In this chapter we meet old enemies and new troubles.
The man waited for him directly at the entrance of the fair ground. His grin would have made the wolves run for the hills. But Galas own smile was a sight to see as well.
Gala wondered why Murphy had shown up himself, but got his answered the second Murphy opened his mouth:" visiting friends?"
Galas smile got wider.
He tried to shoulder past Murphy but the man murmured:" it's a pity to lose friends."
Gala made the mistake of hesitating only for a moment.
A content look unravelled over Murphy's face: "Friends.", he made the last syllable pop.
Gala slapped him against the Brick wall ready to follow up with his fist when Murphy said: "you kill me. You kill him."
Gala stopped. His fist raised his blood boiling, calculation how much Murphy could really know. The odds didn't come out in Galas favour:" What do you want?"
"My Lieutenant. But, alas, someone,", and now his voice grew louder with every word:" has beaten him TO DEATH."
´How would you know´, thought Gala. It wasn't like he had left the body to be found.
"But I know how you could help me with a little compensation."
Gala waited.
Murphys spoke as if they were strolling on a sunday afternoon:" I have a little money set on price fights. The thing is, the bastard who should fight them… got lost."
Galas fist broke his nose. Murphy wailed clutching his face.
"I´m done.", growled Gala through the howling.
Murphy spit, held himself up against the wall and looked back up. The only thing Gala had achieved was to colour his grin red:" Still got it, huh, my little savage."
Galas fist raised itself, Murphy righted himself and. stepped. closer.
His voice became a whisper and Gala could smell the blood on his breath: "Think, my favourite monstrosity. I have a couple of very reliable men in this freak show. Your little friend lives as long as you are a good beast. If you try to get him out, he is dead. If you warn him, he is dead. If you tell your little shadow friend, he is dead. We might get thorough and kill her too."
Murphy´s face was close enough to feel his hair strands caress over Galas cheek. Panting Gala stood stock still, waiting for the moment he felt enough in control to move without fearing to kill the man before him.
Murphy waited. He knew what Gala was fighting for. Ha had seen it often enough, when he sent him out to get someone. Gala would win the fight, that was never the issue. The problem had been to drill him enough to stop on command. That had been a sight to see. Just turning up with him had made one of Kilks Gang members use control over his bladder.
Gala finally let his arm sink and Murphy had his answer.
"Tomorrow evening. Lavender Yard. Dusk.", Murphy petted Galas cheek, his smile got soft and he added:" Don't make me gut him."
Gala waited till Murphy was out of sight before he smashed his fist into the stone wall.
The gleaming agony wasn't enough to ground him.
He felt the force of the encounter press on to him, making his ears ring.
He couldn't go to Dunce like that, even through the fever, these blue eyes would look right into his soul. Galas throat filled with dread thinking what he may find there.
So, he turned around. Didn't plan his steps. Just stayed in motion.
He tried not to think. Not to let the need for blood win. The animal, that had kept him alive in the back alleys and the prison cells howled. Snarling and craving prey. It scratched at Galas innards, bite his bowels, insane with the need to kill, to fight. Like a fox chewing off his own leg in a trap.
His stomach contents forced their way up and he vomited against a fence. Spew the revulsion and the desperation.
"Bugger!", screeched someone.
Gala looked up. The surroundings stayed fuzzy. Out of the blur a face appeared:" Late for the shift and drunk. Come on you bullock, use those arms."
And Gala followed the face. He needed the whole way to the gangway to realize he went back to the Docks. Back to the East India.
Gala had done a whole shift today already, but when they loaded him with barrels the size of a horse belly he humped them to the quay.
Making his way back and forth with goods that cut and scrubbed his shoulders raw he faded out. There was only the wood under his feet and the weight on his back.
He dissolved in the work.
Only to resurface when a strong hand shook his shoulder:" Hey!"
Gala blinked. And blinked again in the sunrise of a new day.
"You´re done."
"Mh?", made Gala. He stood, a little lopsided in the spray of the harbour waves. Buck shook him again.
"Go.", ordered the man again.
"Where?", asked Gala.
Buck groaned:" Holy hell. Sims!"
The boy came running.
"You know where he lives?", asked Buck, still with his hand on Galas shoulder.
Sims shook his head:" Vince might."
"Get Vince.", ordered Buck and Gala broke through the daze.
"I´ll go.", he shook of the well-meaning hand.
"Where to?", called Buck after him.
"Bed.", answered Gala, with no intent to do so.
He went to the fair instead.
The ground was buzzing with activity and Gala did his best to dodge any encounters.
The damn monkey saw him either way.
Dunce wagon was like a light house. Calling him from the other side of the square.
His legs shook with exhaustion, but his head cleared the nearer he got to the grimy shack on wheels.
He stopped on the stairs outside.
As long as he stayed there he could pretend that Dunce would be laughing in there. His blue eyes shining not with fever but with no-good intentions. That he would turn his head and would scream:" Peewee, where have you been?"
Like he had so many times before he found him that night.
Gala could hear his voice if he concentrated.
He still hadn't decided what he would do if Dunce…
Wait… there was a voice.
Peonie was in the wagon, but she was talking, not hushed but with purpose.
Gala sprung to live like he had been charged with electricity.
He opened the door and between the ruffles, in the now warm wagon, sat Dunce, his eyes open and clearer than he had seen them in a week. A bowl of something in his hands, Peonie sitting next to him, clearly lost in conversation.
Dunce saw Gala and his face lit up like Westminster Abby at Christmas eve.
Something swelled in Galas chest. Something warm and light, that straightened him from the inside out, unbend his spine and stacked his rips right.
"Peewee.", said Dunce and Gala knew he grinned like an idiot.
But he could and would do nothing about that.
He stumbled through the clutter finally reaching the bed.
Dunce pulled his legs up to make room for him and Galas weight made the frame creak.
"How are you?", asked Gala and Dunce answered:" What do you think? You sold me to the circus!"
Peonie guffawed.
"You look like you mucked out the central guard stables.", said Dunce with a fond smile and a concerned scowl.
"Least I don't smell like it.", answered Gala, he leaned nearer to Dunce, and the youth stretched out his arm. He reached Galas face, ghosted over the stubble on his head, and pulled a little on the glasses:" I can´t see you."
Gala shoved the glasses on his head, blinking in the sudden light.
"There he is.", he sniffed:" You smell like a week-old harbour water."
"You are one to talk.", gave Gala back.
A roar interrupted them, followed by the shrill scream:" BERNY!"
Peony was up and out the door before one of them could turn their head.
"Who is Berny?", asked Dunce.
"The lion.", answered Gala.
"Of course."
Gala got up to close the door.
"Wait a real lion?"
"Yes, a real lion."
"Wont he… like eat anyone?"
"Berny can´t see well. He only gets lost, a lot." said Gala. He didn't say: And I brought them enough money to feed him a horse.
Gala let himself sink back on the blankets, his back against the wooden wall his face turned in Dunce direction.
Dunce meet his eyes and for a while they remained silent.
Dunce broke the spell by asking:" Weren't you sacked?" a darker question hung behind it.
"Do I look like it?", asked Gala.
"That's no answer.", said Dunce. A couple of his shining brown hair had made their way out of the braid. Gala followed their dance in the draft of the wagon.
He wanted nothing more than to hold Dunce as close as he could. Like he did during the time the fever had been bad enough to rob them of all pretend.
But he wouldn't.
He opted for staring at him instead.
Dunce yawned, and Gala knew he should probably get off the bed and let the other sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Still an asshole, crowed the voice in his head.
"What happened to your hand?", asked Dunce.
Gala glanced at the discoloured knuckles. They hurt, but he could find it in him to care.
"Hit a wall."
Dunce eyes pierced into him:" Don't tell me then."
Gala smiled and somehow Dunce face got soft again, like he shouldn't contemplate the shortest way out of this wagon.
"You look tired.", the idiot said instead.
Gala shrugged.
There were so many questions he should ask, but having Dunce with him, truly with him, was such a relief that it made him light headed.
"Well, I´m tired.", said Dunce, he scooted a little nearer to the wall:" And I´m cold, come here you furnace."
Gala hesitated, but this was an opportunity he wouldn't pass up.
You never knew how many of those you got in a lifetime.
And he was exhausted.
Gala had the good grace to skim out of his coat and boots before slipping under the covers.
Dunce pressed his head in Galas collar and he could feel the fever linger. Not as bad as it had been, but still there.
Gala mad sure not to touch the back of the other, opting for his hip instead.
Dunce said something unintelligent and Gala made an inquiring noise.
"You came back."
Gala signed and felt Dunce getting even closer. It was hard to supress the rage that came with this sentence. Not to tear whoever made Dunce feel responsible for being slighted and discarded limb from limp. Instead of getting up and doing something really really stupid Gala grumbled: "Sure."
One of Dunce arm weaselled his way around his waist, a hand grazed skin rubbed raw from the work at the docks.
Like little fireworks of pain dancing through him.
He said nothing.
This.
Dunce face against his chest. The warm body next to him. The peace of listening to the regular breathing.
This was worth everything.