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Grab his legs,” Ricky says, hinged over, clutching the man’s wrists.
“They’re all bent under’im,” Palmer replies through the hand covering his mouth.
“Then roll him over!”
“What’d you do to’im?”
“I told you I didn’t do anything. I came out to see what he was doin’ and the man fell off his horse.”
Sheep roam grassy knolls that expand toward the foggy horizon. Herding collies crouch amongst the fields, keeping a watchful eye on the herd as they graze. The man’s black mayer lets out a whinny, then veers off the road into a thicket of heather, pulling the empty cart with her.
Ricky cranes his neck, following the horse, then turns back toward his brother and shouts, “Grab his legs!”
Palmer rolls up the sleeves of his wool sweater and bends over. The man has a sharp nose and a scruffy, protruding chin. His muddy suit looks expensive, but his thick, calloused hands look like those of a laborer. He’s not well. The man’s face is gray. Not pale like when you’re feeling ill, but gray like the omnipresent clouds that suffocate their land.
“Shouldn’t I fetch the healer?” Palmer asks.
Ricky’s face turns red as he yells, “Grab his legs, Palmer!”
Palmer shoves the man onto his side and yanks his legs out from behind him. One of his boots brush across Palmer’s stomach, smearing mud in its path.
“Course, right on'ta ma new sweater!” Palmer complains, dropping the man’s feet.
Ricky sinks his hand into the mud and chucks a fist full at his brother, splattering it across his chest and face.
Palmer stands motionless, squinting through mud, then stumbles toward a bush and uses a leaf to wipe it from his eyes.
“Get over here...and grab his legs,” Ricky commands Palmer.
Palmer obeys, avoiding eye contact with his older brother. They lift the man off the ground, but just barely. Ricky moves sideways, leading them in the direction of their mossy stone cottage.
“We can’t bring’im in the house like dis! Mum’ll kill us!” Palmer says.
“He’s cold. We gotta get him to the fire,” Ricky declares, pulling the man through the doorway and Palmer with him.
Smoke is billowing from the chimney, up into the monotonous gray expanse. The boys slide through the front door, then lay the man next to the hearth. They watch him silently, waiting for movement. As the sun dips below the crest of the horizon, day turns to dusk and the flickering, orange glow of the fire fills the darkening room.
The man coughs.
“Sir?” Ricky asks.
There’s no response.
“Fetch him some water,” Ricky says to Palmer.
As Palmer dashes into the kitchen, a series of coughs explode from the man. Blood sprays the hearthstones and fire, which instantly boils and burns. A red mist lingers in the air above the man. Dark mucus hangs from the corner of his mouth.
“Water,” the man mutters through a dry throat.
Palmer approaches the man, taking care to avoid stepping in the largest splatters of blood. As he lowers the water pitcher, the man’s hand bolts toward the handle. The bones of his fingers latch onto the pitcher and pull. Palmer startles backward, letting go.
The man raises his head to the rim and takes a sip of water, then elevates the pitcher into the air, dumping the rest of it on his face. Most of the blood washes away, but not all. Pink-tinted water flows through the crevices of the stone floor.
“You all right?” Ricky asks.
“Not dead yet,” the man says, turning to look at the boys through tired eyelids.
“Should I fetch the healer?” Palmer asks, taking a step toward the door.
The man grunts, then clears his throat and spits coagulated blood onto the ground. “Don’t bother.”
Ricky locks eyes with his brother, then turns toward the man and asks, “Where’d you come from?”
“Where am I?”
“Cogshall.”
“You don’t say,” the man replies, lowering his head back to the ground, “I was close.”
“Close to what?”
“Home.”
Palmer swallows, then asks, “Where’s home?”
“Allynshire,” the man replies.
“That’s by the coast?” Ricky asks.
“Henry’s mum has an Allynshire pearl necklace,” Palmer says with excitement. “She says it’s worth’a fortune. She rubs the pearls when’eva she needs good luck and Henry says it always works, every time!”
“If that’s true, why am I such a miserable bastard?” the man asks, showing the boys the pearl necklace in his hand.
“Those real?” Palmer asks.
The man nods, grunting with pain.
“How’d you know?”
“Found’em myself.”
“You must be rich!”
“Almost rich, a few times…almost.” The man rolls onto his side and rests a hand over his stomach, the firelight shining through his thinning, gray hair and reflecting off his head. “I was about your age, back at the turn of the century.”
“Which one of us?”
“Both of you,” the man says, his eyes drifting shut, then snapping back open. “I was a poor lad. My...parents were loving, but closed minded. Never wanted anything better for themselves.”
The man coughs again, wiping blood off his lips onto his sleeve. He brings his knees closer to his chest, squinting in pain. Palmer lowers down next to him, sitting cross-legged.
“We were poor, you see. Harvested these wretched sea stones,” the man says, holding out the necklace again. Now that Palmer’s close, he can see they’re worn down.
“Did you live in a castle?”
“No lad,” he says through a grin. “Like I said, we were poor. Them pearls weren’t worth nothin’ back then. That’s why I got out.”
“Where’d you go?”
“First to the capital. Taught myself to read and write. Saved up some money. Then west. To the gold mines.”
“That’s how you got rich?” Palmer asks, admiring the man’s suit.
“Should’da been. Bought a plot and struck gold. I remember how bright the nugget was in the sun. Took it into town and bought some proper mining equipment. I was on a vein. I had it made.”
“What happened?” Ricky asks.
“Next mornin’, I wake up to the sound’a hooves. Some guy says I’m on his land. Hands me a bunch of papers and confiscates everything.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I’d agree with you. But the court didn’t see it that way. Turns out, it was his land. Guy I bought the plot from was a fraud.”
“Did you get your money back?”
“Not a cent...” the man says, shutting his eyes again. The pace of his breathing increases, his chest heaving up and down.
“What’d you do?”
“When that guy…” Cough. Cough. “When he took my...plot, one of his men had somethin’ called a gun.”
Ricky and Palmer nod. They know what a gun is.
“It’s like a cannon you can hold in your hand. I knew…” Cough. “I knew it’d be big. So I traveled south and went into business with the man makein’ them.”
“What’s it like ownin’ a gun company?”
“Oh no, I don’t own no gun company.”
“Thought you said you’re in business with the guy making them?”
“Found him. Went into business with him. We were good partners. I had a lady, too. Those were good times,” the man says smiling.
“Where’s your wife now?”
“Left me for the business partner,” the man says laughing. “Old Corg, that son of a bitch.”
“And you don’t own half the company?”
“Na… They took it from me. Turns out Corg isn’t a man of his word. Never put my name on any of the papers like he promised. Serves me right.” Cough.
The fire’s burning down into a smolder. As the man curls up into a ball on the ground, the flickering firelight fades into an ebbing glow.
“Just as well,” the man says through a sorrowful moan, “she wasn’t the one I loved anyway.”
There’s a moment of silence, then the man audibly sobs, tucking his chin into his chest. Ricky and Palmer look at each other.
“I left her!” the man cries out, clenching the hair on the back of his head. “I left her on that damn beach. We used to hunt for pearls together. Just her and I. We’d bring’em back to the fire and show our parents,” the man says, clutching the pearl necklace in his hand. “I was supposed to go back and get her, but I never did. I prom—”
The man coughs again, spraying blood onto the ground. He takes several heaving breaths, then frantically asks, “Boys, are you there…I can’t see you. Boys?!”
Palmer sits frozen, eyes wide.
“We’re here, Mr… sir,” Ricky says, lowering down to take the man’s hand. It’s cold to the touch.
“Where am I?” the man asks. His voice fades to a whisper. “Where’s Allynshire. I’m…” Cough. “I need to get to Allynsh...”
“I’m here,” Ricky says, holding the man’s hand tight.
Silence. Then the man’s breath begins to shallow with each exhale.
“Palmer, go fetch the healer.”
Palmer doesn’t move.
“Palmer!”
The man’s hand goes slack in Ricky’s grasp. Ricky places his finger under the man’s nose, then lowers his head.
“What’s wrong with him?” Palmer whispers.
“He’s dead.”