Turbinio

Just A Little Monster

You awoke just after dawn, tense and sore from sleeping on boards, to the soft sound of the man's breathing beside you. Gyro stirred at your movement, turned and pulled you against his chest.

You felt his body curl up behind yours, in his paradoxical morning state of sleep and desire. He emitted a grunt, a soft ''hmmm'' in a deep sleepy voice, husky in your ears, and came closer to you.

''Stop.'' You whispered, unsure if he was awake or if the numbing effect of the laudanum had worn off. ''For God's sake, remember where we are.''

You heard another grumble, accompanied by relief at the force Gyro was using to pull you against him.

''Ah...'' He said, regaining consciousness. ''You're right.''

Gyro stretched out his arms, clasped your torso with both hands and squirmed his body slowly and voluptuously against yours, giving you a detailed idea of what you were losing.

''I have to go.'' You said after a few seconds of snuggling into his warmth, getting rid of the blankets, and seeing that Johnny was still asleep, thank God.

''What?'' Gyro's voice and confused expression would have made you laugh if you weren't as sleepy as he was. ''What time is it?''

''The sun just came up. I have a wagon to pack and a cat to find; you don't.''

''I asked what time it is, bambina...''

You frowned, with a certain bad humor.

''Look at your damn watch, I don't need that. Looking at the sun is enough for me.''

''What a bad mood... But no matter, stay a little more, bella.''

''How can you afford to sleep late on a race?''

He looked at you, and the sunny face turned to approval as he saw your disheveled state.

''I like to take it nice and slow, you know?''

That classic start to the day seemed to have had a lasting influence on your mind at that stage. You had already traveled about eighty miles in less than four days, and you were desperately looking for some town that could distract you from all those damn runners flooding your mind.

Wrightsville seemed like the right place. It was a good size, with heavy local traffic for such an isolated location. As you stopped your wagon at the edge of the village, near the bank of a river, a strong smell of resin hung over the place, trapped in the hot, sticky air.

''My God, it's like breathing terebintina!'' You said to Cadichon as you offered some carrots. ''I mean... Turpentine.''

You exhaled as a new wave of the strong smell washed over you.

"You're breathing turpentine, young lady.'' A sudden smile appeared just behind you and then disappeared. The fisherman carried a bucket full of trout in his hand and his fishing rod in the other. Beside him stood a young man of slim, gaunt complexion who seemed to be a copy thirty years younger than the older man. Probably his son, who kept quiet.

You startled slightly, but then smiled back at him and looked in the direction the man had pointed, indicating a barge chained to a pile on a deck across the river. It was full of barrels, some of which showed a thick, black mixture through the gaps. Other larger barrels bore the marks of their owners, with a ''S'' burned into the wood.

The fisherman narrowed his eyes in the strong sunlight, waving his hand slowly before his nose as if that might ward off the stench.

''It's the time of year when the tar-bearers show up, scaring away all the good fish and leaving only these skinny trout. Tar, turpentine... it all comes off the barge from Harrisburg, and they ship it all to Philadelphia, then to Trenton.''