Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

Nesbitt dead because Chatca want me to go with him. You drink this, lady, make pain go away.”

Chauncey opened her mouth and tasted a thick vile liquid. She gagged and tried to spit it out, but Cricket held her head, forcing her to swallow.

“Chatca say you a demon.”

Chauncey fell back, her cheek touching a filthy matted fur. Some demon, she thought, hearing the admiration in the woman’s voice. Lying helplessly, unable to fight even another woman. Her mouth began to grow dry, and she stared up at Cricket. “Will I die? Did you poison me?”

“No, you sleep. When you wake up, you feel better. Chatca want you better.”

Chauncey slept dreamlessly. When she awoke, she was alone, and to her surprise, she did feel better. Her jaw still ached, but the ripping pain was only a dull throb in her temple. She pulled herself up on her elbows and looked about. She was lying on several filthy furs on a dirt floor. She was in a small lean-to of sorts, and it was dreadfully hot. The door wasn’t really a door, she saw, but rather a narrow opening covered with some kind of animal skin. There were several filthy blankets on the floor near her, some ancient tin plates stacked in one corner, and nothing else.

“Delaney,” she whispered. The enormity of her situation hit her hard, and she fell back, sobbing softly. He couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t! She heard again the three sharp gunshots. Had one of them robbed him of his life? She shook her head violently, as if her denial made it true and kept Delaney safe.

Get a hold on yourself!

She drew a deep breath. Indians. She wondered how many of them there were. Why had they taken her? What did this Chatca want with her? She remembered Delaney’s words that the Indians were a rather helpless lot. Well, Chatca didn’t act at all helpless! She felt a trickle of sweat curl down between her breasts. The cramped lean-to was like an oven. Slowly she pulled herself upright, then onto her knees. There was no surge of pain in her head. Gingerly she rubbed her fingers over her jaw. It was sore, but nothing she couldn’t bear.

Get up, Chauncey. You’ve got to see where you are and how many Indians are outside.

She placed her hands flat in front of her and eased herself upright.

“You better, lady. I tell you so.”

“Cricket,” Chauncey said, weaving dizzily where she stood.

“You hungry, I bet. I bring you food. You sit down, lady.”

“No, wait! I must know where I am! You’ve got to tell . . .”

But Cricket was gone. Chauncey walked slowly to the entrance and pulled back the animal skin. The sun was high in the sky. Oh God, she thought, how much time had passed since Chatca had taken her?

She forced herself to look about her. There were only three more crudely built lean-tos spaced in a small circle. In the middle of the circle was a good-size fire with a rusted iron pot hung from a hook. The odor of the food, whatever it was, made her stomach lurch. She saw Cricket emerge from the trees surrounding the camp and walk to the pot, slop some of the thick food into a wooden bowl, then straighten.

“Lady! You go inside! Chatca be angry if he find you outside.”

“Where is he? Where are the other . . . people?”

“Chatca’s brother, Ivan, in tent with his woman. He mean. You not let him see you.”

Ivan! Another bit of irony from a priest? Chauncey was on the point of slipping back into the lean-to when she saw another woman, this one older, fatter, and excessively ugly. Her single garment, which hung to her ankles, looked to be made of incredibly filthy leather. It was held together over her massive breasts by a leather thong threaded through holes. The woman saw Chauncey and let loose a high wailing stream of guttural noises interspersed with English curses.

Cricket turned on her and screamed back at the top of her lungs. Chauncey shrank back at the vicious hatred in the other woman’s eyes.

“Get inside, lady!” Cricket shouted over her shoulder, her eyes still on the other Indian woman.

Chauncey eased back into the lean-to and eased down on the furs, sitting cross-legged. A moment later, Cricket entered carrying a wooden bowl of food. She handed the bowl to Chauncey, then with all the aplomb in the world drew out a wicked-looking dagger and wiped it off. Chauncey stared at her, her mouth open.

“Tamba crazy jealous,” Cricket said matter-of-factly. “I cut her ugly face next time.”

“Crazy jealous about what?”

“Chatca take me and make me wife. Old Tamba want him, but he only pull up her skirt when I sick. Eat now, lady.”

Chauncey stared down into the bowl. It was a thick brown mixture with chunks of meat floating in it. I have to keep up my strength, she thought, and dipped her fingers into the liquid. To her surprise, the meat was excellent. She couldn’t identify the flavor, but it tasted gamy.

She ate in silence. Finally she set the bowl down and said to Cricket, “Why am I here? What is going to happen to me?”

Cricket shrugged. “Chatca make deal and now big fight. Chatca say you demon woman and he want you. He no want to kill you now.”