Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (8 page)

“It
was
serious. I said, ‘Yes, Sir, I can. ’Tis time to return to work.’ ”

He squinted, pressed his lips together, like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “No. We can’t go back to work yet. I’m just beginning to get to know you. I want to sit right here, or maybe hide with you in the forest, and do nothing but talk to you the rest of the day. The work can wait.”

“The cutters are on their feet; Lieutenant Waters is about to speak, see him? He’ll come for you in a moment; he needs your strong back. And I must go for more water.” She started to climb to her feet.

He stood first, held her hand as she rose. “I protest, Lady. I must have more time with you.” His smile gave way to an earnest, almost pleading look. “Emily, I mean what I just said. I
do
want to spend more time with you . . .
much
more time. Talking to you, just this small amount today, has enflamed my passion to know you well, to know your heart, your mind. Please say that you’ll allow me that pleasure.”

Emily regarded him with an undecipherable look. “Hugh, I’ve greatly enjoyed our visit in your parlor and getting to know you, even for so short a time. So yes, we will spend more time together. I look forward to it.”

Waters was on his feet, looking at the transport crew near Tayler and Emily. “Come, men. The day is fleeting. Let us—”

A distant yet loud, unnerving shriek tore through the thick, humid air. All stood, looked toward the sound, waited.

Waters said, “The stream.” Another shriek, more terrible than the first, then continuous wailing, like a chorus of banshees.

Waters pulled his saber from the ground, slid it into its scabbard, quickly drew his wheel lock pistol—the only firearm in the colony that didn’t require a burning match for powder ignition. “You men”—he pointed at a cluster of six soldiers sitting nearby in the shade—“stay here. Guard these people. Civilians, gather over there.” He pointed at several piles of logs arranged in a loose circle. The shrieking persisted. People glanced at one another; all looked afraid, confused. “The rest of you men come with me.
Now! At the quick time!” Fourteen soldiers sprinted across the clearing into the forest, toward the stream, where another group of water bearers had gone to refill their water buckets.

When they arrived at the stream, they found four women gathered around the wailing woman, their arms around her waist and shoulders, trying to comfort her. The woman’s eyes focused two feet in front of her, where a decomposed body lay on the ground. A few tufts of red hair remained on the crushed skull, and five arrows lay amidst the bones. “My Jamie, my Jamie, dead. Nooo.”

Waters gently eased the four women out of the way, stood in front of her, then slowly grasped her shoulders. “Madame . . . Madame.”

The wailing continued; she twisted back and forth, trying to escape his grasp.

He shook her, shook her again. “Madame, stop.”

She wailed on, looked Waters in the eye but didn’t see him.

“Madame.” The wailing unnerved him. As he held her fast with his left hand, he slapped her across the face with his right, then pulled her to his chest. He slowly relaxed his strong grip to a gentle embrace, softly caressed the back of her neck and head until only a quiet whimper remained. “Madame, is this your husband?”

She spoke softly, hesitantly. “Yes.”

“How do you know ’tis him? How can you identify him?’

“He . . . he told me . . . before he left England . . . that he . . . that he was the only . . . the only redhead in . . . in the unit . . . I know ’tis him. What will become of me now? How will I . . .”

He’d anticipated finding more dead men, feared the possibility. Now he regretted they hadn’t searched the entire area before allowing the people to go to the village, knew there’d be hell to pay for the governor. “We’ll care for you, Madame. Do not fear.” He looked at the other ladies. “Kindly help her back to the village. Then please care for her, calm her. Go to my cottage. You’ll find a flask of rum in my bag. Give her some; try to get her to sleep.” He motioned the women toward the village, then looked at the soldiers, who nervously shuffled their feet, glanced at the dead soldier, then the forest, then back at the soldier. “We’ll escort the ladies to the village.
Then, Sergeant Myllet, bring a detail of eight men back here with shovels and bury this man. He died in Her Majesty’s service, and when the governor returns from the ship, we’ll have a proper military ceremony.” He leaned toward Myllet. “Sergeant, be vigilant, keep four men on guard while the others dig. I’m uneasy about this place.”

“Aye, Sir. I feel it too.”

They’d gone but fifty steps when Waters stopped, tapped Myllet on the shoulder, then pointed halfway between straight-ahead and full-right. “There . . . see them . . . about sixty yards away . . . just left of that big tree, behind the bush?”

Myllet looked, raised his musket, and aimed at the two Savages who stood defiantly tall, in plain view, readied bows in hand. “I see them, Sir. Do you want me to fire a warning shot?”

“I think not. There may be more, may be a trap . . . we need to get these women to the village quickly, prepare for an attack there; we don’t want to fight here. Keep five men; follow behind us at a slow pace; keep your sights on the Savages as long you can. Fix your weapons on them, but do not shoot unless they attack . . . just watch them. They know what our weapons can do, but they also know how long it takes to reload them. I repeat. Do not fire unless they attack.” Now it begins, thought Waters . . . now it begins. A sudden rush worked its way through his body, quickening his pulse, his breathing, exciting a previously unfelt exhilaration at the prospect of leading men in combat.

“Understand, Sir.”

Waters held his gaze on the Savages until he lost sight of them behind the trees, but he could still see Myllet and the rear guard doing as he had ordered. Five minutes later and a hundred yards from the village, he finally lost sight of Myllet. A moment later, the colonists spied Waters and his group, immediately scrambled from the circle of logs and rushed toward him. They were halfway to him when the throaty sound of a musket shot rumbled from the forest near Myllet’s position, then two more. “Damn!” Waters’ mind flashed to White’s cautions about the Savages, wondered if Myllet had remembered. “Go back to the palisades! Get inside the circle of logs! Take cover! Go to the logs! Run! Now!”

Chapter 4

A
llie looked at the clock, saw the big green
1:32
a.m. Hot, sweaty, anxious, she stared uncertainly at the ceiling fan. What’s going on with me . . . same people, three times, never happens . . . like a movie, not a dream . . . that girl’s really pretty.

She yawned, rolled out of bed, walked to the bathroom, and drank a glass of water, yawned again. Birthmark’s itchy . . . wonder how Erik’s doing. Miss him. Nice work, O’Shay! She looked at herself in the mirror. Gotta sleep, busy day. Wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably asleep; it’s one thirty in the frickin’ morning. She walked clumsily back to the bed, slid under the comforter, then resumed watching the fan. Its motion quickly mesmerized her, relaxed her, helped her think and channel questions into the analytical software of her mind; but the questions remained unanswered, begot still more questions.

At two thirty, Allie realized she was still awake, wide awake, far from sleep. She got out of bed, returned to the bathroom, and searched the top drawer for her Melatonin. “Damn it! Where is it? Know it’s here.” She checked two other drawers, slammed them closed. On the way out of the bathroom she remembered it was in her makeup kit. She found it, washed-down three pills, then returned to the bed. Forty-five minutes later, she still watched the fan, her mind seemingly spinning in sync with its rotation. “I’ll
make
them work!” She returned to the bathroom, downed three more Melatonin, crawled back into bed. Twenty minutes later, she slipped gracefully off the precipice of sleep, her thoughts trailing to oblivion behind her. Dreams . . . dreams . . . why . . .

Two hundred miles to the northwest of the colonists, four Savages untied their travois from their waists, set about gathering firewood for the approaching night. One pulled a stick the length of his forearm from a deer-hide bag, then a flat chip of wood half the length of the stick and the width of a man’s hand. Next he removed a flat rock with a hole in it as wide as the fire stick diameter, then some tinder, which he laid around and inside a notch in the chip, adjacent to a hole that was also the diameter of the stick. Last came a short, bow-shaped stick with a loose piece of sinew attached to the ends. He looped the sinew around the fire stick and fitted the bottom into the friction hole in the chip, the top into the hole in the rock. He pressed heavily on the rock with his left hand while rapidly rotating the stick back and forth with his right hand until the friction generated smoke, then a glowing ember in the hole. He quickly laid the tinder on the ember, blew gently until it flamed, and placed it on the ground, adding several twigs, then some larger sticks, but not enough to generate a smoke column that might be seen by an enemy. Though their campsite was in a rocky, wooded, mountainous area that offered excellent concealment, they listened carefully and remained alert for any sound that might signal approaching danger.

The cool mountain air was refreshing after a complete moon cycle of days in the low, hot river country; and they savored it as they sat around their modest fire, sipping water from their large animal-stomach bags and chewing pieces of dried venison. The climb up the mountains had been strenuous, as the large, furry robes they carried were twelve hands long and ten hands wide, and weighed as much as a rock that took both hands to lift and throw. Each man carried six such robes, a heavy load, but their expected reward would more than repay their effort. The coastal tribes prized the large hides for their winter warmth and summer softness, paid dearly for them with beautiful shells and jewelry crafted from the red stones found inland from the sea, as well as with an occasional pearl. The four would use their bounty for gifts and to trade for more wealth with others of their own tribe, far to the north in their land of many big waters.

They had made good time paddling their canoes south down the Mother-of-All-Rivers, each man with his own canoe and load of robes, staying in the
middle of the river to avoid enemies and stopping only after dark and in unpopulated, defensible spots on the shore. Each night they had taken turns standing guard, and all four had drunk enough water before sleeping to ensure the urge to urinate would wake them early enough to have them safely back on the water before daylight. But the level of effort demanded of them had dramatically increased when they reached the big river that flowed in on their left, for thereafter, they had to paddle upstream for many days. They had loaded all the robes into two canoes, which had then been towed behind the other two canoes, each of which carried two men. Finally, after paddling up another, smaller river that flowed in from their right, they had reached the place to leave the water and cross the mountains directly toward the rising sun. But before beginning their ascent, they had carefully hidden the canoes for the return trip and constructed their four travois, which had promptly reminded them that dragging a heavy load of hides up a steep mountainside was no easier than paddling upstream. So all four had been eager to reach the summit and begin the easy downhill drag to the flatter land on the other side, and thence across it to the Great-Water-That-Cannot-Be-Drunk. Thus, when they had finally crossed the summit, their spirits had risen accordingly, as evidenced in more-frequent smiles and lighter conversation.

The four men did not look or dress like the coastal people. All had full heads of long black hair that hung behind their shoulders to their waists and wore nothing but thin leather loincloths and rugged leather moccasins. But one looked different from the others. He had a smaller, straighter nose and less-prominent cheekbones and wore five white, black-tipped eagle feathers that protruded to the right in the shape of a fan behind his head. His dark eyes had a sharp depth to them that made them look like they could see inside a man’s soul, read its contents; while his occasional wry smiles revealed a quiet confidence and easy humor that belied the fact that the exhilaration of battle and the hunt supplanted all else in his demeanor—possessed him, filled him with the fierce, unshakeable fixation of a dangerous predator. He was a handsome man by any standard, and the others treated him with a soft deference that showed him to be their leader.