Hedge of Thorns: Negotiation

“Where did you come from, and why?”

Instead of answering, Tumble leans forward, opens the zipper encircling the knee of his cargo pants, and exposes a joint swelling to the size of a small pumpkin. Panting, he sits upright again.
“Carmel, California.”

“That hasn’t drifted off into the ocean?”

“Not yet. I’m a hydrological engineer. Back when things made sense, I designed dams, and I’m here to check two old ones out. Was heading up to Riffe Lake.”

“That’s out of the question in your shape.”

“Lady… Mercy, I’m hurting here. You have any whisky?”

I shake my head. “Never needed it. There’s willow bark tea, and you can have some of that. One moment, while I get the biscuits. They’re about to scorch.” Carrying my pistol, I move to the fire, lay the Sig Sauer on the mantle, then maneuver the Dutch oven from the coals to a cooler corner of the hearthstone. I lift the lid. Rich golden brown, perfect.

“My willow bark tea is some of the strongest in the area, so you’d better eat something with it.” Leaving the biscuits and pistol where they are, I gather two paper pouches of willow bark from my first aid box, and a plate from the shelf.

I hear a snap, and a curse. Tumble is holding my drawings to the light with one hand, sucking the thumb of the other hand, and my drawing thorn lies broken on the table.

“You ruined my drawing thorn. Put those down!”

Tumble drops the sketches.

“Mercy, these are amazing. My wife’s clientele would snap them up.”

There are people still interested in art. I face Tumble, swallowing hard. Doesn’t he see where I’ve tried to disguise every blot?

“So your wife has clientele?” I extend the word.

“She has a lucrative art gallery in Carmel. What are you using for pigments?”

“Inks I make.” Returning to the table, I thump my burdens down.

“Impressive. Could I have that tea now?”

“What’ll you give me for it?” I fold my arms, the drug clenched in each fist.

“Give you…” Tumble’s eyes go wide. “I have matches.”

“So do I. Mister, you’ve destroyed the tool I use to do the one thing that keeps me from going insane out here. It’s no joke. What’ll you give me?”

I’d been considering sharing my hard haw cider, but after this, I’m on the verge of sending him out, thunderstorm or no, to set up one of the nine-person tents, alone. He’s getting his willow bark tea with no chaser.

He gapes like a landed fish. “Can’t reach my pack. There’s ammunition for a .22.”

Back at the fireplace, I chuckle, and pick up the Sig Sauer. “Tumble, Tumble, you know that won’t fit.” He freezes again as I approach, but I slide his pack within reach. What else do you have?”

Hedge of Thorns: Negotiation is a segment of a serialized short story that will post on Fridays.

Check the menu on this blog for other, previously posted serialized stories, here.