The Tattooed Tribes Read Free Page A

required as a matter of some urgency, was an unwelcome reminder
of his duty.
    As undesirable
was a missive from Congressman Eric Wainwright.
    This, while
not actually instructing him to apprentice Stacey, made it clear it
was expected. There was also a hint of threat, nothing specific,
merely a suggestion of changes to come and Jon wishing to be on the
right side when they came.
    He had
returned late and was dog-tired, so he threw both letters to one
side to await the morning.
    Jon was an
early riser; life spent mostly in the tribal lands far up river had
taught him not to waste day light. Even a disturbed night full of
oddly anxious dreams failed to keep him in bed much after dawn.
    He brewed
strong coffee and went out onto the porch to see what the day
heralded and found something littering his door step.
    A closer look showed the
‘ something ’ was a
‘ someone ’.
    “ Wake up!” Jon commanded, encouraging the
sleeper with the toe of his boot. He was damned if he was having
every town drunk sleeping it off on his property.
    There was a
groan of protest.
    “ I said, up!”
    A youth
unwound himself and stared up in a dazed fashion. “Okay,” he said,
yawning and scratching his head. “I’m up.”
    Jon frowned at
him. The dew had drenched the boy’s clothes, he shivered
uncontrollably and seemed confused, but he did not seem hung
over.
    “ What the hell are you doing here?”
demanded Jon.
    The boy
scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked up. “Waiting for you,”
he said and, despite the shivering, a grin crept out.
    Jon remembered
the grin.
    “ Have you been here all night?”
    “ I spend most nights here,” Ian replied. “I
didn’t want to miss you.”
    There were
black shadows under his eyes and in the clear daylight Jon could
see his clothes were filthy and his skin was stretched too tightly
over his big bones. He had obviously been living rough and going
hungry for some time.
    “ You’re a bloody little fool!” Bending, Jon
grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him
indoors.
    During the
following thirty minutes a violently protesting and verbally
abusive boy was made to shower twice, instructed to eat a large
bowl of porridge, then frogmarched to a bed and told to sleep.
    “ I don’t like being told what to do!” he
snarled at Jon.
    “ Fine,” Jon replied. “Then you can leave
right now. But, if you do as you’re told, we’ll have a talk when
you wake up. And you’ll get to eat again.”
    There was a
brief struggle with pride, and then reluctantly Ian lay down and
was asleep before Jon left the room.
     
     
    It was several
hours later when he reappeared dressed in some of Jon’s things.
    “ I couldn’t find my clothes.”
    “ I left those for you,” Jon replied. “Yours
are in the wash.”
    Ian flushed.
“I manage to wash myself most of the time, but it’s harder with
clothes.”
    He was taller
than Jon, who was not much above average height, a slender
stripling still growing into his bones. A lot of ankle and wrist
showed from his borrowed clothes, but he completely failed to fill
the space Jon’s big shoulders and deep broad chest needed.
    Ian gazed
longingly at the plate of sandwiches waiting on the table.
    “ Help yourself,” Jon told him and allowed
him to munch his way through two before speaking again. “What were
you doing on my front door step?”
    Ian paused in
the middle of a third sandwich to give him a quick grin.
    “ I told you, waiting for you to get back,”
he replied before reapplying himself to food.
    “ Why?”
    “ I’ve been saving. I’ve got two hundred and
seventy three bucks and I know I can find the rest.”
    Jon was not
stupid. He had been reasonably sure this would be a plea for
further consideration the moment he realised who cluttered his
porch. It was not the first time he had been followed home by a
disappointed candidate, but the money intrigued him.
    “ Where did you find it?” he asked. It was a
considerable sum.
    “