Trail of Bones (17 page)

“I think after tonight, zat doorway ees
going to be closed.”

“What? What doorway?” I shout.

He has the last of the rope uncoiled from
the post.

“Stay there and do not move under the
severest penalty of martial law!” the closest soldier yells.

“I told Jefferson I would do this on my own.
Letting you go was my idea,” Sally whispers. “I thought we could
make it.”

Boom!

Another firework.

Boom!

More thunder. But none of it distracts the
soldiers this time.

Wait.

I might just be wrong about that.

That’s not lightning. Or fireworks.

Zut alors!

The boatman has passed out. The soldiers
have stopped clopping and are pointing their guns. Because those
last two “booms” didn’t just make noise and light.

They produced a boy…

…and a lizard man.

Chapter Eighteen

Eli: Departure

February 1805

Clyne’s locked up in a cage, and I’m
celebrating in the Mandan village. Men dance around searing hot
fires, wearing shaggy buffalo skins or hollowed out buffalo heads
that cover their faces like big trick-or-treat masks.

But they’re not dancing outside on a
freezing cold night because they caught my friend. The dance is a
buffalo-calling ritual, to tell the herds that it’s time to start
appearing again. I guess the winter meat supply is running low for
the Indians. I know it’s running low in the fort.

The dance is also the tribe’s way of getting
ready for spring. It reminds everyone that winter will eventually
pass and it will be warm again. That’s what North Wind Comes told
me, the last time we talked.

When spring comes, I’m supposed to go
downriver with Clyne and all the other “specimens” that Clark and
Lewis are planning to ship back to St. Louis and, eventually, to
Mr. Thomas Jefferson.

Clyne is the biggest specimen of all, of
course. The plan is for him to spend the rest of the winter locked
up, until we go. He’ll be locked up while we’re traveling and
probably after that, too. Lewis is also sending a couple of the men
back as guards, to make sure nothing happens to the shipment.

Until then, Clyne is supposed to stay inside
his tiny wooden cage, right outside Fort Mandan, on the Corps of
Discovery’s side of the river.

He was out hunting with the wolves the day
we found him.

“Hello Clyne. How have you been?”

“Jabberstuck, but still inquisitive, and
mostly well-hosted. There are things we need to speak of, though. A
good time to meet, friend Eli!”

He might have talked more except that he was
surrounded by spears and arrows and people who wanted to kill him.
Especially LeBorgne. “You! You are the one who drove Crow’s Eye
away!” The man stood up and pointed to Clyne. “Kill this spirit!
Kill him now!”

I stood in front of my friend, ready to
protect him.

At that moment, I saw North Wind Comes. He
jumped off his horse and ran toward me. You could see the breath
leave his mouth and turn to icy steam as he moved.

“No, no! Do not listen to LeBorgne! Do
nothing to the lizard man! You will bring terrible medicine on all
of us if you do!”

The hunting party stood still a moment,
looking at North Wind, at LeBorgne, at me, a little afraid of
Clyne, and unsure what to do next.

Then we heard the crying.

One wolf stood over another, giving a long,
mournful wail. There was an arrow sticking from the dead one’s
neck.

North Wind walked over to them. “Silver
Throat. Forgive us for doing this to your daughter.” Then he turned
to face the men again. “How stupid to kill a wolf for no good
reason. Who did this?” But nobody said anything.

That seemed to be enough killing for one
day, though. They decided to capture Clyne instead, and bring him
back here. Where he remains in his cage.

But I don’t think Clyne can last that long
in such a tiny, enclosed space.

I wonder if he can see these bonfires from
where he is? The flames are pretty bright. I don’t know if it’s the
heat from the fire, but my lingo-spot seems to be itching like
crazy. And I’m distracted, thinking of home, of Dad, and of Mom,
wherever she is.

And Thea.

I try to let the music fill me for a couple
of minutes, to slow down the swirl of thoughts in my head. There’s
drumming from the Mandans, fiddle music from Cruzatte, and lots of
dancing around the flames, not only to call the buffalo, but also
to celebrate the recent successful birth of Sacagawea’s baby
boy.

His name is Pomp. Or at least his nickname.
I think his real name is something pretty fancy, like John the
Baptist. Or I guess the French version, which I think is
Jean-Baptiste. Clark really likes the baby. Pomp was a name he came
up with. And to everyone’s surprise, Lewis doesn’t seem to mind
him, either. He even likes holding him.

Which is good, because Lewis was the very
first person in the world to hold him. When we were out chasing
Clyne, he found some powdered snake rattle in the fort’s supplies.
He gave it to Sacagawea, and it worked.

They didn’t need dinosaur skin after all,
and Pomp was born before we got back.

“Thinking about your lizard friend again?” I
didn’t even hear Lewis come up. He’s holding a cup in his hand.
“Some brandy? We’re celebrating tonight. And hoping, eventually, to
get fed.”

“No thanks.”

Lewis shrugs and takes a sip.

“We’ll be leaving here, soon enough, and
proceeding on. It’s too bad you won’t be joining us.”

“I’ll miss you, Captain. I’ll miss
everybody. They don’t —” I search for the right words. When I was a
kid, I didn’t worry about the right words so much. “They don’t have
many adventures like this left, where I come from. Not real
ones.”

“Where is it that you come from, lad? You’ve
never really said.”

“Like I said… the territories.”

Lewis listens to Cruzatte’s fiddling a
couple more minutes, looking thoughtful.

“How is it, young squire, you came to be so
expert in the ways of this lizard man? I didn’t even believe the
stories before. I thought Jefferson needed you out of his hair. Yet
the beast is real, and you came to know him even before we arrived
here. Do creatures like him live in your ‘territories,’ too?”

“I’ve… been on other expeditions with him,”
I say.

“And if I asked you what expeditions those
were, I’d surmise you wouldn’t answer.”

“That’s right.”

“Presumably for my own protection.”

“Yes.”

There is a long silence between us then. The
music and drumming don’t fill it. Both our minds were
elsewhere.

“There is much we do not know, Master
Sands.”

I nod in the dark, even though he can barely
see me.

“Perhaps, there is much we should not
know.”

“I’m… I’m trying to get that part figured
out, Captain.”

“Like the president, and his
incognitum
.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are, all of us, always going about
trying to name everything, trying to quantify it and understand it.
I’m beginning to wonder if that’s always the best idea.”

“I still don’t know what you’re getting
at.”

“I’m wondering what will happen to your
lizard man, your
incognitum
, once you and he are returned to
Washington. You realize he will never be allowed to live freely,
regardless of what or who he is?”

“I realize that, sir.”

“I’ve seen you actually talking to him, when
you thought no one was looking.”

“Yes.”

“Do you consider a caged specimen like that…
a friend?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

The drums are getting faster, and Cruzatte
tries to keep up on his fiddle. I’m stomping my feet on the ground,
staying warm.

“This journey is teaching me about an
otherness to things, Master Sands.”

“I’m still not sure what you mean,
Captain.”

“An
otherness
. There is so much that
exists outside ourselves, so much beyond our own experiences or
viewpoints…so much
life
. It’s as if our very bodies, as if
every
thing
, were filled with an unknowable essence, an
energy, buzzing all the time, like swarms of bees on the prairies
we’ve just crossed, crashing against every other bit of energy in
the universe, all making an incoherent whole. Sometimes all of
existence overwhelms me, Master Sands.”

I’m not sure, but he may have accidentally
described the idea behind the reverse positron time-charge that my
parents were working on.

“I’ve been overwhelmed a lot lately, too,
sir.”

“And sometimes I wonder if Captain Clark and
myself are responsible for more than we realize. Like the very
course of the future itself.” He takes another sip from his cup.
“For example, what will every one think of their world once I send
the lizard man back with you? Will they feel as safe as they once
did?” He doesn’t have an answer for himself. “You appear restless,
young squire.”

“I am, sir. I’m worried about the lizard
man, too.”

I stomp some more for my toes’ benefit, and
listen to Pierre start up another fiddle tune. Some barking joins
the music. “Ah,” Lewis says. “Seaman is in a festive mood tonight,
too. He’s glad to be out of the fort, here with us, on this side of
the river.” There’s another pause. “But perhaps you’re thinking of
going the other way, back to the fort, to see your serpentine
friend.” He sloshes the liquid around in his cup, like he’s
suddenly really interested in it. “While the rest of us are
distracted here?”

What does he mean? Does he suspect
something? “He’s going crazy in that cage, sir. It’s not good for
his spirit.”

“He’s being guarded, you know.”

“I know.”

It seemed like Captain Lewis was trying to
read my expression in the dark.

“These are all good men on this expedition,
Master Sands. All good men. My wish for them is that none of them
is harmed, in any way.”

“That’s a good wish, sir.”

“I suppose that since we’ve been sent out to
find so many things — new Indian tribes, water passages to the sea,
tribes of giants — that it is unlikely we will find
all
of
them.”

“Probably not, Captain.”

“Some of the things Jefferson expected us to
come back with…may elude us, in the end.”

“Yes.” I think I’m getting what he’s telling
me. But I can’t be sure.

“And perhaps, if we’re not meant to know
everything just yet about the mysteries of our lives and our times
and our land… perhaps that’s just as well. Perhaps that will leave
room for other adventures later. Even in the territories you come
from.”

I nod. Of course, in the dark, I don’t know
if he sees me agreeing with him or not.

“All of which is a terrible thing for an
expedition leader to say. So I expect I shall recant all this in
the morning. But for now…” He finishes what’s in his cup, then
turns back to me. “But for now… Godspeed, young squire.”

“Yes. Thank you, Captain Lewis.”

“So you’re walking back over the river
now?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I believe I shall be going back to the
fire. I’m not always one for company, but tonight seems like a good
night for it. Oh— take this.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls
out something wrapped in a heavy kind of cloth. He hands it to me.
It’s sort of slushy, like it’s almost frozen. “What is it,
sir?”

“A couple of servings of the portable soup I
made. The paste. Wrapped well in oilskin. You need only add boiling
water to it. In case you get hungry. Tonight, perhaps.”

I take it and put it deep inside my coat.
“Thank you, sir.”

“You are welcome, young squire. And I will
say it again: Godspeed.”

And with the slightest tip of his hat, he
walks away.

I wrap my buckskin jacket tight around me,
put the soup packet between layers of clothes — though I’d like to
avoid having to eat any of it if I can — and pull my floppy hat
down as low as possible without blinding myself. I head out across
the ice, back toward Fort Mandan. Back toward Clyne.

Using what moonlight there is, I walk
carefully over the frozen river, long slow steps, careful not to
land too hard, in case I hit a patch of thin ice.

Though there hasn’t been much thin ice this
winter.

I see a little flicker of firelight on the
other side. Whoever had pulled guard duty at Clyne’s cage was
trying to stay warm, too.

I use the flames as a beacon, a kind of
lighthouse, and keep walking toward them. I’m almost at the other
side, ready to step up on the bank, when I hear a noise ahead of
me. You can hear the whispery crunches on the snow ahead.
Something’s there, ahead of me. Waiting on the bank.

Something like a large dog. Seaman?

But it can’t be. Seaman’s on the village
side of the river now.

And even in the little moonlight I have, I
can tell. It’s a wolf. Sitting there. Waiting.

Right according to plan.

Chapter Nineteen

Clyne: Reaction

February 1805

Evidently nothing went quite the way Eli had
planned.

Being the true friend he is, he wanted to
release me from the wooden cage, where once again I was to be
specimen-probed.

Eli had arranged with North Wind to send the
wolf leader, Silver Throat, to the fortification of the explorers,
Clark and Lewis. She was going to bring the survivors of her pack
and scare off the guards. This way, they guards would have a
legitimate reason for leaving their posts and, perhaps would not be
whipped, as was the custom, for deserting them.

Such harsh penalties! Do mammals not take
time to note the fragrance of their orange-graced world? If they
did, it seems the consequences for small transgressions would
necessarily be reduced.