“So. What do you think?” He held up the concept sketch before me. He was very proud of his work. On the 11”x17” paper was what looked like a proposal for a zombie butler costume. He pointed out various details happily.
My scowl only deepened.
“Why is he limping?” “It’s just the portrayal of him in mid-stride.” The clothes were tattered and ragged. Filthy and mis-colored. The figure was near skeletal, but the face was grotesquely large. Most of the teeth were missing, and a slobbering tongue hung out a misaligned mouth.
I was impressed with his sketching skills. That he used his own blood as ink and his sharp talons as the quill. I had offered to pull a pen from my satchel, but he insisted he had his own. When he realized he was woefully unprepared for our chance meeting, he had improvised.
“I think you need to tell me why you’re falling over yourself to show me this. You never did, you know.” He stares at me blankly with hollow sockets then realizes he had dropped all decorum. I sip my coffee enjoying his sudden panic. “For that matter, you haven’t even introduced yourself. Obviously, you know who I am. But who are you?”
“Uh. Uh. (Shit!)” His face blanches while his mind spins furiously.
“Relax, I’m not going to eat you. Yet. You’ve already gone out of turn, so instead of trying to start over, how about starting here.” I point to myself. “I’m… ?”
“Weaver Bone-burner! Pleasure to meet you, M’am!” With youthful hands he lifts his tattered top hat in polite display. He replaces it quickly, but not before I spy the age-spots on his desiccated scalp. Funny what secrets are kept under one’s hat. “I am called ‘Sketchy’! Because I like to sketch!” He holds his work as validation, and we both laugh. I say nothing about what else his “name” implies.
“Well, Sketchy, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, for what reason have you come to this table? To this place under the crossroads?” I filled my coffee mug and silently pined for Jill’s coffee. But if I were there, I would not be listening to a sales pitch from a dead man.
Sketchy uses the time I’ve given him to regather his words. No longer flustered, he begins his practiced speech. “Well, M’am, word has spread of your taking on another servant, or two, and I would like to present myself as available for employment! All know of your ability to change appearances, and chances are you will require your servants to adjust as well. This!” He shakes the paper gently. “Is but one of many appearances I can take at your side!” Oh, he is so proud of himself.
I sip the coffee again, buying time for myself now. And wondering how to call the Rummer out for dropping information I thought private, without being sent to the Boneyard for the final time.
Sketchy mistakes my silence for approval and starts planning his role at my side. “As your man-at-arms…”
“Wait. My what? You mean to take position as my butler, a man-servant?” I put the coffee mug down revealing a smirk and a laugh. I silently checked Horatio’s trinket. He was there, listening, and chewing coffin nails against the upstart at my table. Wordlessly, I thanked him for remaining hidden and told him to remain there until called.
My interjection broke Sketchy’s stride. He stammered, letting slip the glamour that covered his face. Seems the sketch is more reality than costume. He recovered, and I gave no sign I had seen the truth of him. “Well, um, yes. I don’t know as many words as you do, M’am, so I might be using the wrong one out of turn. But, yes, man-servant fits.”
“I already have a man-servant, Sketchy. A bokor of a butler, even. He is irreplaceable. Any other ‘servants’ I take on, will also have to answer to him.” I felt Horatio’s surprise. “Also, I fear the word of my search has escaped prematurely. I am not prepared to add more trinkets to my belt, nor jars to my shelf.”
Silently I called Horatio forward. “Madam.” Impeccably dressed in formal bokor attire, he bowed in formal greeting, then leaned subtly against me in a position that spoke loudly of the trust I do have in him, and of the loyalty he has for me.
Sketchy dropped the glamour and made no attempt to restore it. His eyeless face stared at Horatio in a mix of awe and fear. I lifted the sketch, now a portrait of the spirit sitting with me, and presented it to Horatio. “He would to join our number.”
Horatio looked it over. “He couldn’t hold the pretty face just sitting here. I don’t think he would be able to accompany you in other worlds.” His voice was polite. His facial expression, wasn’t.
“What of a runner just in this world? A messenger?” Sketchy had dared to sit with me, why not give him the benefit of the doubt.
Horatio snorted. “Madam is forgiving, but he has enough rope to hang himself with already. Again.” Sketchy looked away in sudden embarrassment. Horatio placed the sketch back on the table.
“Very well, then. I’m sorry, Sketchy, but I shall decline your offer.” He continued to look away, but nodded in acknowledgement. Knowing that Horatio was gloating over my admission regarding him, and feeling bad for Sketchy, I decided to leave a lesson for both.
“Horatio, another mug and a fresh pot of coffee. Sketchy took a chance, I see no reason why such chutzpah should not have some payoff.” Horatio bit his tongue in his surprise. He recovered quickly and only answered with, “At once, Madam.”. Sketchy looked at us both with awkward smiles.
We sat by the mist covered river under the crossroads and enjoyed our coffee in silence. I finished first, and felt the dawn approaching. I stood to bid Sketchy a farewell. He stood at once in polite observance. I took Horatio’s arm and we left Sketchy behind at the table.
Once out of earshot, Horatio began releasing his irritation. “Can’t believe that little shit thought to replace me!” I chuckled. “Who said you were looking for more, anyway!” I shrugged. I suspect one, but I have no proof. “Well, if any little [unintelligible] come runnin’ roun’, damn right they gon’ be unde’ me. I’m yo’ right-han’ man! I am the butle’ ‘ere!” I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud. “I know m’place now. And I’m at peace wi’it. I’ll let none other break down wha’ I dun earn’d.” I finally burst in laughter. “Wot’s s’ fun’ea?”
“When you’re pissed, your native inflection and speech really comes out. If I didn’t interrupt you, you’d be speaking Creole by now.” He stared at me for a moment, then harrumphed himself into silence. Which made me laugh even more.
“You’re serious about ‘a bokor of a butler’, Madam? Last time I made that reference, you threatened to rend me to pieces.”
“Yes, I am. Because you are not trying to master me anymore. Because you, yourself, said you know your place. Because I’ve accepted what I am, and what I do. You are my right-hand man, Horatio. Serve me, support me, and I shall have no reason to break you.” I stopped and stared fiercely at him. “Betray me or mine, you’ll never reach the Boneyard, but you’ll never rest, either.” He nodded and bowed deeply.
“Yes, Madam.” The first rays of dawn began to pierce the shadows. “Madam, do I have to hold my tongue, then?”
“If you do, dry your hands before handling anything.” He looked at me in confusion before realizing the pun. His raucous laughter was as warm as the morning light.