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Dim, half-shuttered lights burned in four of the occupied shacks, but a vivid light shot out from the cracks of the largest. This near-blinding whiteness streaked past broken slats in the old shutters, speared through the weatherworn splits in the walls, and shot out from around the door.
Rector winced. His eyes weren’t ready for the light, not quite yet, but here he was at Harry’s place, and he was almost out of sap. He felt woefully ill-prepared to begin this whole adulthood thing without it, and that meant it was time to beg, borrow, or steal.
Christ knew he didn’t have a dime to call his own.
Steeling himself against the inevitable wash of light, he put one hand on the door and gave it a gentle push. Its hinges let out a small squeak, and the damp-swollen wood scraped against the doorjamb, then scooted inward, revealing a jumble of tall stills, jars, boxes, tubes, and funnels. And light, always the light … so much light that Rector wondered how anyone could see anything at all.
He shielded his eyes and stepped inside, calling out, “Harry? It’s just me. ”
Harry Sharpe, chemist or alchemist or something between the two, was hunched over a table of delicate equipment, measuring spoons, and beakers. He did not immediately look up from his work, but he stopped what he was doing. “Stay where you are, Rector. I won’t have you jostling me now, boy—you hear?”
“Sure, Harry. Whatever you say. ”
He closed the door behind himself and leaned against it, fully prepared to do as he’d been told. Harry was cooking, and cooking was dangerous. One ill-timed interruption or misplaced hand, one extra drop of the wrong ingredient in the wrong decanter, and the resulting explosion could level the old lumber camp like a meteor. Even Rector knew better than to interfere, so he stayed where he was. He watched Harry’s wide back, and the resumed motion of his shoulders, and the back of the man’s salt-and-pepper hair, which had gone flat with perspiration.
“You shouldn’t show up without warning like this. If I hadn’t been cooking, I might’ve had a gun in my hand. ”
“Sorry,” Rector mumbled.
Harry made a finishing gesture—adding a final dose of something sizzling and bleak—and stood up straighter than before, though he did not yet turn around. He watched the chemical reaction before him, waiting to see if anything needed adjustment before deciding all was well.
Still keeping his back to the boy, he said, “I don’t suppose there’s a chance in hell you’re here with a fistful of money, is there?”
Rector shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scratched idly at his elbow. “Well, you see, Harry, it’s been a strange week. ”
“Nothing strange at all about you coming by empty-handed. ”
“Aw, don’t be like that. It’s my birthday. ”
“Birthdays aren’t strange either. ”
“But this is my eighteenth birthday,” he insisted, not sure the approach would work, but not yet ready to abandon it. “I been kicked out of the Home. ”
Harry did not immediately respond. He waited for some faint smoldering sound to level off, then turned his head. A large, multi-lensed set of spectacles was fastened around his face, and each round slip of glass was polarized. The apparatus looked heavy, and indeed, the straps had worn grooves into Harry’s fleshy pink jowls. He pushed the glasses up onto his forehead, then farther up onto his skull. He wiped at one sweaty cheek with the back of his hand.
“That day was bound to come. ”
“Yep. So now I’m ready to—”
Harry interrupted. “You’re a man now, Rector, in every way that counts. And I’ve been treating you like a boy for all this time. ” Finally too annoyed with the spectacles, he pulled them away. The strap snapped off his head with a humid pop. “I haven’t really done you any favors. ”
“You done me plenty of favors, Harry. ”
“Not the good kind. I felt sorry for you, but it wasn’t very helpful. ”
Rector sensed a shift in the conversation and didn’t like it, but he wasn’t sure how to play it. “You’ve helped me out for years, and I appreciate it like a good Christian orphan ought to. Now I’m here to earn a proper living, and get myself a proper job. ”
Harry laughed, maybe at the “Christian” part. “Selling ain’t no trade. And you’ve been using more than you’ve been selling. ”
Rector mustered a smattering of false dignity. “I do not believe that’s a fair assessment. ”
“Goes to show how much you’ve smoked then, don’t it? Look, kid,” he said more kindly, but not by any great measure. “I’ve always let you slide, haven’t I?”
“And that’s my favorite thing about you. ”
“Boys get room to slide, Rector. Men have to make their own way. ”
Rector was being dismissed. He could see it coming, as surely as he’d seen his birthday looming. And now the fateful day had clicked, and here he was, more desperate than he’d realized even five minutes ago for a good, solid dose of his favorite habit.
