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“Hey, you said you had a plan,” called Apollo.
“I do,” I cried, and pulled a knife from my bandolier. Heaven knew if it would work. I freed the remains of Ceecee and hauled him erect with an arm around his chest. I leaned the slight man against me as if he stood slumped and defeated, yet alive. His jacket was stiff with blood, and my skin crawled, but I dragged him away from our wagon, and the
others backed up with me.
A dozen ruffians, rogues, and tramps charged around the side of our wagon, Mink protected in their middle. Among the men were Billy Sweet and Bonfiglio, a dirty bandage around his head.
I raised the knife to the throat of the corpse. “Hold your horses if you want your cat’s-paw alive,” I called. I hoped to God it remained dark enough that they wouldn’t see he was dead already.
“Whoa, boys,” squeaked Mink, raising his skull-topped cane. “We got some negotiating to do.” The rabble halted and glanced at one another out of the corners of slit eyes like weasels straining on frayed tethers. Mink glared at me. “What do you want, Dandy?”
“Send those men back to town,” I said, “or it’s the worse for Ceecee.” Surely someone from the train would intervene now and we’d be saved. I’d worry about explaining Ceecee later.
An evil smile slid across the skeleton showman’s face. “Well, do your worst, knife boy. Slit his throat in front of God and everybody. Yiss, do.”
My mouth fell open before I could help myself, and he cackled.
Bonfiglio sneered, but some of the riffraff seemed as disturbed as I. Mink would sacrifice his pawns without blinking. What made me think I could bargain? At least I may have bought some time for the children and Miss Lightfoot, but what of us?
The engineer gave two long blasts on the train whistle to tell the brakeman to release the brakes. The sound startled me and I tottered a few steps back. My movement caused Ceecee’s head to loll, which bared his throat and, with it, the blackened hole that my knife had made.
“He’s already dead,” cried Billy Sweet. “The varmint done murdered him.”
My stomach lurched and I choked back vomit. I was found out.
The band of roughs and tramps surged forward as I futilely waved my knife at them and clutched the corpse to me like a shield.
“Find the children,” ordered Mink.
They had no need to look, for the children and Miss Lightfoot swarmed back through the hedge, wielding sticks and branches, and whooping war cries. My heart sank. They’d given away their chance of escape.
“Go back!” I screamed in frustration. “Please, go back!”
But what a troupe they were—a lumbering bear girl, a piebald boy, a tiny balloon-headed child with barely a twig to save her, and a frog boy who popped his eyes to scare the enemy. They resembled a band of militant elves and fairies in the misty dawn, and I couldn’t help but be proud of them. The thugs hesitated, perhaps at the sight of such odd children, or maybe they thought that someone on board the train would care.
On that count they were wrong. With a whoosh of steam and a squeal of wheels, the train inched forward. We were abandoned on the side of the tracks like refuse.
“Grab them!” Mink commanded. “Get those brats to the wagons.”
Finally the villains moved.
Bonfiglio came at me with a meaty fist raised. I broke into a sweat. My arm ached from holding the cadaver; the hand that held my weapon was cramped. Could I use a knife on another man? I remembered the sick thud of blade into flesh, and I shuddered. I could stand the waxy, cold touch of the corpse no more. I flung Ceecee at Bonfiglio, and the big man yelped, cast the corpse aside, and thrashed his arms in the air. I thought I had scared him, until I heard growls. Mr. Bopp had his teeth sunk into the man’s leg, his iron jaws locked. Bonfiglio staggered away from me, trying to kick Mr. Bopp off.
I caught a glimpse of Mr. Ginger, who looked panicked as he fought off two men with slashes of his buggy whip. Then he snatched off his hat, and the second Mr. Ginger took his assailants by surprise. While they stood there dumbfounded, Miss Lightfoot sneaked up behind them and swung a hefty branch into their heads with a quick one-two. The nearer of them fell, stunned, the other ducked and ran away. As more men took their place, Miss Lightfoot and Mr. Ginger stood back-to-back like warriors of old, jabbing and slashing to keep the enemy at bay.
As I moved to help them, I saw Tauseret follow Miss Lightfoot’s lead and give Bonfiglio a few whacks to the brow with the spar from Earle’s wagon. Mr. Bopp curled himself around the man’s ankles, and Bonfiglio tumbled to the ground like Jack’s giant. Tauseret bared her teeth in a most terrifying grin, which made me thankful she loved me. Bonfiglio clambered to his feet and stumbled away. Perhaps he hoped to dislodge the caterpillar man, but Mr. Bopp bumped behind him, fully attached to his victim’s calf by the strength of his jaws— until Bonfiglio pitched headfirst into a drainage ditch in the hedges. Then Mr. Bopp let go and tumbled free, laughing.
I ran to Tauseret and grabbed her hand. “Jump on one of the couplings between the carriages,” I ordered. “Ride the train out of here.”
“Never!” she proclaimed. “I will never leave you, now I have found you again.”
I felt helpless to protect her. “Please, go.”
“And leave children to fight alone?” she argued.
The children ran figure eights with five or six ruffians behind them. Bertha with her queer gait raced as fast on all fours as any man upright. The children lashed at the men’s knees with sticks when they came close, and the men ran into one another with increasing frequency. Apollo joined the fray with his length of wood, barking and growling like a dog of war as he thrust with his spar; Moses found some barbwire for a whip. The men uttered oaths most unsuitable for children’s ears, and the children hurled back invectives twice as bad.
A big fellow cut Minnie off from the others like a wolf cuts a lamb from the flock. Tauseret cried out and ran to help.
