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The alligator girl beamed a smile at him. “How lovely that you could join us, my dear,” she exclaimed. She glanced shyly at me. “And your friend is an excellent driver.”
I nodded my head in acknowledgment. “How generous of you, Miss …”
“Ruby Lightfoot,” she informed me, now favoring me with a warm smile.
“I’m Apollo,” said my eager little friend. “This is Abel.”
“Abel Dandy,” I said. She seemed kind. Would she help me protect Apollo from harm if need be?
The skinny driver toppled a pile of twigs and branches before us and skittered off again to rummage in the back of a wagon. I helped Miss Lightfoot build a fire. The skinny fellow came back with a sack and a pot. “Thank you, Mr. Sweet,” she said, taking the pot. “Abel Dandy, this is Billy Sweet.”
“Pleased to meetcha,” the mousy man said with a grin, and pulled a big potato from his sack. “Who wants to help?”
“Apollo and I will,” I said. “We’ve had extensive training in such tasks.”
Apollo groaned, and I patted his back. He was a child, after all. I shouldn’t be vexed with him for enjoying a new friend. “I’ll peel, you chop,” I said.
“I’ll be off for the water, then,” said Mr. Sweet, winking at me. I didn’t trust people who winked for no discernible reason.
“There you are, Bess,” cried Miss Lightfoot.
The bearded lady fought with her long skirt and struggled from the back of the men’s wagon with a large, lumpy bundle in her brawny arms. Was it laundry? A sack of turnips? She leaned over and placed the bundle on the ground, where it commenced to wriggle through the grass toward the cook fire, and I recognized the caterpillar man.
“The giant’s still sick,” said Bess when she joined us. “Poor bastard’s getting worse.” She was much rougher than Miss Lightfoot, but she seemed concerned for the giant. Maybe she’d care about what happened to a boy like Apollo.
The caterpillar man banged her on the side of her leg with his bald head. “You pay ’im too much mind,” he complained gruffly.
Bess bent and tweaked his ear. “You’re dear when you’re jealous, Gunther,” she said. Her beard bristled with her efforts to repress laughter, and I decided that maybe I liked her despite her roughness.
“Mr. Dandy, I’d like to present Miss Tuggle and Mr. Bopp,” Ruby Lightfoot said.
“Bess will do,” the bearded lady replied.
“I likes Mr. Bopp just fine,” said the caterpillar man. Bess rolled her eyes.
In the distance I heard a shot fired and then another. We’d have fresh rabbit stew tonight, I guessed.
We sat around the fire to eat on what seats we could muster—a barrel half, a log, a folded blanket, and the like. I wasn’t surprised when Dr. Mink ate in his wagon with the big man I suspected to be his bodyguard, but where was the two-headed man?
“Why doesn’t Mr. Ginger join us?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s worried that Mr. Ginger number two will put us off our grub,” said Bess.
“He would,” said Mr. Bopp as he raised his dripping chin from his bowl.
“He doesn’t feed it, does he?” asked Apollo.
“No, my honey bun,” said Miss Lightfoot, “but it does drool dreadfully at the smell of the food.”
Apollo made a face. I wanted to also, but I stopped myself.
“Do you have a game?” asked Billy Sweet, changing the subject.
I must have looked blank, for Miss Lightfoot chimed in, “He means bunco, lovey pie. A swindle.”
I shook my head in quick denial.
“Come on,” Billy Sweet said. “A boy on the road like yerself? We all got a game to bilk the marks. Some of ’em uses their looks.” He tipped his head at Miss Lightfoot. “Some of ’em uses their skills.”
