The Arms Dealer, Chapter One, Completely Revised June 5, 2008.
I tried to follow all of your advice (I saved it...), so I hope that it turned out the way it should look. Now, I haven't had time to reread it like I normally do--take two hours to reread it, critique it and all of that--but I did skim over it and reread it several times. Sooooo...enjoy!!! ^^ I think it's much better, but could still use more reviewing...but what do I know? What do YOU think...?
I’ve always been terrible at telling people how I feel. I’m a shy, often times peculiar, young man. I’ve been told by my father that I’ll never marry.
I’ve been told by countless young women that I’m attractive but once I start stuttering, they turn away. Thus, here I am in Missouri, trying to start over again—for the third time in my life.
I’m literally in the middle of the war, lost in a city I’d never heard of until my father mentioned it to me weeks ago.
Union from here on up, Confederate from here on down. Me? I’m a Yankee, as the Rebs would say. Fighting against slavery and everything the South has built up—as they would accuse.
I’m not in the war myself, though. I’m much too clumsy to be a soldier. I’m a talented lawyer, but I suppose that doesn’t count. Graduating from Harvard is nothing if you can’t talk like some Southern hick, dazzling Southern Belles. I think I’m the only Yankee boy not swooning over the young, widowed Southern girls.
I rolled my eyes at the thought, really stumbling over a loose spot in the street I’d failed to notice. I heard a few giggles behind me, but I was much too embarrassed to turn around.
I wasn’t much of a charmer, so I doubted I’d have any more luck here than I did in New York or Massachusetts. Awkward was awkward—nothing would change that about me.
“It’s getting late,” I murmured to myself, pulling myself up onto a bench away from the hustle and bustle of the square.
I was beginning to get agitated, my head spinning as I listened to the gaggle of voices around me. They were so strange, unlike the accent I was used to in New York. Actually, everything was strange—the scents, the sounds, and the weather—especially the weather. It was terribly cold up north.
What a wonderful spring evening—I was completely alone in a city miles away from my home, I had no boarding, and I was hungry. Terribly hungry, I soon realized. I’d need at least a bit of energy to run around the town, looking for either a hotel or a kind stranger.
Reluctantly, I left the bench and wandered around the square. There were mostly shops to my left, none of which sold anything I could eat. A delicious scent wafted to my nose as I walked further. Not paying any attention, I was soon walking down a private alleyway.
“Probably someone’s dinner,” I mumbled, starting to turn around.
When I turned around, I found myself stumbling into what I assumed was another person.
I groped the brick wall for something to hold on to while my poor victim tried to catch the papers I’d knocked out of his hands.
“I-I-I-I’m terribly sorry!” I stuttered, rushing to help him.
I was relieved to hear a chuckle.
“Nonsense, I wasn’t looking where I was going,”
I met kind emerald eyes and a warm smile. It was refreshing after seeing my father’s narrowed eyes, a frown twisted upon his lips.
“I-I-It’s my fault, really! I don’t know m-m-my way around and I wandered into this alley…”
I looked around shamefully, lowering my head when I turned back towards the man. In the dimming light, it was possible for me to see his features. Gray hair covered by a dark-colored cap, a gray mustache, and a few freckles dispersed unevenly on the man’s face. He reminded me of my father—only much kinder.
“A newcomer? Don’t have many of those during this war. You must be joining up, then,”
“N-No,” I murmured.
“Oh? And why not? You look pretty athletic and sturdy to me,” the man argued, tilting his head.
I smiled lightly, but I had to disagree with him.
“No, I’m not really athletic. I got into an accident and the doctor insisted I exercise, so I did. Other than that, I’m pretty scrawny,” I laughed.
It was normal for me to mock myself. I supposed it helped me pity myself more easily, but looking back, I can’t possibly see how or why. It actually just made me seem hopelessly depressing.
“Well, you must’ve been in quite a tragic accident! What lines of work are in, then?”
“I’m a lawyer,” I muttered, embarrassed.
Everyone knows being a lawyer is terribly dangerous. Why, walking to court one morning, I could just slip and fall down all those marble steps. Or I might just trip and fall as I walked up to present my closing argument. As clumsy as I was, those were all possibilities. My colleagues teased me endlessly.
“You must be a very smart, educated young man then,” he complimented.
As he turned to leave, I realized how rude and idiotic I’d just been. First, I hadn’t asked the man his name or given him mine. Second, I hadn’t asked him anything about this town or even asked if I could perhaps impose on him for the night.
“Excuse me, sir,” I called.
“Um, w-w-what’s your name? I’m Ishmael Goldman,”
It was a horrible introduction and hardly formal, but it would have to do.
“I’m Doctor Nathaniel Hawk,” he called back to me.
“Sir, if it isn’t a…uh…erm...imposition on your part, could I…? Well, I mean…I don’t have a place to stay tonight. Or at all, actually…but I…uh…was wondering…”
Dr. Hawk grinned.
“My wife and I could spare you a room,”
“I’ll be gone by dawn, sir, I promise!”
“You don’t have to leave at dawn, Mr. Goldman. You’re new in town—I’ll let you stay for as long as you need,”
”I’ll pay rent, then,”
Dr. Hawk grinned at me once more. I was impossible and he could obviously see that. After being a nuisance to my father over the years, I went out of my way to please people.
“If you insist, Mr. Goldman. The Lord ask that we not require payment of those in need,”
“I have plenty of money. I just need to find a permanent place to live—“
I looked at my one piece of luggage which contradicted me so. A man with plenty of money wouldn’t have just one suitcase.
“It’s my fault for not planning ahead,” I sighed, bowing my head.
“If you put it that way,” Dr. Hawk laughed.
He pulled a notebook and pen out of his pocket and scrawled what I assumed was his address, handing me the notebook.
“I have a stop or two to make before I go home. Why don’t you go on ahead to the house? Or you could even find yourself something to eat. My wife can’t make dinner until I bring her an ingredient or two,”
“Of course, sir, and thank you!”
I smiled warmly, glad that I had at least one friend in this city of strangers.
As Dr. Hawk left down the alley, I went back the way I’d come. Upon crossing the square, I noticed a lavish shop among the plain. Even though the other shops were closing up for the day, this one had a line of people out of the door. My suspicions rose and I approached the building.
“A newspaper?” I laughed, reading the sign on the shop.
Sure enough, this was the office for the local newspaper. Why was a local newspaper so busy? There couldn’t possibly be that many articles in need of writing…could there?
Curious, I strode to the back of the building. There was an open door and through that door there an office. I peered through the door, and though the office was well-lit, no one was inside.
“Can I help you?”
I spun around at the sudden voice, falling clumsily into the wall behind me. My bag slammed right into my chest, nearly knocking the breath out of me.
I must’ve looked like a thief caught in the act, for I was surely blushing wildly and trembling with shock.
“I-I was curious as to…um…why there were all the people at the newspaper,” I stammered, feeling very small.
“Oh, well, you’ve found the right man to answer that question,” he chimed, offering me a friendly smile.
The man before me was a copper-blonde and blue-eyed. His hair was a mess of curls, but he was dressed like a gentleman.
“I own this shop. You were curious about that line, yes?”
I nodded absentmindedly.
His voice was fatherly and kind, as though he had a young child—or young children—that he dealt with everyday. He seemed very patient and understanding, as well, another fatherly trait.
“I hired a writer not to long ago. He’s the Arms Dealer,”
“Arms Dealer?” I squeaked, embarrassed at how shrill my voice sounded.
“He sells weapons in your shop?”
The young man grinned, chuckling quietly under his breath.
“Well, that’s something you’ll have to see for yourself. He sells weapons, but in a different…form than what you’re used to,”
I was clueless. What other ‘form’ could weapons take? Weren’t they dastardly and macabre enough in these times? Why would this man and his cohort—or possible cohorts—create new weapons?
“You’re confused,” he sighed, his smile fading.
“Oh, perhaps you’re good at riddles. His weapons hurt, but the damage they cause can be reversed with the same weapon. His weapons are…?”
He grinned at me and finally held out his hand.
“Percival White, it’s a pleasure to meet you,”
He bowed simply at the waist, smiling at me.
“Ishmael Goldman,”
I took his hand and the two of us shook hands.
“You seem lost, as though you’re new…is that true? We’re a very small community—it’s easy to spot newcomers,”
”I see,” I laughed, remembering how Dr. Hawk had asked the same thing.
“Especially people from New York,” I added, grinning.
“What’s wrong with New York?” Mr. White asked, tilting his head in confusion.
“We have a distinct accent. Orange, for example,”
Mr. White chocked back a laugh, and bit his lip, trembling with silent laughter.
“He has quite the tongue—be careful not to say anything he could use against you. He’s quite the devil, you’ll soon see!” he teased, grinning playfully as though we were old friends.
“He sounds dangerous, then…” I mumbled to myself, not thinking the man heard me.
“Oh, yes, he is. My personal Arms Dealer, I like to call him. The girls swoon over him, but he’s quite cruel to the men. I think he’ll tease you, especially,”
“How wonderful…” I murmured, sighing quite matter-of-factly.
“Well, there’s no sense in keeping you. Why don’t you see for yourself what my Arms Dealer does? Just be careful not to get yourself caged and bitten, Mr. Goldman,” Mr. White advised, winking playfully at me.
I looked down in embarrassment, blushing like an inane little girl. When I looked back up, Mr. White was gone…which meant I had to face this Arms Dealer alone.
When I reached the corner of the building, I peeked around carefully. Other than that line of people outside Mr. White’s shop door, there were no people in the square as dusk settled in.
I walked briskly to the end of the line, casually looking around as though I was impatient to douse all suspicion.
I couldn’t stop wondering what this Arms Dealer was, though. Mr. White kept calling him dangerous…did he mean just his words or…?
”Words!” I gasped, snapping my fingers as I solved Mr. White’s riddle.
“That’s what he sells! Those are his weapons! Words! Weapons in the form of words!”
The last few people in the line looked back at me, raising their eyebrows and narrowing their eyes.
I blushed, looking down at the ground. I hadn’t meant to be loud.
I couldn’t help but wonder what this Arms Dealer was all about. Mr. White had seemed like a very kind, law-abiding citizen. It was difficult to imagine him dealing in the affairs of bad men…or being one himself.
I wondered what kind of works this Arms Dealer created. Poetry? Songs? Novels? I was nearly certain about all but the latter. What kind of man would have such a profession, though? Surely, an author would earn much more money. Perhaps this man was an aristocrat…but what was he doing here? In Missouri, of all places?
Hmm…there was more to this Arms Dealer than met the eye. Well…I didn’t know what the man looked like yet—whether he appeared sweet and kind or sneaky and untrustworthy—but there was more to him than people knew. Hadn’t anyone thought about those facts? If no one knew his name or face, couldn’t he be potentially dangerous? After all, he referred to himself as an “Arms Dealer”… Shouldn’t people be cautious of those unfamiliar in this time of war? There’s nothing wrong at all with being cautious.
It wasn’t long before I was standing inside, my eyes wandering about the ordinary-seeming front room. Everything seemed fairly normal—well, everything but the Arms Dealer himself.
Just talking to several people in the line, I had discovered quite a bit about this peculiar young man.
They said he looked like an angel; his skin was fair, his eyes a pale blue and his hair a pale blonde. He was very polite and talked as though he was very educated; some thought he might’ve been French or Danish, but he had no accent to prove it. I couldn’t see or hear him myself—there were people in front of me blocking my view and it was so loud I could barely hear the person in front of me.
“Good evening,”
I hadn’t realized that the line had suddenly come to an end and left me at the mercy of the Arms Dealer. He was sitting before me at a large, oak desk, a black leather memoir book closed and pushed to the side.
He was, as they had said, fair skinned with pale blue eyes and honey-blonde hair. He seemed polite and angelic enough, but I wasn’t sure how long he could hold such a façade.
“Good evening, sir,” I greeted, smiling warmly.
The edge of his mouth raised into a smile, a light chuckle escaping his lips.
“What’s your name?” he asked me, his voice having the quality of silk.
“Ishmael Goldman,” I replied.
“A Jew?” he inquired, cocking his head playfully at me.
That smile of his never faded.
I nodded. Didn’t he see the dark, curly hair, green eyes, and olive skin? Well, I suppose that was a stereotype; my sister was just as blonde and fair as him.
“Y-Yes, sir. Something similar between us?” I asked.
“No…I can only wish,”
I didn’t understand what he meant. How could he wish to be a Jew? My family had fled Germany because of all the terrible laws against us. Did he want to be persecuted?
“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to offer the friendliest smile I could.
He looked back at the office behind him and then back at me, motioning for me to come closer. I did as he wanted, foolishly thinking he would actually give me his name.
“Its better left unsaid,” he laughed.
I blushed, feeling defeated—and embarrassed. No one in town knew his name. How, then, could I possibly expect him to tell me, a newcomer? With the hope that I would leave and never come back, maybe, but I was here to stay…at least for a year or two.
“So, what do you need?” he finally asked me.
”I-I’m new in town, and everyone seemed to like you, s-so…”
”Ah, they directed you to me. My personal executioners,” he laughed.
“Yes, they did. I’ve…uh…heard rumors…”
”Hmm. Tell me,” he purred, his blue eyes challenging me with a flicker of annoyance.
He didn’t seem too interested—more entertained with me, I supposed—but I decided to babble on, anyway.
“Well, I-I’ve heard that you’re European, live out of town, are well educated, you have charisma, and no one knows your name,”
He laughed, shaking his head.
“You’ve been lied to! I’m not European, I live here, I’m well educated, I do have charisma, and people do know my name,”
He looked up at me and barely smiled once more.
“Anything else?”
“I-I-I-I...er…well…”
”Time is money!” he chuckled, winking.
“I-I suppose that was it, then…”
He nodded and we shook hands. I noticed a long, thin, pale scar on his wrist—I hadn’t noticed it before because his sleeve was covering it. As soon as he saw me looking at it, he snatched his hand back and slid it into his pocket.
“Have a nice day, Ishmael.”
“See you around town!” I called.
He snickered under his breath and murmured,
“Good luck with that,”
I looked back, meeting his blue eyes yet again. He refused to let me in on his secret, remaining as friendly as ever.
“I wouldn’t mind a friendship here, you know,” I sighed, “But you’re making it terribly difficult,”
“Friends can keep secrets,” he teased, grinning yet again.
And I thought I was crafty! I could get the truth out of people in a heartbeat—and tell falsehoods at the drop of a dime—but this man…he was toying with me!
“Goodbye,” he purred, grinning slyly as he waved to me.
I waved—and grinned—right back at him, leaving the Arms Dealer’s office as eagerly as I had come into it.
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