living and the gentle dissolve of death.

  Ray drifted down toward the bottom of the river, the swirling and twisting murk storming around his body. Bubbles and mud and bits of flotsam rushed past. But a river is not just a track of water. It is a place of change, a place where decaying matter settles, and a place where tiny organisms are born. Over time, rivers shape the world. They destroy it. They renew it.

  Ray descended into the darkest depths of the river.

  A shadowy creature kicked its way toward Ray. Writhing back and forth as it swam, it drew closer and closer. When it found him, it circled and opened its scaly mouth. The jagged arrangement of teeth bit down, taking the collar of Ray’s shirt. It jerked its head, pulling Ray from the darkness.

  Hanging from the reptile’s mouth, Ray dangled limply as the alligator swam with powerful strokes of its tail. It broke the surface of the water, and nudged its nose beneath Ray’s chest, flipping him up onto its back.

  When Ray woke again, he was lying on velvet cushions in the Snapdragon’s galley. A heavy, soft blanket covered him. Dust motes swirled in a crack of afternoon sunlight slipping from between the heavy drawn curtains over the window. How long had he been asleep?

  Despite the warmth and comfort of the bed, a chill descended over Ray. He shook as his memories returned.

  What had happened to Jolie? He remembered her holding him as they fell into the river, but after that, Ray could not recall anything until waking on Rosie’s back. Had Jolie been hurt in the fall? Had the swift water of the river pulled them apart so that she could not find him?

  And Conker.

  Ray tried to think of some way his friend could have escaped. He wanted so badly to believe that somehow Conker had survived. He was a giant. He was John Henry’s son. But Ray knew it was impossible. Conker was dead. The explosion of the train had killed him.

  A wave of anger forced hot tears out of Ray’s eyes, into his hands. He had trouble seeing the glory in his friend’s triumph over the Gog. Given the choice, he would rather have Conker here by his side, even if it meant not stopping the Gog.

  But that was foolish. That’s not what Conker would have wanted, he thought. Nor was it what his father would have wanted.

  Ray thought of the rabbit’s foot. He had been holding it when he fell … but then he had let go of it as he reached for Jolie. Rising from the cushions, Ray found his damp clothes draped over the back of a chair. He dug through his pockets, searching desperately. He pulled out the red flannel toby, but it was empty. The golden rabbit’s foot—his father’s hand and his mysterious guide for so long now—was gone. It must have disappeared to the bottom of the river with his fall.

  Compared to losing Conker, this loss was inconsequential, but Ray was disappointed nonetheless. Drained of emotion and wanting nothing more than to forget the horrible memories pounding in his skull, Ray crawled back into the bed.

  The door cracked, and the Pirate Queen peered in. A pitying expression flickered for a moment on her face, and then she forced a smile, turning back behind the door. “He’s awake. You can go see him,” she whispered to someone in the hall.

  The door swung open, and Sally entered, running to Ray’s side. Sally’s look of pure joy and relief warmed him from his chill. He held her and then clasped her hands within his.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked. “Is that why they have you in here?”

  “No, I’m not hurt. I don’t think so, anyway. I’m just tired.” He leaned back to look at her. “Where
are the others?”

  Sally sat up. “Si, your friend, she led us to the river. We walked and walked. Then she found this boat. The other children are up above on the deck, getting fed.”

  Ray almost asked her if Jolie was upstairs as well, but he was afraid of the answer. “What time is it?” Ray asked.

  “Late. Nearly sundown. There are men in boats looking all over the river. Are they pirates? That’s what Si told us. They look mean enough, but they’re really nice, fixing us whatever we want to eat and playing songs for us.” Sally took a deep breath before continuing. “I was so scared, Ray. I thought I’d never see you again. That man, Mister Grevol, he kept us for so long.”

  “What happened?” Ray asked anxiously.

  “At first he was kind,” Sally said, pushing back her blond curls and twisting her mouth as she thought. “He told me you had gone on a special errand for him, but that you were coming back with surprises for us all. He told us we didn’t have to go to new families after all and that he was taking us to a wonderful place. At first we were happy. It sounded so fun. But he took us to a big building surrounded by all these factories and workshops.

  “We were all kept in this sort of orphanage, but we couldn’t even go outside. And the women looking over us were terrible. They wouldn’t tell us what happened to Miss Corey or when you were coming back.”

  Sally laced her fingers in Ray’s as she continued. “More kids showed up all the time, other orphans. Some of them tried to run away, but they were always caught. Then one day Mister Grevol showed up, and he put us all back on his train, locked up in a boxcar. We were in there for so long. I thought that something bad had happened to you. But it didn’t. Something good happened. You met Si and the pirates and those others. You saved us.”

  “Sally, I’m sorry I left you,” Ray said.

  “You left on purpose?” Sally frowned quizzically, pulling her hand from his.

  “I thought it was the right thing to do,” Ray said, squeezing his fists tightly. “I thought I was helping you, but instead …”

  Sally blinked several times before asking, “Who was Mister Grevol? Si said he was a bad man. What did he want us for?”

  Ray couldn’t tell her. He never wanted Sally to know the truth of Grevol’s plans.

  Ray shook his head. “I don’t know, Sally. When somebody gets so twisted up like him, they forget what it’s like to be a kid. I guess he thought that if he had a bunch of kids around him, he could forget how bad he was.”

  The door opened behind them, and Sally turned around quickly.

  “Come on, lass,” the Pirate Queen said from the doorway. “Your brother needs to rest.”

  Ray sat up. “I’m feeling better. I’m ready to—”

  The Pirate Queen shook her head. “Rest awhile longer, Ray.”

  Sally got up reluctantly and passed under the Pirate Queen’s arm. “See you soon, Ray.”

  When he woke again, the room was dark. He smelled food and saw a shadow bent over him.

  “Ray,” the voice whispered. A match crackled brightly and a lamp on the table was lit. Peter Hobnob turned back to him, holding a tin plate piled with food.

  “Hobnob?” Ray mumbled, blinking against the harsh light.

  “You ready for your dinner?”

  “Sure,” he said, pulling back the covers. “Can we go up to eat?”

  “Best have it here,” Hobnob said. “Eat first. Then we’ll go up on deck.”

  Ray ate quickly and without enjoyment. Hobnob said nothing; he looked tired. The mass of golden hair on his head was windblown and tousled. When Ray finished, Hobnob led him up the steps. The stars were out and the air was warm. Small, sleeping bodies of rescued children were scattered around the deck, and Hobnob guided Ray to the foredeck, where Nel and Buck stood talking to the Pirate Queen. Marisol was leaning against the railing, peering out across the river.

  Ray saw Si kneeling on the deck, her back shaking and her face in her hands. She was weeping quietly. In front of her lay the broken handle of the Nine Pound Hammer. The iron head was gone.

  Hobnob put a hand to Ray’s shoulder. “We searched all day. It’s all we found.”

  Ray spoke with Nel and Buck for some time, but he hardly could recall what he said. Something about Grevol. Something about their final battle aboard The Pitch Dark Train. Something about how Conker had died. His eyes lingered on the broken handle and on Si.

  Buck’s hand clamped onto Ray’s shoulder. Ray flinched as he saw the expression on Buck’s face, terror welling in his pale eyes. Buck said in a low voice, “Ray, I’ve got to know. Seth was attacking you. I thought he was going to kill you. I wasn’t trying to … but there was so much smoke … and I was enraged. Just tell me. Did I kill him?”

  Ray knew that it had been an accident—a horrible, unfortunate accident—but there had been so much tragedy already; he couldn’t bear for Buck to take on the burden of Seth’s death.

  “No, Buck,” Ray said. “The Gog’s Hound killed Seth. Not you.”

  Buck turned, relief struggling in his expression. As he walked away, he passed Sally approaching Ray.

  When she reached her brother, she smiled and took his hand in hers.

  “Did they find her?” she asked sleepily.

  “Who?”

  “The mermaid. They’ve been looking for her, but I heard them say she’d left. Was she a friend of yours?”

  “Yes. She was.”

  “Then why did she leave?”

  Ray thought about this before answering. Had she been hurt? No, they surely would have found her. She had left. But why had she gone without saying goodbye? Why hadn’t she helped him when he fell into the river? Ray pushed these nagging thoughts away.

  He was grateful to Jolie. He concentrated on his gratitude; a wave of understanding came over him. Jolie’s separation from her siren sisters. Her illness. Her confinement to the tank aboard the Ballyhoo. It was all because the Gog had been hunting her. But now he was dead. Jolie was free.

  “She wasn’t meant to live on a train or on a boat or in a house,” Ray said to himself as much as to Sally. “She was wild. She was too much a part of the wild to stay.”

  Something nudged Ray’s leg. Rosie, dripping from the river, had left a trail of water across the deck. Sally hid behind Ray, shaking with fear and clutching his sleeve tightly.

  “It’s okay,” Ray said. “She’s a friend.”

  Rosie opened her mouth and dropped something golden onto the wooden planks. Ray kneeled and picked up the rabbit’s foot.

  “You found it!” Ray smiled and gave Rosie a rub around her scaly snout.

  He showed the golden foot to Sally. She took it in her hands and examined it.

  “What is it?” Sally asked, glancing warily at the enormous alligator.

  “It belonged to Father,” Ray explained.

  “Like my book.” Sally smiled.

  The book. The Incunabula of Wandering. Ray thought about the strange book he had read many times to Sally. Ray had never understood it before. But now he saw: his father had been a Rambler, and this book, whether a source of inspiration or a philosophical guide for his kind, contained his father’s handwritten notes scrawled in the margins. It could be a teacher, at least until he found out whether his father was still alive.

  “Is it for good luck?” Sally asked, handing the foot back to Ray.

  He held the foot a moment, half expecting it to move as it had when it was the lodestone, or to glow and grow warm. But it did neither of these things. The metal surface was cold. The Gog was dead—and luck had nothing to do with that.

  Ray said, “It will help Father find us.” He slid the rabbit’s foot into the red flannel toby and put it in his pocket.

  * * *

  Conker’s funeral was held the following morning on the western bank of the Mississippi. While no hole was dug, Buck had fashioned a marker out of an iron plate from the damaged caboose of the Ballyhoo. Etched into the metal was the name John Conker Henry.

/>   In the gauzy light of the glade, a large group gathered around Nel, who presided over the ceremony: Ray and Sally. Si and Marisol. The Everett family. Redfeather, recovering from his injury. Buck. The Pirate Queen and Peter Hobnob. The crew of the Snapdragon, all but Mister Lamprey, who stayed with the rescued children on the steamer.

  The ceremony did not lend any sense of relief or peaceful closure. Nel mentioned the Gog briefly; his destruction was the only comfort the mourners could take in the sad loss of their friend.

  “What now, Nel? Will you continue with your medicine show?” the Pirate Queen asked later that day, after the funeral.

  Nel rested his elbows on the rail of the steamer, looking out at the swift currents of the Mississippi River. “I don’t believe I have the appetite for root doctoring anymore, at least not commercially. We’ll need to get these children to homes of one sort or another. Mister Everett left to make arrangements in a town just upriver. I’ve given each of the children a choice, and some are staying on with us.”

  “Why do you want a herd of brats if you’re not doing the medicine show any longer?”

  “I have my reasons,” Nel said.

  The Pirate Queen’s eyes flickered to Ray, who was eavesdropping nearby. “What of him?”

  Nel turned, smiling as he realized Ray had been listening. “It would seem that not an utterance I make misses young Ray’s ears. I believe Ray will have to make up his own mind about where he will go.”

  “You’re welcome on board with us,” the Pirate Queen said to Ray.

  “Thank you, but I have my sister to consider,” he said without hesitation. “I don’t know where Sally and I will wind up, but I don’t think the Snapdragon would be best for her.”

  The Pirate Queen laughed and lit a cigar. “Didn’t think you would. You don’t strike me as one who’s cut out for thieving and pillaging. Just thought I’d offer.” She walked away, chuckling.

  Ray turned to Nel. “I’d like to stay with you, Mister Nel. I know you’re not sure of your own plans, but Sally needs a home. And you’re all the home I’ve got.”