Butcher
I wanted to scream.
Everything Jyoti had just been through, the last eight hours, I had watched. My butt was numb and my eyes were blurry. Faintly aware of my stomach growling angrily at me, I could do nothing but clutch my dry painting like a tiny movie screen and watch Jyoti drag the lifeless bodies and push them into the pit, lie to officers and soldiers, and stand two feet from the bloodiest man of the 18th century.
Somewhere in the back of my mind—the part that wasn't still numb with shock—was laughter. She'd gone eight hours with no one realizing she was a woman. It had taken this man, the man Jyoti had spent years researching and writing about, to figure out the truth. As far as I could tell, he was buying her story about searching for her brother. I had to hand it to the girl, she was good. How long she could keep up the charade however, a sick part of me wanted to find out.
No doubt lingered in my mind that Jyoti was merely sucked into my painting and living a Mary Poppins sort of adventure. She was in the past. There was something so simple about that thought that made it easier to process.
Jyoti stood there in the tent a little while, staring at the tent flap, waiting for someone to enter. When no one did, she looked back at the sparse furnishings. Her eyes lingered on the bed. With stubborn determination, she curled up on it, on top of the blankets. It was itchy and the pillow flat, but she was asleep within minutes.
Sighing, stretching, and eyeing my own bed without a trace of the same fatigue, I stepped away from the painting. I needed food. I needed air. I needed to pee.
Was the painting safe while I was out of the room? Would time continue in the portrait without me there to observe it? There was little doubt in my mind that Jyoti would continue to sleep without me there to watch her. But I would be quick.
Faster than I thought possible, I peed, pulled on my shoes, patted down my frizzy hair, and darted out for something to eat. The fresh air was welcoming, humid as it was, but did nothing to solve the mysteries of the past eight hours. So I pushed down my worries as I shoveled food into my stomach, and raced back to the room.
Jyoti was still sleeping. She had, sometime while I was away, turned the lamp down to a tiny, steady glow. It didn't surprise me that she hadn't blown it out; we shared a common fear of the dark. It came from a fear of the unknown. How Jyoti could sleep at all where the unknown wrapped around her like a hazardous plastic bag on her head, was beyond me.
With the fear inside me, I decided to follow Jyoti's lead. I lay down on the bed, curled around the painting—her lamp served as my own beacon of comfort in the darkness—and somehow drifted into sleep.
A loud bang woke both of us, sometime in the wee hours of the morning. The clock at my bedside glowed 3:30.
Jyoti bolted awake as Tarleton strode into the tent, went to the desk, turned up the lamp, and studied a paper in his hand. He finally set it on top of the other papers and turned to Jyoti, not betraying any surprise at finding her in his bed. Instead, his lips curled into another smirk. His eyes twinkled mischief.
"A welcome sight."
Jyoti's own lips curled in disgust. "Really? That's what you've come up with? A girl is in your bed and you just have to make a lewd comment?" The smirk disappeared from his face. "What was going on out there with the Rebels?" She looked to the tent flap as if it would provide her answers.
"A small band thought they could protect the plantation nearby from us by running us through during the night. We had a small skirmish."
Why was he telling her this?
"They are all dead."
That's why.
He studied her carefully, looking for any hint that she was sorry for the rebel deaths. Her face remained impassive. Instead, she called him on it.
"I'm supposed to shed a tear?" she guessed. "I'm looking for my brother, remember? I don't care of anyone else. He wore a British uniform, not that of a Rebel."
"Back to that, are we?"
"I'm guessing that's why I'm still here. You either decided I'm lying or you are going to help me. The first would probably make you want to find out the truth and hold me hostage without food or water until I confess. The latter…" she made a noise of derision. She was really pushing the limits here. But she was the expert on the man… I hoped.
"I don't trust you," he finally said. He observed his fingernails as if she bored him. "Any woman who will willingly dress the part of a soldier and run into battle has an ulterior motive, and it likely isn't familial love." He sneered on the last word.
"I'm tired, do we have to do this now?" Jyoti asked, eyeing the pillow again.
"We do. Because once we finish, I'm going to take the cot to sleep. I've been awake for 36 hours and would like to rest. Whether you remain on the cot is up to you."
"It's so small!"
He laughed. It was a surprisingly joyful sound, not menacing or calculating in anyway. Just sudden amusement.
"Believe me, for what I have in mind, we won't need much space." He studied her amused expression. "That's the first thing you object to? The size of the cot?"
I knew what she was about to say before she said it and wanted to scream at her to keep her mouth shut.
"Well Colonel, I'm sure you are used to compensating for size with that sword and pistol, but it really isn't the size that matters, but how you use it. Haven't the girls told you that yet?"
It took him a moment to realize she was no longer referring to the cot. When realization dawned on him, a smile—not a smirk—appeared.
"I have half a mind to prove you wrong," he said.
"I'm not surprised to learn you have half a mind Colonel."
"You saucy wench." It sounded like a compliment.
With the lamp behind him, the glow cast his figure into silhouette. He was tall and lean, with strong shoulders, and—no doubt—a muscled torso tapering down to lean hips and powerful legs used to sitting astride a horse for days. The shadows hooded his eyes and, with his hat tucked under his arm, he looked like a sex phantom of the night.
"Colonel Tarleton?"
"Yes…" He frowned at her. "How did you know my name?"
Jyoti paused for a second, having forgotten he hadn't actually introduced himself. Again, she aimed for the truth. Mostly.
"Your reputation precedes you Colonel."
"Scares you does it?"
"Not nearly as much as it does the rebels."
He smiled at that. "What was your question?"
"Are you going to continue to hold me captive here?"
"Of course. I can't release you to the hounds. My men may be ruthless on the field… actually, they are ruthless on or off the field." His wink was completely unnecessary; she got the innuendo.
"Then I'd like a dress."
The straight face Jyoti had when she said it nearly took me aback as much as the request itself. She wants a what? I'd been trying to get her to dress appropriately for years. Here she is, wearing a soldier's uniform, and she wants a dress?
"Excuse me?"
"A dress, Colonel. I've already told you I have nothing to my name save for this uniform, which is torn and muddied and has dried blood on it." The fact that the same uniform was resting on his bed didn't seem to faze him. "As my captor, I hope you have the decency to provide me with that much. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. Just a dress. And perhaps some underclothes if it isn't too much of a problem. Obviously I'm not wearing those either."
She'd said it for pragmatic sake. But he raised a brow and raked his eyes over her body, imagining her naked underneath. Of course, she had underclothes, just not time period appropriate ones.
"Not sure that would be wise."
"And why not?" she demanded.
"The men would know you are a woman. By staying in my tent, your reputation would be ruined."
"And yours would be ruined if I remain a boy."
His eyes shot from her chest to her face.
She elaborated. "Why would you keep a prisoner in your own tent, Colonel? A boy at that. Surely more qualified individuals in camp could watch over a boy for the night. You would be missing sleep having to worry that the boy would do something to you in the night. Therefore, they would only assume that a boy as attractive as myself wouldn't be put to good use by you during the night."
Her smirk rivaled his at his best. Satisfied with herself, she settled in and watched the wheels turn in his head.
"I'd put them right."
"And I might make a few sounds in the night to re-right their thinking."
The silence between them stretched to infinity as he calculated her. He couldn't figure out if she was bluffing.
"You want a dress."
"You might mention that I'm a woman, so they don't get the wrong idea about me. Or you, I should say. Dressing a boy up as a girl…"
The insinuation was all too much for him.
"Who are you?" he demanded; something like humor crept into the edges of his voice, but the rest was cold steel. "No proper woman is so crass."
"I'm not naïve, Colonel. And you have already learned by my current state of dress that I don't exactly care for propriety."
"I've already told you your reputation would be ruined should you choose to reveal yourself and stay in my tent."
She shrugged. "What do I care? I don't know these men. These men don't know me. I'm the bottom of social standing, Colonel. I don't see where their thinking certain things of me can hurt me. In fact, it might help."
He was at a complete loss. His face for once betrayed his confusion.
"I'll get you your dress," he finally agreed. "But you are coming with me, as you suggested, so they can see you are in fact a woman. Camp followers aren't far from here. They are like vultures, feeding off battle and lonely soldiers."
Jyoti bounced off the bed. "Let's go."
With Jyoti perched on the back of his saddle, Tarleton rode off into the darkness, towards campfires and lanterns still lit at this time of night. He pulled up outside a tent with an orange band across the entrance, to distinguish it from the rest.
"Milly," he called.
A moment later, a round face appeared at the entrance.
"Colonel." She stepped out and stood with one fist on her hip, and studied the two before her. It was obvious that Milly was not betrayed by Jyoti's disguise. "A fresh one for me?"
"A prisoner," he corrected. "She needs some appropriate clothes. You can put it on my tab."
She laughed. It was a loud sound, the sort of laugh that came from a woman who put it all out there and didn't care about being judged. This laugh, and the low cut bodice over her ample breasts, marked her as a whore. She was plump, with brown locks pinned away from her apple cheeks and merry brown eyes.
"You don't have a tab, Colonel. You know that."
He smirked, his eyes roving her body quickly. Down and up. "Be quick about it, would you? I need to get some sleep."
Milly's eyes slid over Jyoti's body. "Sure, Colonel. Sleep."
Jyoti slid down off the horse into Milly's waiting arms, and was ushered quickly into the tent.
I willed the portrait to remain on Tarleton; I wanted to observe him some more. But it followed Jyoti faithfully into the tent.
"I haven't anything quite so small for you, but perhaps this might do." Milly pulled a faded red dress from a trunk and held it up to Jyoti. It was plain, with no frills and no fuss. "Strip down."
"I need underclothes," Jyoti piped up.
Milly's eyes appraised Jyoti's body again. "The Colonel won't care, but if you prefer it."
She didn't bother to correct Milly's assumptions. It would be easier if this woman thought the worst of her. It was easier than the truth.
Milly tossed the off white underclothes at Jyoti.
"Privacy, please?" Jyoti asked, striving for innocent and shy. She nailed it.
Rolling her eyes, Milly turned around, dutifully staring at the canvas wall of the tent. It was a large tent, with three cots in it, though Milly was the only one within at the moment. Jyoti shimmied out of her uniform and threw the slip on over her underwear and bra. She found the entrance to the red dress and all but crawled into it. She thrust her head and hands through the holes, and turned in a full circle before deciding she couldn't do up the back by herself.
She cleared her throat. "Um, I'm done. Sorta."
Milly turned around and helped Jyoti button up the back. "I had some dresses that do up the front, but even this one hangs on you. In most places, that is."
Jyoti didn't have to question the statement. The dress was snug around her chest—thankfully it was high enough to be decent—no plunging necklines for her—but everywhere else it hung limply, and the hem was two inches too long.
"You'll keep Ban," Milly said, giving her a light shove out the tent.
Jyoti stumbled into the dim light and looked up at the Colonel, who was sneering down his nose at her. He humphed some sort of approval, gave her his arm and pulled her up behind him sidesaddle. She hung on for dear life as he took off for his own tent again.
Curiosity burned her throat, but she willed down the urge to ask him about Milly. Obviously they were, to put it delicately, friends. But she wanted to know the details of the arrangement. Milly had indicated that Tarleton didn't pay. Or at least that he never left a balance to be paid. She was a no-nonsense sort of person, the sort Tarleton could probably stand to be around more than once without getting tired of her.
Handing the horse off to a nearby soldier, Tarleton prodded Jyoti into the tent again. She stood awkwardly in the middle, waiting for Tarleton to issue her his next order.
"Foot of the bed," he said, pointing.
Obediently, she sat at the foot, on the ground. He found a length of rope and tied her hands securely to the cot. She'd been expecting this and she complied without a sound. Just as quietly, Tarleton finished, stripped off his jacket, cravat, and boots, turned out the lamp, and laid down on the cot.
"Don't try to strangle me in the night," he said.
"Wouldn't dream of it," she responded icily.
Tarleton was asleep almost at once. A steady glow from a nearby campfire shed enough light in the tent to make out Jyoti's form. She waited until Tarleton's soft snores echoed in the silence before testing the knots, carefully so as not to jar the cot frame. The knots were too well tied and her hands tied too close together to be able to undo them.
She shifted so that her boots were near her hands. I thought for a moment she would try to break the ropes, but she wiggled her fingertips into her boot and withdrew a small blade. It looked like a letter opener.
The tricky girl. Not only had she fooled Tarleton, she had fooled me as well. While I had slept, she must have rummaged through his drawers and found the small knife. It wasn't very sharp, but she sawed at the ropes quietly. It was difficult work, but she was determined. Dawn was beginning to show in the sky, only a fractional lighting, when the ropes broke. She paused, looked at Tarleton, slipped the blade back into her boot, and crept out the tent entrance.
No one noticed her leave the tent, and by the time someone paid her any attention, she was already half way through camp, and could pass as a follower just passing through. She paused when she reached the last tent, and looked around her.
An open field stretched all around them. Where to? Deciding she needed a direction, she randomly chose South, and started walking. Finding some trees, she slipped along their edge, then into them as the sun grew higher. On the constant lookout for hiding places every two steps should hooves come thundering after her, Jyoti resembled a jittery rabbit, hopped up on adrenaline, little sleep, and no food.
At noon, when the sun heated the forest and the humidity made Jyoti's clothes stick to her with sweat, she wiggled under some brush, made certain she wouldn't be found by anything other than a lucky mouse, and fell asleep.