The Wolf Tree

by John Claude Bemis

  Ray took the cat bone from the toby and held it up. “They won’t. But I’ll need someone’s clothes. Someone who works in the mill.”

  “There’s extra clothes in our tent,” Gigi said. “Papa and my brothers are all working now. You could borrow them.”

  “Good,” Ray said. “I just have to keep from being noticed until we get to your tent. If something happens to me in there …” He raised his eyebrows, not sure what to tell Marisol and Redfeather to do.

  “Just be safe.” Marisol put her hand on top of Ray’s.

  He nodded and turned to Gigi. “All right, let’s go.”

  Ray followed Gigi down to the town. They snuck between two of the buildings to merge with the crowd moving along the main street. Ray pulled his hat low over his eyes and kept his head down. They reached the gate leading to the mill. Four Bowlers stood guard, lazily watching the people moving in and out.

  Once they were past, Ray beckoned to B’hoy with his thoughts to stay close by. B’hoy scoffed. He had almost been shot once today trying to help him. Ray thanked him for his bravery, and B’hoy called Ray something unpleasant. But Ray soon saw the black shadow of the crow glide down to perch on the fence, turning his head back and forth with annoyance.

  The eerie orange half-light fell over the yard and the tops of tents. Ray and Gigi moved into the crowded lane winding through the tent camp. Many of the workers wore denim smock coats or leather aprons to protect their clothing from the machinery. That’s what he’d have to borrow from Gigi’s tent.

  Ray realized with surprise that a little girl was walking in front of him. He looked around. Many of the workers were children. He asked Gigi about them. “They’re called the ‘wispies,’” Gigi explained. “They’ve got no parents or family watching over them. I’ve seen them getting off the trains. Where they come from, I have no idea.”

  Ray watched a pair of thin boys pass, their ashen faces rawboned, a frail look in their eyes. They walked with the strange affected movements all the people of Omphalosa had. These could have been the Shuckstack kids, Ray thought with a shudder. This must have been where Grevol was taking them. Sally could have been one of these wispies. And if things had worked out differently, Ray might have been one of them too.

  “It’s just up here, ahead a bit further,” Gigi said, pointing.

  A voice boomed, “Boy!” and a hand reached out to clutch Gigi. Ray instinctively swiveled to defend Gigi, but two things stopped him: the brusque way Gigi shook his head at Ray, and the fact that the man was a Bowler.

  Ray turned back with his head ducked to keep walking as if he were not with Gigi. When he got a few steps away, he slipped between a pair of tents to look back. The Bowler wore a neat, dark suit, a black waistcoat, and the distinctive round hat.

  “Mister Muggeridge sent me to find you.” The Bowler nudged Gigi forward. “Get on to his office right away. He’s got a message for you to take.”

  Gigi hustled through the crowds, giving Ray a cautious glance. “Third tent on the left,” Gigi mouthed as he walked past him.

  Ray kept his eyes on his feet until the Bowler had moved on. Ashen-skinned workers parted as the Bowler walked down the lane. Third tent on the left. Ray walked across the lane until he reached the simple canvas tent.

  “Hello,” Ray said. “Anyone in here?” He pushed open the flap and peered inside. There were five cots, a couple of trunks, and a chipped basin with a shaving mirror and a razor. Otherwise the quarters were sparse. Ray opened the lid of a trunk and found a stained smock. He threw it on and took out the cat’s bone. Holding it, he held up the shaving mirror from the basin. The gray face in the mirror was not his, but a young man’s with a long nose and wide-set eyes. Ray guessed it must be one of Gigi’s brothers’. Hopefully they wouldn’t run into each other.

  Clutching the bone, Ray slipped back out onto the lane.

  Two enormous brick factories crowned with smokestacks loomed above smaller wooden offices and storage buildings. Beyond was a long warehouse, with a loading platform for the trains. Hundreds of people moved in, out, and around the buildings. Adopting the stiff, dull gait of the other workers, he went through the wide doors of the first brick factory.

  Inside, the heat blasted him. But worse was the noise. It was unearthly, and Ray had to fight the urge to cover his ears. Whistles shrieked. Vents hissed with steam. Men beat hammers and dragged heavy carts. And beneath the grates, screeches, and clatters bellowed a deep, skull-jarring rumble.

  Ray made his way through the maze of machinery with as much purposefulness as he could show. The walkways were packed with soot-faced men, women, and children of a dozen different nationalities. Ray had to squeeze, duck, and occasionally graze moving machinery and flaming furnaces to let others get by.

  After wandering for a while, Ray was not sure he had investigated the entire building, as each place within seemed like any other. Half the time, he felt lost. This was clearly not where the Machine was being stored. He found an exit and stepped back outside to a corridor between the immense buildings. The cold air felt refreshing after the sweltering factory floor.

  Again Ray walked, mixing in with the crowd of workers between the buildings. A voice behind him caught his attention: “… attacked Gatch in the street earlier. This boy and two Indians …” Instinctively, Ray turned. A woman was talking to a group of other workers. Grateful for the cat’s bone, Ray quickly moved on.

  Ahead, workers on foot stopped as men drove a small train of carts along a track from one building to the next. Loaded with partially constructed pieces of machinery, the carts went through a large doorway into the building on Ray’s right, into a warehouse.

  He reached the doorway and looked inside. A pair of Bowlers had stepped aside for the cart-train, and Ray kept his gaze low and casual. It was a cavernous space, full of echoing clanks and clatters. Workers shouted as they busily moved about. The cart-train reached a point midfloor and began descending down a ramp into a tunnel.

  A tunnel!

  He watched Bowlers from the doorway, waiting for a chance to slip past. One of the Bowlers was saying to the other, “… being that I’m going with Muggeridge.”

  “Where are you going already?” the other agent asked. The men had their backs to Ray and it was hard to hear them over the noise. Ray leaned closer, getting his head far enough around the doorway to listen better.

  The agent shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know. But I’m sure I’ll meet back up with you in Chicago.”

  “I positively can’t get there soon enough,” the other said. “Am I ever ready to go! Just a few more days and then operations will be shut down here and we’ll …” The agent began to turn his head as he spoke, and Ray stepped back quickly away from the doorway.

  As he did, a man accidentally knocked into Ray and he fell to his knees. The bone skittered from his hand and was kicked away by another man’s boot, landing at a woman’s feet. As Ray rose to rush for the bone, the woman picked it up. It was the woman who had been telling the others about the attack on Gatch.

  Her eyes widened as she saw Ray. “That’s him! He’s one of them devils!”

  Heads turned as Ray dashed past the woman. Two men in leather aprons left their wheelbarrow and rushed toward Ray. Ray snatched a set of metal rods from a passing worker and threw them. The approaching men tripped as the rods clattered and rolled under their feet. Pushing through the workers around him, Ray raced for the corner of the warehouse.

  Which way to go—right or left?

  To the left, a swell of workers was waiting as another cart-train moved along the tracks between two of the brick factories. To the right was the loading platform for the trains, including a strange locomotive, something like a stagecoach but with the engine parts of a small train. Ray had no time to wonder about it. He needed a way to escape. There were fewer people to the right, but he knew it was no good. He’d get trapped by the fence.

  Angry voices rose behind him. Ray ran to the left.

  He tumbled i
nto a man, knocking the crate of parts he was carrying. Ray scrambled back to his feet with the mob close behind shouting “Stop him!” and “He’s one of the witches!” Ray dove into the crowd that was waiting for the cart-train.

  “Where you going?” a young man snarled as he grabbed Ray’s arm.

  Ray shoved the man hard in the chest and he toppled into others behind him.

  “Hey!” A beefy man growled and grabbed the young man by the collar. The young man knocked his hands away, and the beefy man slugged him in the chin.

  Pushing and wedging his way to the cart-train, Ray could hear the cries as the chasing mob crushed into the back of the waiting crowd, where more fights soon broke out.

  Ray leaped onto the metal coupling between two of the carts and slipped into the crowd on the far side. The tent encampment was ahead, and beyond that was the gate. Faces around him turned from the angry shouts by the cart-train to look curiously at the running boy. Could he reach the gate before the mob’s call to arms spread through the camp?

  B’hoy!

  The crow was already gliding over the tents, joining Ray. B’hoy could not defend him against so many, but the crow seemed to have another plan in mind. Swooping ahead of Ray, he croaked loudly, parting the crowd as they startled away from the flapping bird.

  Ray followed B’hoy, past the tents, down the lane. The mob was not far behind. The Bowlers guarding the gate turned toward the commotion. Other Bowlers, rifles at their sides, were charging from their positions toward the gate. He was going to be cut off!

  A Bowler raised a hand to halt Ray, a tin whistle shrieking from his lips. Ray ducked beneath the agent’s outstretched hands and rolled into a tumble. He caught the Bowler in his legs, knocking him forward. Ray’s elbows and knees stung, but he continued his roll until he got back to his feet.

  Another Bowler rushed toward him, but Ray was already out the gate and into the street.

  The group of Bowlers descended on the mob. “Back to work! That’s enough!” Whistles blew. Some Bowlers brought the stocks of their rifles down to beat back the rushing workers. Arms outstretched, the Bowlers formed a line and pushed back the mob, stopping their pursuit.

  Jumping and pointing and crushing against the Bowlers, the mob cried: “He’s the one!” “We’ve got to get him!” “Witches brought on this dark!” “You out there, stop that boy!”

  But if anyone in the street understood, they were too surprised to react. Ray launched past the perplexed faces and followed B’hoy far enough away to slip between the buildings and escape into the dark.

  Redfeather was waiting for him in the soddy’s doorway. “Are you okay? We saw you being chased. What happened?”

  “They recognized me.”

  Redfeather frowned. “Not much of a charm.”

  Ray pulled the smock over his head and followed him inside. “Gigi,” Ray said. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a message to deliver.”

  The boy held up a folded piece of paper. “I’m to take this to the telegraph office for Mister Muggeridge.” He extended it slowly toward Ray.

  Ray reached for the letter, but then stopped. “Are you sure?”

  “You can read it,” Gigi said, a hint of anxiety in his eyes. Then he added, “I want to go with you. When you leave, will you take me with you?”

  Ray looked at Redfeather and Marisol. They all pitied the lonely boy—alienated from his family, caught in this terrible place.

  “Of course, we’ll take you.”

  Ray opened the letter. Marisol and Redfeather leaned over his shoulder to read it.

  ON THE SCENT STOP SETTING OUT TOMORROW MORNING STOP LOADING THE STEAMCOACH FOR PURSUIT STOP WILL LOCATE ON THE PLAINS STOP

  They looked at one another. “What’s that mean?” Marisol asked.

  Redfeather added, “And what’s a steamcoach?”

  Ray read it several more times to commit it to memory and then folded the letter, handing it back to Gigi. “You should hurry to deliver this. Thank you.”

  “You won’t leave without me?” Gigi asked from the doorway.

  “No. Be ready tomorrow morning,” Ray answered, and then wrinkled his brow. “I’m so confused by the Darkness. What time is it anyway?”

  Gigi took his watch from his pocket. “Nearly midnight.”

  “Thanks,” Ray said. “We’ll see you in a few hours then.”

  Gigi nodded and ran off.

  Ray settled into a chair as Redfeather took food from the bag Little Grass sent with them.

  “Did you find anything out?” Marisol asked.

  “Chicago,” Ray said. “They’re taking the Machine to Chicago. I heard these Bowlers talking. And there was this tunnel. It was enormous! The Machine’s being built here. It’s working.”

  Redfeather frowned. “Isn’t the Machine in the Gloaming?”

  Marisol puzzled up her brow. “Ray, you said wherever you cross in our world brings you to a specific place in the Gloaming. Why would they take it from the Gloaming and move it?”

  “I suppose,” Ray said, “because the Machine in the Gloaming only makes the Darkness where it’s been placed in our world.”

  “But why Chicago?” Redfeather asked.

  “The Expo,” Marisol answered. “Gigi said there are thousands and thousands of people going there. If the Gog wanted to draw people to his Machine, that would be the best place.”

  “But the Gog’s dead!” Redfeather said.

  Ray exchanged looks with Redfeather and then Marisol.

  “What are we going to do?” Marisol asked.

  “Look, who’s in charge of this mill?” Ray asked.

  “Muggeridge,” Redfeather said.

  Ray nodded. “Well, one of those Bowlers I overheard said he was going with Muggeridge somewhere. I bet it’s on that steamcoach. And if Muggeridge is pursuing something on the plains, then it must be important, right?”

  “We need to go to Chicago,” Marisol said. “We need to stop the Machine!”

  “What happened to going back to Nel?” Redfeather asked with a sneer.

  Marisol frowned at him. “This is too important.”

  “It’ll take a while for them to get the Machine loaded and hauled to Chicago,” Ray said. “We follow Muggeridge for now. He’s going back to Chicago anyway after they find whatever it is they’re after on the plains.”

  “So what do you think they’re after?” Redfeather asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “But we’re going to find out.”

  They each took turns sleeping in the two beds while one kept watch—afraid that the mob would locate them in the soddy. After a few hours, they began gathering their belongings. Ray noticed a glum mood had overtaken Redfeather.

  “You all right?” Ray asked.

  Redfeather looked up from where he sat at the table. “I’m fine.” His fingers twisted at the necklace of Nel’s charms hanging at his chest.

  Ray and Marisol exchanged a glance, then Marisol said, “You’ve hardly said a word all night.”

  Redfeather lowered his hand. “It’s this place.”

  “Omphalosa?” Ray asked.

  “Yeah.” Redfeather shook his head slightly, almost as if shivering. “The Darkness here. The mill. These people. It’s like being a seer and having a premonition of the future. We’re seeing the future. It’s Omphalosa.”

  Ray stood up from where he’d been going through his haversack. “No, it’s not. We’re going to stop the Machine. We’re going to—”

  “Don’t you see, Ray,” Redfeather said. “Even if we do, the world is changing. The old ways are gone. Not just for the tribes of the Indian Territory, but the ways of the Ramblers and Mother Salagi’s kind. They’re dying. They’ll be lost.” He waved a hand out at the dark doorway. “The world is moving on, and they … we have no place in it.”

  “What about what Water Spider said?” Marisol asked. “The Wolf Tree connects us—”

  “The Wolf Tree!” Redfeather choked and squeezed his eyes ti
ght. “Don’t you see, the Wolf Tree is gone.”

  Marisol drew in a sharp breath, and Ray watched Redfeather as he struggled to continue.

  “I realize that now,” Redfeather whispered. “After seeing Omphalosa I understand that the Wolf Tree will never return. Water Spider … he was wrong. We’ll never find it.”

  Ray scowled and moved closer to Redfeather. “Listen, we don’t know what lies ahead. But we’re going to do whatever we can to destroy the Machine.”

  “We don’t have the means to destroy the Machine,” Redfeather said.

  “But we can stop them,” Marisol said. “Whatever that steamcoach is after, we’ve got to get to it first. It might be the key to stopping the Darkness.”

  B’hoy cawed from the windmill and they turned to look out the door. Gigi was panting up the hill, carrying a small suitcase.

  Ray held out a hand and helped Redfeather to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  They untied the horses and led them out around Omphalosa until they reached the hills on the far side of the mill.

  “Where’s this steamcoach?” Redfeather asked, peering down at the backside of the warehouse. Workers were busy on the other end of the mill’s grounds, but otherwise only a few agents stood guard at the back gate.

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “Think we’re too late?”

  Gigi snapped open the watch. “It’s only a little after five.”

  “Let’s keep waiting,” Redfeather said, crouching on the ground to watch. Gigi sat in the dry grass, double-checking his bag.

  Marisol came over between Ray and Redfeather. She gave Gigi a glance and then whispered, “I’ve just thought of something.”

  “What’s that?” Ray asked.

  “Remember in Missouri? We saw all those roadside graves.”

  “People dying from the Darkness, like Mister Bradshaw.” Ray nodded.

  “Right, but have you seen any graves here?”

  “We saw those coffins in town,” Redfeather said.

  “Coffins, sure. But if the Darkness kills people here, then wouldn’t there be lots of sick and dying people in Omphalosa? I haven’t seen a single person even coughing.”