mattresses and used the proceeds to purchase fifty-four much worse ones. Hot water was limited to his private bathroom.
These were easy changes to make, because Steamspell loathed children. Whether they were well-behaved or rambunctious, intelligent or rock-stupid, fat or thin (though they would all eventually become thin in his care), Steamspell hated them all. Rotten brats. If they weren’t awful little things, they’d still have parents.
Though Steamspell did not beat the orphans without justification, he found this justification remarkably easy to find. He had a large wooden paddle that he used to administer the beatings, but liked to turn it sideways, to better focus the pain. Every orphan under his roof had been beaten at least thrice, and a couple of the worst troublemakers were well into the triple digits. Despite his best efforts to control the impulse, Steamspell often burst into maniacal laughter as he struck them with the paddle.
Nathan had tried to be brave as he rode in the front of the police car that drove him to the orphanage. The officer he’d been with the most, a gentle-eyed man named William, had told him that it was time to be a big boy, and assured him that while he’d be sad for a while, he’d make plenty of friends at his new home.
The police had seen his teeth, of course. The reactions were evenly divided between horror and fascination, though those who fell into the “horror” category did not express this in front of Nathan, out of courtesy for the fact that he’d just lost his parents.
“His name is Nathan,” said William, giving him a gentle shove forward to his new caregiver.
“Nathan, eh?” Steamspell asked. “Do people call you Nate? That would be easier.”
Nathan shook his head.
“Well, we can make do with Nathan for now.” Steamspell hated learning the children’s names, and preferred to go with identifiers like Kid With Cowlick, Boy With Two Moles on Chin, and Blond Gawky Whiner.
“He’s quiet but very polite,” said William. “But before you take him into your care, you should be aware of his oddity.”
Steamspell frowned. “Oddity. He’d better not be a bed wetter. I won’t tolerate that.” He glared at Nathan. “I’ve put many lads before you in diapers, and if you think they only have to wear them overnight, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I don’t wet the bed,” said Nathan, softly.
“Did I just see what I think I saw?” asked Steamspell. “Open your mouth again, boy.”
Nathan did as he was told.
Steamspell let out a long, harsh laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned! I’ve never seen such a thing. The children I get are rarely top quality, but
“He’s a very nice boy,” said William.
“Oh, I’m sure he is!” Steamspell held his sides as he laughed. “What a tragic young man you are! My God, the other children will eat you alive when they see those things. I don’t mean that literally, of course. In a literal sense, it’s much more likely that you’ll eat them.” He laughed some more, and committed that joke to memory with the intention of using it at least five or six more times.
“Are you going to be okay?” William asked Nathan.
Nathan was relatively certain that he was
“Good.” The police officer shook his hand, and then left.
Steamspell briefly glanced at a piece of paper inside a folder. “Parents killed themselves, did they?”
“No, sir.”
“Boy, when you address me, you will say ‘sir.’ Do you understand?”
“I did say ‘sir.’”
“Then say it in such a way that I don’t immediately forget that you said it! I will be treated with respect. If you wish to eat and be sheltered from the rain and sleep without being bitten by snakes, you will need to learn that I am the most important person in your life.”
“Yes, sir.”
Steamspell struck him on the side of the head, an open-palmed blow that made Nathan’s ears ring.
“I said ‘sir’!” Nathan insisted.
“I know you did. I’m not deaf. That was for all of the bad things you did before you came to live with me. I think we can both agree that a slap to the ear is an extremely mild punishment for all of the sins you’ve accumulated, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So now we’re starting clean. From now on, when I beat you, it will be for transgressions after this moment. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you bite the heads off chickens?” Steamspell laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something to see? I wonder when real geeks get started in the geeking business. I’d guess it was pretty early, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“No, I guess you wouldn’t, not having grown up in a carnival atmosphere. Maybe it’s something I’ll exploit. Do you like the taste of live chicken? Oh, no matter, we’ll deal with it later. Come on, Nate, let’s get you to your mattress.”
On his second day at the orphanage, Nathan was given the nickname “Fangboy.” His first day was mostly spent scrubbing down the kitchen with another boy who never spoke, and his first night was spent lying on his mattress, weeping softly under a thin blanket that had a mild scent of mold.
The other boys did not bother him that first night, possibly because they all remembered how they’d cried their first night at the orphanage. Nathan didn’t want to cry, he wanted to be brave, but he couldn’t help himself. He missed his mom and dad, and his own bed, and edible meals. (Dinner had consisted of gray and white lumps that, by popular vote, were determined by the boys to be chicken and dumplings, though in fact they were meatloaf.)
The second day, first thing in the morning, a boy who was about ten grabbed Nathan’s toothbrush out of his hand. “It’s mine now!” he declared.
“Give it back!” Nathan shouted.
The boy, Arnold, shook his head and held the toothbrush up out of Nathan’s reach. “I’m trading you,” he said. “I’m older, so I get the better toothbrush.”
Toothbrushes were among the many items that Steamspell felt were unnecessary to replace on a regular basis, though he did not force the boys to recycle dental floss.
“No!” Nathan shouted. The toothbrush, though not custom-made, was the largest size Nathan’s father had been able to find. He knew he could make do with a smaller brush, but despite his lack of social interaction, he realized that this was a pivotal moment. If he let the boy steal his toothbrush, he’d always be the Kid Whose Toothbrush You Could Steal. He wasn’t going to be pushed around. “You can’t have it!”
Arnold dropped the toothbrush onto the floor. The floor was actually rather clean because of all of the available child labor, but still, one never appreciated having one’s toothbrush dropped onto the floor. “What’s wrong with your mouth?”
Nathan closed his mouth and said nothing.
“Hey, everybody, come over here!” said Arnold, beckoning to the other orphans. “The new kid has fangs!”
“I do not!” said Nathan.
“Look at them! Those can’t be real, can they?”
The other boys all crowded around him, and Nathan felt his face burn red with embarrassment. He covered his mouth with his left hand.
“Go on, show them your fangs!”
“They aren’t fangs.”
“They sure are! They’re like Dracula fangs, except it’s
