Jeff Brackett - Half Past Midnight

“Whoa!” He immediately began strapping the left sheath on his forearm.

“Zach, what do you say?”

The boy never even paused. “Thanks, Mr. Travis. This is wicked cool!”

Travis smiled. “Yer welcome. ’Course it was yer daddy what made them knives fer ya.”

Zach grinned at me. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome. But I need you to listen to me a second.” He stopped and turned his attention to me. “You leave those blades in their sheaths while we’re at market. You only take them out when you’re completely alone and practicing, or if Megan or I are teaching you. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“All right. And you know what happens if you disobey?”

“You’ll spank me?”

“ And you’ll lose the knives. Those aren’t kid’s toys. You can’t treat them like it.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

I held his eye for a minute to make sure he understood how serious I was, then turned back to Travis and winked. He stifled a smile. “I’ll wrap Megan’s set in with the rest of the stuff.”

“Thanks. So, you want to see what I brought you?” I pushed the bundle of tanned goatskins across the counter, then started rummaging through the leather goods Travis had made. There were three leather aprons with various pouches and loops, designed for working the forges, and another pair of throwing knives in arm sheaths for Megan.

Travis ran his hands over the cured goat skins. “Kelley tanned ’em?”

“He did.”

Travis harrumphed. “Man does good work.”

“Yep. He doesn’t make crap, either.” I unrolled a sewn cloth bundle on the counter. “And here are the tools you wanted.” I laid out several punches of various sizes, a half-moon shaped blade, and two small curved knives made to his specifications for working leather. He turned to me grinning from ear to ear.

“Lordy, lordy. These look like they’ll fit th’ bill jus’ fine.” At that moment, I was struck by how much the leatherworker’s expression resembled Zachary’s from just a few minutes earlier. “You ain’t got no idea how much easier you jus’ made my work.”

“Glad to hear it. So we’re square?”

“Ah believe so.” He stuck out his hand, and we closed the transaction with a handshake.

“Good. Then we’ll see you next time we’re in town. I know Ken will probably want a pair of boots like these when he sees mine.”

“Well, send ’im on over, an’ I’ll give ’im a good deal.”

“I’ll do that.” I saw Zachary trying to strap the right-hand sheath on his arm. “Here, Zach.” I helped him lock it in place. “Now, let’s go. There’s more to do.”

The next few stops were pretty straightforward. At the first, I traded a pair of razor-sharp eight-inch combat knives with staghorn handles for four automobile leaf springs and made arrangements to pick them up on my way out. Each spring was nearly four feet long, and they would be too heavy to lug around the market. At the second stop, a meat cleaver got me two solid walnut table legs. I figured each leg would yield enough wood to make at least five or six knife handles, maybe more if I could split them straight enough. Without a power saw, that was never guaranteed.

Finally, we got to Sarah’s shop. She greeted me as we walked in. “Heya, Sensei, what can I do for you?”

Sarah was another one of my students. A tiny slip of a girl, she moved like a tiger on amphetamines in a fight. She was also head of the scavenging committee and, as such, was often able to find items that others couldn’t.

“Debra wanted me to see if you have any more of that condensed milk.”

“Yessiree. I have three cans left. Four, if you don’t mind going past the expiration date.”

“How far past?”

She pulled the fourth can out and checked the label. “What is this, March?”

“April.”

She thought for a second. “Looks like four months over then. You feeling lucky?”

“What do you want for them?”

“What do you have?”

“Need any nails?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, no use for them.”

“Goat jerky?”

“No thanks.”

I opened my backpack and dug through it, looking for something she might have use for.

“What about that?” I looked up to find her pointing at the PRD dangling from my neck.

“The radiation detector?”

“Yeah. I could use something like that.”

“I don’t know, Sarah. I only have a few left.” That was true enough. Between the ones I’d given Ken, Cindy, Amber, and the trucking crews, plus the ones I’d already bartered away, I only had six left. Those last six were still in the wrappers, though, and they weren’t doing anyone any good there. “All right, but you’re going to have to sweeten the deal for one of these.”

I got the four cans of condensed milk, as well as two bags of macaroni, a can of aerosol cheese, three cans of corn, a jar of local honey, and a hydrometer. Megan wandered in while we were dickering and helped me load the items in my backpack.

“Dad? This one’s swollen.”

Sure enough, the top of the can bulged outward with the pressure of growing bacteria. Obviously embarrassed, Sarah grabbed the corn from Megan. “Shit. Sorry about that. I try to check them all before I bring them in. That one must’ve gotten by me.” She grabbed another one from the shelf. “Here you go.”

“No harm done.” I handed her my PRD. “Wear it in good health.”

Slipping it over her head, the girl nodded. “That’s the idea.” She stuck out her hand. “Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

I handed the backpack to Megan, and she “whuffed” as she slid it over her shoulder. I slung the other bundles over one shoulder and hefted the table legs. “All right, guys, one more stop and we can head back.”

Zachary and Megan both grinned. We were all looking forward to the next stop. We tromped back down the street, making our way to a quiet little side alley, then knocked on the door of a house on the outskirts of the market.

Our knocking set off the dog alarm, and loud barking underscored our arrival. From further back in the house came a sharp command, “Blackie, Cricket-quiet!” Several seconds later, the front door opened, and an elderly woman squinted out at us. She smiled in recognition. “Hello, Leeland. Hi, Megan, Zachary. Ain’t you two growin’ up!”

The kids returned the smile and replied in unison. “Hi, Miss Phillips.”

By this time, the dogs had also recognized us, and the barking gave way to wagging tails and whining. Judith Phillips pushed open the screen door and stepped back in invitation. “Well, don’t just stand out there in the heat. Come on in and sit a spell.”

We slipped past her and into the darker confines of her home. All the windows were open, but the temperature inside was only a little cooler than out.

“Sorry, Judith, but we can’t stay. I have some goods I need to pick up on the way out and, if we don’t get back pretty soon, Debra’s gonna wonder what we’re up to.”

When I saw the disappointment written briefly on her face, I felt more than a small twinge of guilt. But she covered it gracefully with a smile and ruffled Zachary’s hair. “Well, then, let’s head out back and look at some puppies.”

Both of the kids scrambled for the back door. Seconds after the door opened, I heard excited barking, the yipping of puppies, and the giggles of a happy ten-year-old. I smiled and offered my arm to Judith. “Shall we?”

She took my arm, and I paced myself to her gait as we walked through her den to follow the kids. Judith was a sweet old lady, a bit too frail to walk very far, and always seemed so lonely. She was in her late seventies, and her health was questionable at best. I had met her three months ago when I’d been asking around for some kind of dog to help manage the goats. Word of mouth led me to her door, and her Catahoulas.