Free Danger at Dahlkari by Jennifer Wilde

merciless arm as the native leaned back, applying even more pressure. Gasping, gurgling, fighting for his life, the Thug jerked about like a puppet gone berserk, his feet no longer touching the ground. Arm wrapped murderously around his victim’s throat, the native reached under his robe with his free hand. I saw the knife blade flash in the moonlight as he raised it, saw it swing in the air for a split second before plunging into the Thug’s chest. His body jerked convulsively as the native drove the blade in deeper, twisting the handle with a savage precision, and then the Thug fell limp, the native’s arm still curled about his throat.
    It was a grotesque tableau, not real at all, something from a nightmare, and I was far, far away, seeing it through the haze of moonlight and shadow, everything gray and black and soft silver, without color, without substance. The native let the body drop to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs, a puppet with its strings cut, broken, lifeless. The native casually wiped the blade of his knife on the puppet’s white sleeve and then he caught both limp wrists in one hand and pulled the thing out of the clearing and into the jungle.
    â€œIt’s over,” I said. I might have been telling her the hour. “There must have been just two of them. They wouldn’t have felt it necessary to send more.”
    â€œHe was one of the ones who joined the caravan,” Sally remarked. “I recognized him. He was one of the ones talking to Ahmed night before last. I—I feel so strange.”
    â€œIt’s over, Sally.”
    â€œI wanted to scream, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t move.”
    Neither of us said anything else for a while. I could feel that curious numbness disappearing. My skin felt prickly, stinging slightly, and I could feel the blood circulating in my veins. I felt light-headed now, almost dizzy, and I wanted to laugh. For some reason I wanted to burst into gales of laughter, but I didn’t. I sobbed, just once, a dry, painful sound that seemed to hurt my throat. Hysteria was so close, but I held it off, steadying myself, forcing back the waves of sensation threatening to sweep over me.
    Sally let go of my hand. She had been clutching it all this while. I flexed my sore fingers, watching as she stepped across the clearing to the spot where the Thug had been standing. She reached down and picked the yellow rumal off the ground, casually examining it.
    â€œHow—how can you bear to touch it?”
    â€œIt’s evidence,” she said calmly. “When we get to Dahlkari, they’re going to want to know everything that happened, every last detail, and this yellow scarf is evidence.”
    She folded the hideous cloth and thrust it into her skirt pocket. Then she sighed and pushed a wave of tarnished gold hair from her cheek.
    â€œI suppose we might as well try to get some sleep now,” she told me. “Our friend probably won’t be back for some time. It’ll take him a while to dispose of the bodies. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. We’ll need all our strength.”
    I would never have thought it possible, but sleep I did, sinking into unconsciousness almost as soon as I stretched out on the ground with the blanket wrapped around me. I awoke once, startled, and I saw the native step into the clearing and move over to where he had been sleeping earlier. I shivered, cold, pulling the blanket closer about me, and when I awoke again the rays of brilliant sunlight streamed through the trees and the magnificent black stallion stood in the clearing and Sally was helping the native pack the saddlebags.
    â€œYou’re awake,” she called brightly. “It’s a perfectly gorgeous day, Miss Lauren. Look at that sunlight!”
    I sat up, groggy, shielding my eyes. “What time is it?”
    â€œLate,” she retorted. “Do get up, sleepyhead. We must get an early start, you know. If we