Free Metal Emissary by Chris Paton Page B

Three times she pressed the cloth into the wound before tapping Jamie’s leg for him to roll over. The woman cleaned the exit wound on the back of Jamie’s thigh. When she was finished she bound the wound tightly, pushed the bowl to one side and sat back on her heels. The boy rushed past Jamie and crawled onto his mother’s lap as Jamie sat up. She tousled the boy’s hair as she stared at Jamie.
    “Thank you,” Jamie mumbled. It had been a long time since he had seen a young woman. Never before had he seen someone so thoroughly exotic. He swallowed. “Who are you?”
    The woman kissed the top of the boy’s head and lifted him onto his feet. She smoothed her palm on his cheek as he protested, gave him the bowl of water to carry.
    In the heat of the tent, Jamie tugged off his greatcoat. The woman froze at the sight of the lace wrapped around his bare forearm, just below the torn sleeve of his grubby shirt. She dropped to her knees at Jamie’s side and reached out to touch the bloody lace. Her fingers stopped short but a hand’s width from touching. The woman’s eyes misted. She stood, gripped the boy by the arm and rushed out of the tent without another glance at Jamie.
    “Hey,” Jamie tried to stand. He slipped on the sheepskin and slumped onto his back.
    “What are you doing, British?” Hari bustled into the tent, dumping Jamie’s pack and rifle case on the ground at the lieutenant’s feet. “Where are you going?”
    “There was a young woman.”
    Hari placed a hand on Jamie’s forehead. “Are you sick? What woman?”
    “The one with the child.”
    “There is no one here, British,” Hari took a step back and regarded Jamie, his eyes scanning Jamie’s face from beneath his wool cap. “Truly, you are sick.”
    “I am not sick, Hari,” Jamie pushed himself into a standing position and wobbled upon his feet. “Hand me my rifle, man.”
    “Your rifle?” Hari took another step back. “Why?”
    “So I can lean on it. Damn it, Hari. What are you playing at?” Jamie lowered himself to the ground and sat on the blanket. “There was a woman,” he gesticulated with open palms. “She cleaned my wound, Hari. And now she is gone. She left the tent right before you came in.”
    Hari stared at the clean bandage around Jamie’s thigh. “Yes. Okay, British.”
    “Never mind,” Jamie nodded at his pack. “Did you have any trouble finding my stuff?” he pointed at the blanket beside him and Hari sat down.
    “No problem. It was right where you said it would be.”
    “Good,” Jamie sighed. “Thank you, Hari.”
    “It is my pleasure, British.”
    “So,” Jamie looked around the tent. “What do we do now?”
    “We rest.”
    “And tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow, we hunt.” Hari made himself comfortable on the blanket, helping himself to chunks of roasted goat meat and maast. He stopped chewing when Jamie tapped his leg. “Do you want some, British?”
    “Did you bring it with you? Without offering me any?” Jamie shook his head. “Hari, after all we have been through together.”
    “It was here, when I arrived. You did not see it?”
    “No, I did not,” Jamie shrugged. “I had the soup.”
    “The soup? Truly?” Hari shook his head and laughed. “You are brave, British.” Hari passed Jamie the plate of food. They ate until the plate was empty and the fire crackled low in the centre of the tent.
    Wiping his hands on his shirttails, Jamie reached around his neck and removed a locket. “I want to show you my mother,” he opened the locket and handed it to Hari.
    “She is pretty. Is she still alive?”
    “I don’t know,” Jamie took back the locket. “She was sleeping when I stole this from her bedside table. I never saw her again. I had planned to sell it, but...”
    “You stole from your own mother? Truly?”
    “Yes, Hari,” Jamie lifted the locket and chain over his head and let it hang around his neck. “I blame my father, he taught me to drink,” he looked at Hari. “Do you