by J M Hemmings
Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he hugged the great stallion’s neck, and he could not stop himself from sobbing.
‘You’re coming wi’ me, boy,’ he whispered through his tears. ‘We’re getting out ay this place. We’re leaving all ay this behind. Come on then, come wi’ me.’
He took River King’s bridle and gently led him out of the paddock. At the gate the groom looked up and smiled.
‘I see you found your mount, soldier! And a fine one ‘e is, too, ‘e is! ‘E ‘ad a wound from a musket ball in his rump, but it went straight into the meat and didn’t ‘it anything vital. Wasn’t too deep, and I managed to dig it out, coz he was so bleedin’ exhausted ‘e didn’t even ‘ave the energy to fight me. ‘E’s right as rain now, ‘e is.’
William wiped the tears from his face with shaking hands and tried to regain at least a semblance of composure.
‘Saddle him up for me,’ he said to the groom.
‘Er, I’m not supposed to do that without an officer present,’ the boy replied, looking suddenly uneasy.
William’s heart began to race as he pulled the doctor’s paper out of his coat pocket. He was taking a huge gamble here, but desperate situations called for desperate measures. Trying to maintain the sternness of his expression, he handed the paper to the boy.
‘I may not be an officer, lad, but I’ve go’ an order from one. Straight from Lord Cardigan himself. I’m tae courier a message tae British command at Sevastopol.’
The boy stared uneasily at the paper, chewing on his lower lip.
‘Well, er, the thing is, soldier, um, the orders isn’t usually given to me as such, but rather to my superior.’
Tension and apprehension knotted themselves in William’s belly in a burning churn of discomfort. This was taking far too long.
‘And where is your superior?’
The boy shrugged.
‘I’m not sure, like. ‘E was supposed to be back ‘ere ‘alf an hour ago. If you’d just wait a few moments, like, I’m sure you could give it to ‘im, see.’
‘I dunnae have a few moments!’ William snapped, putting on a charade of impatient wrath, which, given his mounting anxiety, was not too hard to fake. ‘This is an extremely urgent order! Now are you going tae read it an’ help me, or am I going tae have tae report you fir obstructing a direct order from Lord Cardigan himself?!’
Panic flashed across the lad’s face and he began to stutter.
‘I er, look soldier, can’t you just ‘old on a few minutes, like, I’m sure—’
‘No I cannae! Dae you or dae you no’ understand the meaning ay the word “urgent”?’
‘I er, yeah I do—’
‘Then bleedin’ look at the order, sign whatever you need tae sign, an’ saddle up this damned horse fir me! Now!’
The boy sheepishly took the doctor’s paper and perused it awkwardly before handing it back to William. He did not seem to be able to meet William’s eyes.
‘I, er, yes soldier, that seems to be fine, it does. I’ll saddle this big bruiser up for you right now.’
William breathed out a subtle sigh of relief, for his bluff had worked: the boy was illiterate.
‘Come on then, get on with it!’ he snapped, maintaining the illusion of impatient anger.
The boy nodded and retrieved a saddle, which he put on River King with as much haste as he could manage. While he was doing this, an icy sweat had started to soak William’s back, and his hands had begun to tremble badly. He kept on looking around as the boy worked, his gaze darting back and forth, terrified that the groom’s superior would show up and thwart his plans. The man did not, however, and within a few minutes River King was ready to go.
‘Thank you, boyo,’ William said, the cold hardness on his face giving way to a kinder expression. ‘Enjoy the rest ay your day.’
‘Good luck with your mission, soldier,’ the groom said as he went back to polishing saddles. ‘Looks like a right ‘eavy snowfall is coming. Don’t get too cold on the road to Sevastopol, like.’
‘I won’t.’
William mounted River King and trotted off toward the road that led out of the camp, breathing out a sigh of relief as he did. There was still one final obstacle to overcome, though: a number of guards were posted at the entrance to the camp, and they were all huddled around a fire in an attempt to stave off the approaching cold, cupping their hands around mugs of freshly brewed coffee as they stoked the flames.
‘Hail, Private!’ one of them yelled as William approached. ‘What are you up to then?’
‘Urgent errand fir Lord Cardigan!’ William shouted in response. His heart was thumping in great, sonorous beats, and cold sweat slicked the skin of his lower back beneath his coat.
‘I’ll need to sign you out and see your orders.’
‘Very well,’ William said, trying to appear calm and confident.
‘Right-oh, let me just get the book,’ the trooper said wearily, groaning and cursing as he heaved himself up from the fire.
‘You can read and write, can you not?’ he asked somewhat sourly as he handed William a ledger, a quill and an inkpot.
‘That I can,’ William replied as he took the items.
‘Good, just fill all of that out then.’
William filled in the required details with shaky hands, feeling flushes of alternating heat and cold pumping through his veins and washing over his skin as he did. Eventually, he completed everything and handed the book back.
‘Right, that all seems in order,’ the soldier said as he looked over the information that William had just filled in. ‘Now, if you’ll just let me have a look at your order, I’ll sign you out and you can be on your way.’
William’s mouth was utterly dry at this point, and the back of his coat was heavy and completely sodden with sweat; he could not use the doctor’s note to fool this soldier. He avoided making eye contact with the man as he began to dig in his pockets, pretending to search for the non-existent order. Eventually, after digging in every one of his pockets, he turned and gave the soldier a sheepishly apologetic look.
‘It’s … it’s no’ here,’ he said.
‘Are you sure?’ the man asked with a frown. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t let you out without seeing that order.’
‘It must be back in my tent. Drat! But listen,’ William said as he pulled the doctor’s note out of his pocket with trembling fingers, ‘I’m tae deliver this message straight intae the hands ay the British Commander at Sevastopol. It’s an extremely urgent matter. Extremely.’
‘Well I really can’t—’
‘Listen, I’m utterly certain tha’ it’s on my cot. Aye, now that I think about it, I’m absolutely sure ay it. I was in such a rush tae get this message tae Sevastopol tha’ I neglected tae pick up the damned order in my haste.’
‘Let me see that paper then, that will probably suffice,’ the soldier said, reaching up for the paper.
William snatched it away before the man could grasp it.
‘Lord Cardigan was extremely specific about this: nobody’s eyes, an’ I mean nobody’s, are tae look upon the contents ay this letter but the High Commander at Sevastopol himself. I’m sorry, but if I let you look at this I’m liable tae be hanged. I’m sure you can appreciate the fact tha’ I must follow Lord Cardigan’s orders tae the letter.’
The soldier folded his arms across his broad chest and shook his head.
‘Well listen, can’t you just go back to your tent and fetch the order then?’
‘I’m already bleedin’ well running late!’ William protested. ‘The urgency ay this mission cannae be understated, an’ you’re currently hindering me in carrying it out! For God’s sake, can you no’ just let me out now an’ get one ay those idle troopers over yonder tae go tae my tent an’ fetch the order? Just fill out your damned papers after I’ve left! I cannae linger here fir a moment longer!’
‘I’ll go,’ volunteered one of the troopers who was squatting near the fire. ‘Just let the lad
out, Phil. Can’t you bleedin’ see he’s on a terribly urgent mission?’
‘This is highly irregular,’ the soldier next to William complained.
‘And this is highly important,’ William countered, tapping the paper with urgent fingers. ‘I must leave right now!’
‘What’s your name, Private, and which tent are you in?’ asked the other soldier, who had just stood up. ‘I’ll go find your order. You go on and get on with your mission.’
‘Private William Gisborne, 17th Lancers, currently in medical tent 3B. Ask the doctor there which one is my cot. He’ll show you tae it. The order is sitting on my pillow.’
‘Very well, very well. Come on Phil, sign the lad out, he’s got important business to go about.’
The soldier shook his head and frowned, but he nonetheless picked up the quill and started writing in his book as the other soldier turned around and trudged into the camp to go and search for the order.
‘When do you expect to return from this mission, Private Gisborne?’
‘Before nightfall.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re that fast?!’ the man exclaimed, a look of disbelief contorting his features.
‘Best rider ay the 17th,’ William said coolly. ‘Tha’s why Lord Cardigan chose me fir this mission.’
‘Very well. Be on your way then.’
William nodded and tipped his cap to the man, feeling a massive wave of relief rushing flash flood-like through his entire body and mind.
‘Good day tae you, trooper. Farewell!’ he cried, almost unable to disguise the elation in his voice. With that, William spurred River King into a gallop and sped through the steadily worsening snowfall, out into the thickening wall of white beyond the camp, and out of the British Army forever, for he was now a deserter.
PART FIFTEEN
50
RANOMI
31st October 2020. KSM Nightclub, Bangkok, Thailand
The air inside the liquor crate was stiflingly humid and peppery with sawdust, and adding to this choking concoction were the diesel fumes from the truck’s engine, which rattled and chugged with a harsh clatter as the vehicle idled. Ranomi had been inside the crate for well over two hours, and despite being in a state of deep meditation and breathing only a single breath per minute, the strain of the twisted position into which her body was contorted between tightly packed liquor bottles was beginning to take its toll.
She was an experienced practitioner of yoga and meditation, and since childhood she had always been naturally extraordinarily flexible. Because of this, in addition to her tiny frame and childlike stature, it had not been hard to get her body into the liquor crate and pack enough bottles around her that she was completely concealed. Extreme care had been taken to get the exact number of bottles into the crate with her, so that the weight of the crate itself did not differ from one that was filled solely with liquor.
‘Be safe Ranomi … but remember, so much depends squarely on you.’
Zakaria’s words echoed about the corridors of her mind, bringing her further out of the meditative trance and pushing pins of pain into her heavily stretched joints and tendons.
‘I’ll get you inside, I promise you this,’ she had replied. ‘And when I make a promise, nothing can get in the way of me fulfilling it. Nothing.’
Keeping promises meant everything to Ranomi; she came from a culture in which the spoken word carried just as much, if not more authority and gravitas than the written word … yet here, now, in this situation, would she be able to make good on this promise? Never before had she undertaken a task so fraught with peril. Ever since she had found out who the Huntsmen were, all those years ago, she had been on the run from them. Awang had saved her from death at their hands once, and the terror and trauma of that particular experience had remained with her with all the dogged persistence of knotted scar tissue.
And now here she was, heading into the perilous depths of their lair, into a place crawling with deadly enemies. The thought of being alone in that place scared the wits out of her, but she knew that she had to overcome this crushing dread and complete her task, for far more than her own life was at stake here. The fate of too many beings rested in the hoped-for efficiency of these limbs; these tired, aching limbs, and this racing mind. Ranomi felt as if she was carrying a globe made of the finest crystal, a globe alive with all that was good and green and pure in the world … a globe that was all too brittle, weak and fragile in construct. One slip and the delicate orb would tumble from her palms and shatter forever into irreparable dust and razor-slivers.
Breathe in. Yes. One deep, deep breath. Clear your mind of fear, of worry, of doubt. Feel the power tingling in your fingertips, your toes, your third eye. Bring all thoughts back to the centre. Back to the centre, deep in the core. Hold the breath in, yes, hold it in. Relax every muscle, every tendon, every sinew. Slow the flow of your blood to a leisurely crawl. Feel the power of the universe sustaining your spirit. Remember, this vessel is but a temporary structure. What it houses is immortal, is beyond the boundaries of space and time. What—
‘Fuck, I’m tired. Hungover as fuck as well.’
A harsh voice speaking Thai jolted Ranomi out of her meditative trance and into the discomfort of the immediate present.
‘Ha! What’s the matter, you had two beers last night instead of one?’ another rough voice chuckled in response.
‘Fuck you, asshole. Two six-packs. And I still banged two whores at the massage place after that.’
‘Yeah, at that spot you like to visit, I hear half of ‘em are men with their cocks tucked between their thighs. So maybe they banged you, huh?’
‘Piss off! Ha, well your prick is so small you wouldn’t even need to tuck it anywhere to pretend you’re a bitch.’
The second man roared with laughter at this jibe. Another voice then interrupted them, but this one was a lot smoother, carrying in its tone an air of cool sophistication.
‘Excuse me you two, but could I have the papers please? I need to sign off this shipment and get back into the club. We’re busy as all hell tonight.’
‘Here you go,’ one of the deliverymen grunted. ‘Sign here, here and here.’
Through the sides of the crate came the sound of the hasty scratching of a pen on paper.
‘All right, you two clowns know where to take this crate, right? Up the stairs, to the right, first door when you reach the second floor.’
‘Got it.’
Ranomi heard curt footsteps clopping away. After the man had left, the deliverymen resumed their grumbling.
‘What a stuck-up little bitch.’
‘Yeah. That cunt has a real “punch-me-in-the-face” kinda look, doesn’t he?’
‘I wish I could. I’d snap his pencil-neck like a twig. Best Muay Thai fighter in my village I was, back when I was seventeen. I can still throw a killer punch and leg kick combo, you better believe it.’
‘Yeah yeah, not that it matters much now, killer. Come on, we gotta load this booze crate. You know how the cocksuckers at this club get if we take our time.’
Ranomi inhaled deeply and focused on remaining still and silent as the two workers positioned themselves on either side of the liquor crate. Any movement or sound now could give her away and doom the mission to failure.
‘All right asshole, you ready?’ the first one gnarled.
‘I’m ready, don’t know if my fuckin’ back is though! Fuck it, let’s go. On three. One, two, three, up!’
The deliverymen lifted up the crate, and inside it Ranomi remained completely motionless as they grunted and heaved, hauling the heavy item up the stairs. With one final bout of gasping and cursing they reached the storeroom behind the bar and deposited the crate there, grumbling as they left. Their voices were quickly drowned out, though, by the miasma of other noises that comprised the soundscape of this room; the wall-shaking bass beats emanating from the dancefloor, the tinkling of glasses at the bar, the undulating, ceaseless roar of thousands of voices shouting, talking
and laughing all at once.
Time was of the essence; Ranomi had to act immediately. She pulled on the string that would open the specially constructed side of the crate, out of which she would be able to slither. With a creaky pop and a rushing in of smoky air the crate opened outwards, and Ranomi hauled herself out, a surge of soothing relief spreading like a warm elixir through her aching limbs as soon as she was able to stretch and flex them.
This respite was short-lived though; a sucker punch of panic decked her as the door handle suddenly turned. With a slickness of speed that would have impressed any feline, she darted across the room to the far side of a towering fridge and pressed herself up against the side of it.
The noise of the club came charging in the instant the door opened.
‘Thank goodness,’ a high-pitched female voice exclaimed in Thai above the din. ‘They’ve finally brought in more vodka. I thought we were gonna run out at the bar.’
‘I’ll take three bottles to my side of the bar, and you take two to your side, darling,’ an effeminate male voice responded. ‘They’re animals out there tonight! Oh my!’
Ranomi kept herself statue-still, listening intently.
‘All right dear, I’ve got my bottles, you got yours?’ the man continued. ‘Yes? Fantastic! Hurry, back to the bar, those two new fake-titted floozies can’t handle it on their own!’
Ranomi breathed out a sigh of relief as she heard the two bartenders leaving the room – and then sucked the air straight back in again as the man abruptly turned on his heels and headed back into the room.
‘Oh! I almost forgot, darling, that the fridge at the north end of the bar is almost entirely out of soda water, so I’ll grab a case from the fridge.’
Ranomi kept herself pressed up against the side of the fridge, while mere centimetres from her, at the front of it, the man fumbled about. With her animal-enhanced senses she could smell, as intensely as if he was pressing himself up against her, his overpowering cologne, the artificial fruit scent of his hair conditioner, and the overpowering reek of the hundreds of cigarettes that clung like ticks to the fibres of his clothes.