/Infiltration and war/
Kishmi had hidden in the back of a horse wagon for almost two days. Now, as he awoke, the stench of manure and other animal waste was all around. It was in his hair and in his clothes and in his mouth. He had a headache and felt sick, but he could feel the wagon had suddenly come to a halt. The farmer was unhitching the horse, and he could hear the clatter of hoofs on the cobble stones of a yard as it was being led away, maybe to a stable, for the night. Now, was his chance to get away. Breaking cover cautiously, he dropped down from the wagon, intent on finding his location. Cold air stung his cheeks and revived him.
Moving quickly through the darkness he landed by a nearby tavern and went in. In the dim candle light he could just see the unsmiling faces of several men sitting around a table. They gave him a piercing look, but continued with their card game. He did not like the looks, but having ordered ale from the landlord, he asked about the name of the village. The man gave him a curious glance, but said nothing and carried on filling his glass. Kishmi went and sat down at a table near a roaring log fire. But the warmth and the beer did nothing for his self-concern. There was an ominous tension. Looking around, Kishmi noticed a number of posters on the walls. On them were sketches of people wanted for murder, rape and various other things. The faces stared out at him. Some of them were familiar to him, and at least one of them had been a passing acquaintance.
This was the first time he had visited Iwagaotre , but his expectations of what would happen had already been thwarted. There had been no sign of the teammates he needed to meet. Worried, he decided to speak to the men at the other table. Surely someone would have seen other strangers in the area. The men had finished playing their card game, but as he walked over to them, they suddenly looked up – accusingly. One of the men, a surly looking fellow with a grey beard grabbed a knife from his belt and laid it flat down in front of him. They were whispering to themselves, and Kishmi immediately felt threatened.
He wanted to shake hands hoping to relieve the unpleasantness, but the bearded man simply spat at the ground and stared. Before Kishmi could react, there was scurrying of footsteps outside. Suddenly, the door was violently kicked in, and five men, perhaps from the local militia, burst in fully armed. Kishmi immediately dropped to the floor after they drew their swords menacingly. The bearded man now stood up, and with a snarl, hurled his knife at the intruders, injuring one of them.
Kishimi needed to make a decision urgently. The stench of alcohol was all around him. He decided that, while everyone was arguing and fighting , he would creep along the floor towards the entrance. Seconds later he was outside. Through the window, in the flickering light of the candles he could see the violence was escalating. He had to go. He decided to take a left along a dirt road parallel to the tavern. Already it was raining heavily, and the track was a sea of mud. He needed to find shelter somewhere else – and quickly.
