and a half dozen others, I was sure I'd be crushed or bitten in half by now. I never had a son, and I've outlived the circus. So what's to pass on?"
Peter stepped forward. "I'd like to learn," he said.
Anthony stared at Peter, brows lifted.
Shellabarger studied Peter for several seconds. The venator's warm stench surrounded them. "What's the first thing to know?" he asked quietly.
Peter felt his lungs catch and his shoulders stiffen. He had never liked direct challenges from older people, whether they were teachers or people on the street.
"What they like to eat," Peter said.
Shellabarger angled his head away but kept his slitted eyes on Peter's. "You have to know what they need to be. Animals remember, but they don't exactlythink. Life is one longsensation for them."
"Oh," Peter said.
"What does Dagger need?" Shellabarger asked.
Peter glanced at the animal. The venator still had his eyes fixed on Shellabarger.
"You," Peter said.
Shellabarger gave a rueful snort of laughter. He looked away from Peter. "Does he have any other chores on this voyage?" he asked Anthony.
"Not for the moment," Anthony said. "If you want him, he's yours."
"You'll have to hose down the shit," the trainer warned. He looked at Anthony curiously. "Is it okay if I use a few good old Anglo-Saxon words in front of the boy?"
Anthony grinned and shook his head. "I guess you will whether I want it or not."
"Maybe," Shellabarger admitted. "You'll have to hose down this . . . thismuck and climb into the cage and feed Sammy and Sheila with your own hands. You'll have to scrub and curry the struthios and spend an hour each day with the toothed birds. They get lonely and they like someone to talk to them and fluff their feathers." Peter found it harder and harder to breathe. The air seemed rank and gelatinous and his eyes burned. His body couldn't decide whether to be excited or terrified.
"You up for that?" Shellabarger asked him.
"Yeah," he said. He felt a little dizzy.
"Then you'll be my apprentice," Shellabarger said.
"Thanks," Peter said, gulping. He looked at his father, who was still grinning, and then swung his head around to see Dagger.
Dagger watchedhim now, with the same steady, needful glare he had reserved for the trainer. His throat flexed and he blew a glob from his nose through the bars to the deck. The glob landed squarely between Peter's shoes.
"You have his blessing," Shellabarger told Peter. "All right, let's get to it."
***
For the next five days, as theLibertad passed down the coast of the United States, skirted Florida and Cuba, and made its way through the Antilles, Peter worked with Shellabarger from seven in the morning to dinnertime, and for an hour each evening after dinner. Shellabarger found him a pair of gum boots in the circus boxes, a couple of sizes too large, but they kept his shoes from getting ruined. Shellabarger also supplied him with a pair of rubber gloves. "This stuff really does nasty things to your skin," he explained as a bucket of slop was being hauled out of the hold to be dumped overboard. "It's worse than guano. But if your ma keeps a garden, it's fabulous. Shall we ship it to her?"
Peter smiled wanly, but did not want to explain that his mother and father were divorced. The thought of his mother, immaculately dressed in a cotton gabardine suit, getting a big drum full of this nauseating green and yellow liquid . . .
"She doesn't garden," he said.
"The clowns do a little gardening when we spend a few months in Tampa," Shellabarger said. He cleared his throat. "Used to. Flowers and tomatoes and stuff. Dinosaur . . . muck . . . makes them pop right out of the ground, sweet and juicy." He smacked his lips.
Peter could not figure Shellabarger. Sometimes he was as nasty as could be, as if sitting under a dark cloud. The venator made him nasty. They would glare at each other, and Shellabarger would begin stomping around the hold, shouting orders and getting even more particular about Peter's
Peter stepped forward. "I'd like to learn," he said.
Anthony stared at Peter, brows lifted.
Shellabarger studied Peter for several seconds. The venator's warm stench surrounded them. "What's the first thing to know?" he asked quietly.
Peter felt his lungs catch and his shoulders stiffen. He had never liked direct challenges from older people, whether they were teachers or people on the street.
"What they like to eat," Peter said.
Shellabarger angled his head away but kept his slitted eyes on Peter's. "You have to know what they need to be. Animals remember, but they don't exactlythink. Life is one longsensation for them."
"Oh," Peter said.
"What does Dagger need?" Shellabarger asked.
Peter glanced at the animal. The venator still had his eyes fixed on Shellabarger.
"You," Peter said.
Shellabarger gave a rueful snort of laughter. He looked away from Peter. "Does he have any other chores on this voyage?" he asked Anthony.
"Not for the moment," Anthony said. "If you want him, he's yours."
"You'll have to hose down the shit," the trainer warned. He looked at Anthony curiously. "Is it okay if I use a few good old Anglo-Saxon words in front of the boy?"
Anthony grinned and shook his head. "I guess you will whether I want it or not."
"Maybe," Shellabarger admitted. "You'll have to hose down this . . . thismuck and climb into the cage and feed Sammy and Sheila with your own hands. You'll have to scrub and curry the struthios and spend an hour each day with the toothed birds. They get lonely and they like someone to talk to them and fluff their feathers." Peter found it harder and harder to breathe. The air seemed rank and gelatinous and his eyes burned. His body couldn't decide whether to be excited or terrified.
"You up for that?" Shellabarger asked him.
"Yeah," he said. He felt a little dizzy.
"Then you'll be my apprentice," Shellabarger said.
"Thanks," Peter said, gulping. He looked at his father, who was still grinning, and then swung his head around to see Dagger.
Dagger watchedhim now, with the same steady, needful glare he had reserved for the trainer. His throat flexed and he blew a glob from his nose through the bars to the deck. The glob landed squarely between Peter's shoes.
"You have his blessing," Shellabarger told Peter. "All right, let's get to it."
***
For the next five days, as theLibertad passed down the coast of the United States, skirted Florida and Cuba, and made its way through the Antilles, Peter worked with Shellabarger from seven in the morning to dinnertime, and for an hour each evening after dinner. Shellabarger found him a pair of gum boots in the circus boxes, a couple of sizes too large, but they kept his shoes from getting ruined. Shellabarger also supplied him with a pair of rubber gloves. "This stuff really does nasty things to your skin," he explained as a bucket of slop was being hauled out of the hold to be dumped overboard. "It's worse than guano. But if your ma keeps a garden, it's fabulous. Shall we ship it to her?"
Peter smiled wanly, but did not want to explain that his mother and father were divorced. The thought of his mother, immaculately dressed in a cotton gabardine suit, getting a big drum full of this nauseating green and yellow liquid . . .
"She doesn't garden," he said.
"The clowns do a little gardening when we spend a few months in Tampa," Shellabarger said. He cleared his throat. "Used to. Flowers and tomatoes and stuff. Dinosaur . . . muck . . . makes them pop right out of the ground, sweet and juicy." He smacked his lips.
Peter could not figure Shellabarger. Sometimes he was as nasty as could be, as if sitting under a dark cloud. The venator made him nasty. They would glare at each other, and Shellabarger would begin stomping around the hold, shouting orders and getting even more particular about Peter's
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