Free The Last Four Things by Paul Hoffman Page B

head bowed was still groaning but there was now a strange whistling sound alternating with each indrawn breath. No one could fake that noise. He wasn’t going to be any trouble
either. He just wished the sound would stop. Dunbar, lying on his side, was a dreadful white colour, lips bloodless.
    â€˜I should,’ said Dunbar, softly, ‘have killed you when I had the chance.’
    â€˜You should have left me alone when you had the chance.’
    â€˜Fair enough.’
    â€˜Any weapons?’
    â€˜Why should I tell you?’
    â€˜Fair enough.’ Nervous, Kleist kept watching the trees. This was too risky.
    â€˜This could take hours. Finish me.’
    â€˜So I should, but it’s easier said than done.’
    â€˜Why? You did for those two without much problem.’
    â€˜Yeah, but I was angry then.’
    â€˜When all’s said, I let you go. Finish it.’
    â€˜Your men will be back. Let them do it.’
    â€˜Not for hours. Maybe not at all.’
    â€˜Well I don’t want to, see.’
    â€˜You’d best be …’
    There was a loud ‘THWACK!’ as Kleist loosed the bow almost point blank into Dunbar’s chest. His eyes widened and he breathed out for what seemed like minutes but was only a few seconds. Fortunately for both of them that was that.
    Behind him the man on his knees still groaned and whistled. Kleist dropped to his knees and heaved. Butthere was nothing in his stomach to come out. It was not easy to keep on retching and keep an eye on the trees. He dropped the bow – he needed his hands free to search his new possessions and claim his old. He stood up slowly and screamed.
    Standing five yards away was a girl. She looked at him wide-eyed and then threw herself into his arms and burst into tears.
    â€˜Thank you! Thank you!’ she sobbed, hugging him as if he were a lost parent, her hands clutching him with desperate relief and gratitude. She kissed him full on the lips, then pushed herself into his chest, her hands squeezing his upper back as if she would never let him go. ‘You were so brave, so brave.’ She stepped back to examine him, eyes brimming with admiration.
    It would not have taken a talented student of human nature to have read Kleist’s not only astonished look but also the deep shiftiness of his expression as she looked adoringly at him. He watched the understanding that he had not arrived to rescue her move over her face like a fast sunrise. The admiration washed out and her eyes began to become wet with tears. It was not often that Kleist felt mean-spirited.
    She stepped back rather more than the emotion of her discovery warranted and produced the knife she had lifted from Kleist’s belt while she was so gratefully hugging him.
    The look of astonishment and anger on Kleist’s face was so comic in its effect, the girl burst into laughter.
    His face went red with anger, which only made her laugh harder. Then he stepped forward, knocked the knife out of her hand and punched her in the face. She went down like a sack of coal and fetched her head a nasty blow. He pickedup the knife, keeping his eyes on her, then gave a quick scan of the trees. Things were getting out of control. Her expression now was one of shock and pain at her bloody nose. She sat up.
    â€˜Laughing on the other side of your face now.’
    She said nothing as he backed away and started examining the bundles around the camp for his own stuff and anything else portable. The man on his knees was still moaning and his punctured lung still whistling.
    The girl started crying again. Kleist carried on searching. In what must have been Lord Dunbar’s pack he found his money. Otherwise the pickings were scant. Their lives as robbers can’t have been up to much. And they only had three horses, including the one they stole from Kleist. The girl’s crying became louder and more uncontrollable. Along with the groan and whistle of the