Morgan Nyberg - Since Tomorrow

They shook hands. Frost said “I can see.”

Wing said “I can too. I can see you getting’ pneumonia.”

Like Bailey, Wing had two guards, who nodded greetings to Frost. One of them laid his spear against the wagon and grabbed out some hay and tossed it down for the steer, who nosed it around a little before taking some and chewing it lazily.

Frost said “I can get another poncho. But I know I’ll never find another pair of glasses that can make me see. Now, what on earth are you doing here with your wagon?”

Wing shrugged, looked down and nudged a flake of plastic with a sandal. “I know. We should be home playing parlour games and getting drunk and enjoying the fruits of the harvest. Just like you should. But look at these folks. Damn, Frost, I can’t see half of them survivin’ the winter. So I…”

“You brought them food.”

“We’ve got plenty.”

Frost looked in the wagon. There was about a quarter-load of potatoes. There was more straw for the steer. And there were styrofoam cups. A broken concrete building block. Half of a pair of scissors. The head and neck of a small black plaster swan. A plastic ice cream bucket split down the side. Electrical wiring. Nylon twine. Plastic bags.

Nor far away several people stood watching them, eating potatoes.

Frost said “You came all this way for charity.”

Wing shrugged.

“Through the rain.”

Wing said “It wasn’t rainin’ when we left.” And after a long pause “Also, I guess I wanted to get away.”

Frost waited.

Wing said “One of my men died. Young Fraser. A fever hit him and he went in three days. Had a woman expectin a kid’. I thought I’d feel better here, but…. You lost someone too, I hear.”

“Fire.”

“Fire was famous” said Wing. “She was with you a long time. I’m sorry.”

They watched the steer chewing for a minute. Then Frost nodded for Wing to follow him. He left King sitting loose by the wagon, and he and Wing walked down to the edge of the water, away from the crowd. Frost said “I didn’t come to trade either. These glasses were just luck.” He looked around. Although no one was near he dropped his voice. “I saw Steveston.”

“Steveston? What Steveston? You don’t mean….”

Frost nodded.

Wing said “Noor’s dad? I thought he was dead.”

“We all did. But he’s not. I saw him when I went to Langley’s place. He’s working for Langley. He makes the skag. I managed to talk to him, tried to get him to come home, but he wouldn’t come. I think he’s addicted. Langley pays him with skag, like the other workers.”

“Does Noor know?”

Frost shook his head. “I don’t want her to know. Not unless I can get him back.”

Wing said “Do you think he’s still there?”

“I doubt it. After the harvest Langley sends them away so he doesn’t have to feed them. I saw one of them just now. He stole something and traded it for skag.”

“Did you think Steveston might show up here?”

“I was hoping.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open. And my ears.”

“But don’t say anything. Where do these skaggers stay, any idea?”

“Some of them took over that buildin’ at the Town end of Fundy’s Bridge. One of my boys followed them a couple times. They live well, courtesy of Langley. There are others who hang out around the downtown market. And then there’s the bunch at his place — you saw them.”

“He told me he doesn’t want to stay out at Wesminister anymore. He wants Fundy’s farm”

Wing suddenly looked grim. He spat, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He wants more than Fundy’s farm.”

They watched the water, but soon turned away, and it was as if the river had marked their faces with its single cargo of despair and resignation. Frost shook his head. He said “Megan traded me… You might as well see it.” He still held the magazine page, folded again into a small square. He handed it to Wing and they looked at it together.

Wing said, with a shudder in his voice “Damn, Frost. Why’d you have to show this to me. I’d pretty well forgotten, which is good. God, where is it? It’s Kits Beach, isn’t it? And that’s the West End.”

“And that’s Grouse Mountain.”

“And that’s Mount Seymour. Jesus. There’s snow. Are you going to show this to…?”

“To Will? No. It’s best if he doesn’t see how it was. He has a better chance to be happy if he doesn’t know too much. I’m not even going to show Noor.” Frost folded the sheet. There was a pocket stitched onto his trousers. He stuffed the picture into it. They started back toward the wagon. King stood up and wagged his tail.

And suddenly Frost was running. He ran past Wing’s wagon and headed right into the crowd. Those who saw him coming leapt aside if they could. He managed to dodge almost everyone, but a woman in a poncho made from a real blanket was struck, and those nearby were peppered with her bowlful of overripe blackberries. King was on Frost’s heels, the leash whipping and bouncing behind.

Ahead another man was running. He had a poly kilt that rustled madly as he tried to make it out from under the bridge and into the open. But Frost had started while the man was still standing quietly behind an old woman, while the man was still reaching for the spirit level that she held at her side.

King dashed past Frost and leapt at the man’s back, and the man sprawled forward into mud, still holding the spirit level. While King snarled and roared, Frost drew his sword. He placed a foot on the man’s back and tapped an ear with the point of the sword. The man let his face sink into the mud. Frost said “Settle down” and King was more or less quiet.

The old woman came and took her spirit level. Frost said to her “I could use one of those, but I’ve got nothing to trade. Take it down to Bailey. He’s at the far end.”

There was no muscle on the man’s back. There was yellowish skin and there were ribs. He had hair that looked as if it could be red, but almost all of it had fallen out. The rest fanned out in the mud from a few patches at the top of his head.

Wing was there now with one of his guards, who stood in the rain with his spear ready. Frost stepped back and said “Get up.” King growled as the man stirred. Frost pulled King back by his leash. The man tried to heave himself up but could not. Wing and his guard helped him up. Frost said “Let’s go out where we can talk.” They walked out into the rain, away from onlookers. The man turned unsteadily to face Frost. He was young and would have been handsome if his mud-covered face did not look so much like a skull.

Frost said “What’s your name?”

Understanding the question seemed to take a long time. Then the man blinked, and his eyes brightened slightly. “Gra…” — he cleared his throat — “Granville.”

“Did I see you at Langley’s?”

The man glanced past Frost into the crowd. Frost looked over his shoulder. The tall skagger in the tweed overcoat was watching. His crossbow rested on a shoulder, pointing upward.

Frost said “Don’t worry about him. He’s nothing. Tell me. I’ll pay you good.”

The man nodded.

“You were in the field, harvesting the pods.”

The man nodded again.

“And now he’s let you go because he doesn’t need you anymore. And you’ve got to steal to feed your habit. Just like your friend who stole the hunting knife.”

The man said nothing, but kept glancing toward the skagger. Frost gave Wing a look and Wing motioned for his guard to leave them, and the guard went back to the wagon. Then Frost said “Where’s Steveston? Stevie– where’s Stevie?” The man shrugged and looked down at the mud. “Does he come here? Or is he still at Langley’s? Maybe Langley needs him. Does Langley need him?”