“A raccoon,” said Aunt Germaine.
“Or something.”
“It must have been quite something. You do not want to talk about the things that happened in there, do you?”
“We are talking about them.”
“No we are not,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Not truly. But that is fine, Jason. It was an awful night. You will speak of it in time.”
There was a rattling behind them then as a door opened. Sam Green walked in, hatless but well-dressed. Aunt Germaine pursed her lips and looked at her hands. Jason nodded back hello when Sam Green waved.
“Good morning,” he said. “Trust everything went well at the hospital?”
Jason thought about speaking, but before he could, Aunt Germaine spoke up.
“Thank you, yes, Mr. Green,” she said. “Fine.”
“Fine,” he said, and sat down at a table near the door, a respectful distance from the two of them. “Glad to hear it, Mrs. Frost. You able to start your work, determining all our fitness and whatnot?”
“Not yet,” said Aunt Germaine. “Thank you.”
Green’s moustache spread like a fan over his smile.
“And you, Mr. Thistledown? You ready to assist?”
Jason nodded.
“Well today looks like a fine one for it.”
“Yes,” said Aunt Germaine. “Thank you.”
Sam Green nodded, reached into his coat and pulled out a little black book, stuck his nose in it to signal the conversation was done—or he was finished trying to start it. He took out a pencil and began underlining. At length, Aunt Germaine leaned forward.
“You saw something in there other than a raccoon,” she said. “You did. Didn’t you?”
Jason swallowed. “I—guess I did,” he said.
“It is important that you tell,” she said. “Not anyone—” she glanced over to Sam Green, who was now scribbling something on a piece of paper he’d used to mark his place “—but me.”
“You.”
“You should tell me, so I can protect you.”
And as she looked at him in that way, her eyes wide and generous, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, Jason almost did tell her everything. She was family, after all, and if you could not trust family with your secrets then who could you trust? And had she not given him that scalpel—that little knife that had saved his life as far as he knew, in the quarantine?
But as he tried to put it into a sentence, he found that he couldn’t.
“Just don’t let him put me back in that quarantine,” he finally said.
Aunt Germaine nodded. “I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t we go explore a bit? My work can wait a few more hours. Why not see what we can find in this little town—well away from that dreadful quarantine.”
“All right,” said Jason. “That sounds fine to me.”
They got up to leave, and as they did, Sam Green stood as well.
“Ma’am,” he said as she stepped through the door to the street. As Jason passed, Sam Green was more demonstrative: he clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand. “Pleasure to see you once more, young Thistledown. Enjoy your tour of the town.”
Jason swallowed as he let go of Sam Green’s hand, did his best to avoid making a face.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, meeting the older man’s eye.
“Hurry along, Nephew,” called Aunt Germaine from the street. He did. It was only at the end of the block, as Germaine rooted in her handbag for a fan, that he opened his hand and looked at the scrap of paper that Sam Green had left him there.
BE AT NORTH DOOR OF SAWMILL AT AFT SHIFT CHANGE, it read.
And underneath, in big letters underlined twice:
13 - The Mercy of Sam Green
The sawmill’s north door was at the edge of a vast and shadowed lumber yard—a whole town made of stacks of square-cut timber, whose avenues and alleyways were choked in sawdust so thick it might have fallen in a storm. Jason Thistledown waded along its main thoroughfare as the hour neared four o’clock. A bell was ringing to signal the shift change, and because of this he was not alone on his march. Men were walking to and from their work. A couple of them made eye contact with Jason but just one of them, a heavy bald man whose beard dangled well past his neck, spoke to him, from across the crude avenue.
“Hey fellow,” he called, and beckoned him. Jason cringed inside. He was sure he was going to be found out, told to scat and then he would never learn what Sam Green wanted with him and not Aunty. But there was nothing for it, so over he went.
The man looked at him. “You new here, heh?”
“Yes sir,” said Jason. “Just came in yesterday, sir.”
“You name?” The man had a strange way of talking; like his tongue was stuck in his mouth sideways.
“Name!” he repeated.
“Jason,” Jason said.
“Nowak.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Is good place in Eliada,” said Nowak. “Godly. You like.”
And then he slapped Jason on the back and laughed deeply, and gave him a push forward hard enough to make Jason stumble.
“Thank you, sir,” Jason said, and waved as he stepped away from Nowak. Jason swore to himself. Telling his name to a strange fellow on his way to a secret meeting was probably a bad mistake. But it too was done.
Soon enough, they came upon the sawmill itself, and met with another group of men who were coming out. In this chaos, Jason stepped to one side, into a little alleyway between two long stacks of lumber. MEET AT THE NORTH DOOR, the note had said. AT, it read. Not INSIDE it.
Jason settled into shadow as the lumber yard cleared out, and waited. He’d positioned himself to have a view of the door without being too conspicuous—or worse, seeming like he was hiding.
He did not wait there long. The Pinkerton man showed up only a moment after the whine of the saw blade started up, and just preceding the first plume of sawdust that flew out a high opening. He was wearing his hat now, but no coat. His suspenders were showing atop a dusty white shirt. The revolver holstered at his hip was in plain sight.
He came out of the same door they were to meet by, and without so much as looking left or right ambled over to the spot where Jason figured he’d hidden himself so well.
“Aunty back there anywhere?” he asked, and when Jason shook his head he nodded. “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing,” said Jason. “I left her a-napping back at the hospital.”
“Good. Anyone else see you come? I should have told you the same about Dr. Bergstrom and other folk too, but by the time I’d thought of it you’d left.”
“I didn’t tell Bergstrom. No one else either.”
“Good.” Sam Green stepped around Jason and set his behind against the lumber. “I thought you might have good instinct. Turns out I was right.”
“I don’t trust Dr. Bergstrom,” said Jason. “He locked me up in the quarantine with some kind of Devil, left me to—”
Sam Green raised his hand. “Hold on,” he said. “You don’t trust Dr. Bergstrom and that’s smart thinking. Why’n hell do you trust me?”
Jason looked at him. “Because—”
“Because I invited you here to meet me by yourself, and not tell anybody?” Sam Green shook his head. “Boy, I wanted to, I could kill you right now and probably get away with it. You just told me nobody knew you came here, then started spilling everything after I buttered you up about your good instincts.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” Sam Green grabbed Jason’s shoulder and leaned close. “You’re in some trouble, Jason Thistledown. You’re right Doc Bergstrom locked you up in the quarantine with something else—maybe a Devil, maybe a freak of nature… but for certain something that has no business being there. He did that last night and he put you at grave risk, son. What do you think he’s going to do tonight?”