Hi, I'm back! It's been a while since I last updated. Apologies for that!
As usually this story is betaed by thedragonaunt and missClaraOswinOswald(xxx)!
missClaraOswinOswald alway helps me with the Dutch dialogue in this story. And needless to say, this chapter contains some of that just to make it feel more in the period!
The translations is at the end of the chapter!
Chapter 11 Flushed
The best way to tell whether or not a soldier had a family or not was to see how he behaved upon going on leave. Those with little or no attachment stormed straight to the pier and the ferry to Zeelandia, where women and liquor were more readily available. Others, on the other hand, smartened themselves up and made sure they had something- rationed bacon, rice wine, sugar, linen or maybe some simple guavas- to present before seeing their wives.
But in special cases like Fredrik Bos, the soldier who married the heiress of the most powerful Formosan family of the nearest clan of Sinkan, that 'something' he had prepared, was somehow different from those of the others'.
'Mijn God!' John Watson exclaimed loudly, upon seeing the gingered young man in blue uniform appear from the storage barracks near the main keep. The former army surgeon had expected him to be rather…packed with luggage. But never had he dreamt it would be in such abundance. The young soldier had a large basket on his back, the kind of basket John had only seen carried by the locals, fully loaded with…two, no three bales of muslin and silk, at least four or five bundles of colourful threads, a few packages of sugar, some packages of other things he couldn't recognize…together with a large jar of rice wine and a bamboo tube in each hands. But those weren't what made John raise his eyebrows…
'You're carrying guns,' the surgeon bit out, staring at the four long muskets on the other man's back. Two of them clearly were new. The Company had, despite most officers' disapproval, begun to sell firearms to the Formosans ten years ago, ever since the clan of Sinkan helped them to quell the uprising of the Chinese near Provintia. So it shouldn't be a surprise to see wealthy Formosans, such as those Fredrik was related to, obtain newer and better kinds of muskets - way better than they could possible need for hunting. But that wasn't what made John frown.
It was the other two - older - guns. The ones which belonged to the army.
'This one is mine,' Fredrik said, pointing to one of the old muskets behind his back.
Right, so he had permission to bring his musket out of the castle during his leave. Then…
'How about that one?' John asked.
Fredrik simply shrugged.
'Sergeant said it's fine to borrow. Better than let it rust in the storehouse.'
'Wat?' John couldn't help but spit, lifting his face in disbelief.
'Don't make such a fuss, Dr Watson,' the young man looked at him and smiled. 'It's not just me. The sergeant also borrows guns when he goes to see his wife. There's always a chance to go hunting with relatives when…Oh!' he suddenly stopped talking, turning around to put down everything on his back, and looked inside the basket, fumbling urgently as if he'd forgotten something. Then he gasped out in relief, pulling out a couple of bayonets, a box of gunpowder and a few powder cases. Straightening himself up, he smiled again, as he put the basket and muskets back on his back.
'At least you buy your own gunpowder, I hope?' John sighed, watching the soldier adjusting his baggage.
'Misschien.'
'Maybe?' John heard himself growl.
'Um…sometime,' the young man bit his lip, rolling his eyes up.
'Sometimes?'
'Sometimes, yes. When there's no surplus from the firing range. Gunpowder can easily catch damp, Dr Watson. Better to take it home than to waste it.'
'Ik geloof het niet…' John murmured, as he shook his head. 'Do you know this could have you jailed for at least…I don't know. Several years.'
'But everybody does it,' Fredrik shrugged again, then grinned at John, blinking innocently. The surgeon could only open his mouth, stepping away and shaking his head.
'Right, at least you don't take any musket balls with you…'
'I did once. But-'
'But what?' John raised one of his eyebrows again, folding his arms in across his chest. The young soldier opened his mouth and looked at the surgeon for a moment, before he bit his lip and swallowed.
'Niets,' he said, beginning to move toward the main gate.
'What happened when you took the bullets home, Fredrik?' Catching up with him, John reached out, offering his hand to take a jaw of the rise wine. Fredrik turned to look at him, eyes glancing upwards, before he chuckled.
'Nothing serious,' he shrugged, as he walking towards the gate. 'Just that they…I mean Saiyan's brothers keep saying the lead I use cracks easily. So they prefer to mould the balls themselves,' he sneered slightly and cleared his throat. 'They fuss a lot over musket balls. One time I even heard them saying I must have fallen asleep while I did the moulding…so…'
John felt his jaw drop. 'What did they mean the lead cracks easily?' he asked. 'Does that mean the lead we have is worse than that in the market?'
'I don't think so,' Fredrik replied absent-mindedly, looking straight up the path in front of him, as he moved. 'They just like to fuss, probably making fun of me. I was trying to impress them, you see. Because Saiyun was just…' he turned to cast John a look. 'Anyway, they prefer their bullets heavy and sometime mix iron with lead. The balls I moulded just weren't to their liking.'
John gaped, as the young man finished his statement with a pout and stepped out through the fortress's main gate, disregarding of the surgeon following behind him. With a long sigh, the older man caught up to him once again, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling of knowing not only that the discipline of the army's men was slipping, but also that the Company had begun to lose track of the quality of their supplies. Because, during those trying years spent working with the Company's musketeers, John had learned that the musket balls would only crack under two circumstances. One was if the man who moulded them was too careless and let the metal balls contain too many bubbles. The other was if the lead of the balls wasn't pure enough, probably mixed up with lighter materials, such as tin. And…for the love of the Almighty, John could only hope it wasn't the latter that had made those bullets Fredrik took break so easily. Otherwise, the army would need a great deal of luck to quell the next - hopefully never coming- uprising of the Chinese workers in Formosa.
'Haven't you already drawn the magnolia, Mr. Holmes?'
Standing under the leafy shade of the massive magnolia tree by the road, Sherlock tore his eyes away from the branches above his head, as Archie tugged on his sleeve. The boy was trying to keep his balance while he stood on the tree's tangled roots, with his free arm swinging accordingly. Sherlock grabbed his hand by instinct, pulling the boy towards his torso so that he could lean on him, keeping him from stumbling.
'I have. I've just never seen a fully grown magnolia tree.' Sherlock muttered, reaching up toward the branches far above. They were all beyond his reach, much to his disappointment.
On the other side of the tree, Mrs. Jansen's voice called out to them. 'It's no different from the one in your backyard, Mr. Holmes,' she said, as she approached the shade. John and the young soldier followed behind her, apparently ready to take a break under the tree.
Yes, I can see that, Sherlock brooded silently, looking up again, focusing on the white petals at the tips of the branches, while he tapped gently on Archie's shoulder. The boy looked up at him, blinking expectantly. Sherlock cracked a smile, pointing to the nearest branch, and pulled out a knife from his side bag. 'Can you cut off one of the sprigs for me, Archie? Preferably with more flowers.'
'Aye!' Archie grinned happily, raising up his arms to allow Sherlock to lift him up to straddle his shoulders, before he took over the knife, pointing at one of the twigs above his head. 'This one?'
'Perhaps the one on that side. Can you reach it?' asked Sherlock, patting the boy's leg.
'A little higher! Can I stand up, Mr. Holmes?' the boy called from above. Sherlock couldn't help but sigh, glancing aside to the mother, who was staring at them with concern etched into her face.
'Ah…wait,' the botanist grumbled, noting that Mrs. Jansen began to bite her lip and folded her arms across her chest, as he reached up to grab the boy's waist, lifting Archie up to stand on his left shoulder and wrapping his arms around the boy's legs.
The child cheered when he straightened himself up, swinging his arms, as he started to cut at the branches. 'There you go!' he giggled, as the leafy sprig with white flowers fell on Sherlock's head, before he turned to another. 'How about this?' he laughed, as he cut another branch, then again…then another…
'Alright, that's enough!' Sherlock raised his voice, shaking his head slightly to get the leaves and white petals off his hair and face, before he leant forward to put the boy down safely. Archie protested mildly, as he lost the height, then complained even louder when Sherlock took the knife from his grasp.
'Didn't I say one sprig?'
'He likes to cut,' his mother said, pulling the boy to her. 'And being hold up high to cut is just…' she paused and sighed, looking up at Sherlock, smiling nervously. 'Why do you need these sprigs, sir? This tree is exactly the same as the tree in your back garden.'
'I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take a closer look,' Sherlock inhaled deeply, kneeling down to pick up the sprigs of the leaves and flowers scattered among the tree roots, laying them on his palms. Mrs. Jansen was right. They are exactly the same as those with which he'd become very familiar, except the scent of the flowers was a little lighter because they hadn't fully bloomed. He rose to his feet and glanced at his landlady once again. She was stepping over the roots with Archie to join John and Fredrik Bos on the other side of the tree shade. The two men had just put down their luggage. Fredrik Bos was distributing water from a bamboo tube. He brought a cup which was obviously chopped from the same tube of stem, offering it to Archie first, then his mother.
'Meneer, u moet wat drinken,' the young soldier called up to Sherlock, pointing at the water. 'Mr. Holmes?'
'No, I'm fine.' Sherlock murmured in response, leaning back against the trunk and still looking at the mother and son who were settling down to sit under the shade. Mrs. Jansen was wiping Archie face with a kerchief, while the boy fidgeted about.
'Don't bother. Never mind him, Fredrik,' John sneered lightly, taking over the cup to pour water for himself. 'He doesn't like to be told what to do. Just let him be. If he wants water he'll ask,' the surgeon rolled his eyes. 'Or just take.'
'But he could have heat stroke. That has happened to new guests before, especially in winter. I don't want anyone I bring to the village to be ill. Or else…'
'Mr. Holmes is my guest, Fredrik,' Mrs. Jansen gently interrupted him. She looked towards Sherlock with a smile. 'I invited him. So it's fine. He's a scientist and knows what he needs,' she said and turned back to Archie. The boy was fumbling in the basket she brought, looking for food. Sherlock smiled guiltily at the boy's confusing grunts because the sweet yams he was particularly fond of had already been eaten up by the botanist himself. His smile was met by a knowing look from his landlady, who shook her head and sighed at him, as she noted that Sherlock's smile was widening. She then turned away to talk to John and the young soldier about some recent news from the village of Sinkan, which was mostly about Bos' quick tempered wife Saiyun. It seemed that their unborn child would be the first born in her family in over a decade. And the elders prayed for a girl.
What a completely different world it was, Sherlock thought, watching his companions, as he dropped his head backward, fiddling with the flowers and leaves in his hand. The sound of their conversations was blurred by the winds brushing through field and in the crown of the magnolia tree. White flowers fell in front of him, making him distractedly reached to ruffle his head, checking if there were any leaves and flowers still tangled in his hair.
Perhaps I should take a look at the thick underbrush beyond the shade, while they were all resting, he thought distractedly, but quickly dismissed the idea. Mrs. Jansen and John -especially John - had warned him repeatedly never go into the forest unless he had a local accompanying him. And although Sherlock initially snorted at such a notion, he did agree that it was almost impossible for him to go into the unfamiliar woods alone. For, not only was the light there too dim to see clearly and there were always warning of the threats of wild animals - bears, boars, sika deer, even monkeys could be dangerous -, but also the underbrush and vines in the forest covered literally every inch of the ground, making it impossible for anyone to enter without a proper knife in hand. The kind of cleaver knife worn by every Formosan man still served as the ideal tool to chop down all the tough bushes and vines offered by the island, even after they had long ceased to function as weapons to chop off their enemies' heads.
Which was why, after peace was secured decades ago between the Company and the nearby clans, the Formosans were still unwilling to give - not to mention sell - their knives to anyone other than each other. And the Company, out of concern for the cost, never seemed to consider making any kind of thicker cleaver knives on the island, making it impossible for Sherlock to obtain the most appropriate tool -despite numerous alternatives - to explore the forest on his own, much to his disappointment.
The sound of cracked branches brought his attention back under the shade. By instinct, Sherlock looked towards the group of people on the other side of the tree. He soon realized they had all fallen into silence. Archie was on his back spreading his arms and legs, rolling around as through he couldn't decide if he wanted to take a nap or not. John was snoring faintly, fast asleep as he always was. The young soldier, on the other hand, was sitting aside and organizing his luggage, separating the weapon supplies from the other valuables he had. There was no way he could possibly afford all of those on his own wages, Sherlock noted, as he smirked, his gaze searching in the direction of Archie, only to realize that Mrs. Jansen wasn't there.
Another cracking sound made Sherlock jerk slightly from where he sat. Tearing his gaze away, he turned to look over his shoulder and listen carefully to the sound from behind the tree. Without a thought, he rose to his feet and tiptoed around, one of his handd\s still holding the sprigs he'd just acquired, carefully keeping his balance, as he walked over the tangled roots.
He was met by the back of his landlady, as she put down a small bamboo tube full of water and began to loosen the very top of her bodice a little so that she could wipe her neck thoroughly. Her cap was also removed, as she lowered herself to sit on one of the thicker roots. Letting out a few sighs, she quickly cleaned herself, moistening the cloth several times from the water tube, before straightening up her clothing.
Sherlock could only stare, unsure of what to do. Standing behind her for a few moments, he heard his heart pounding wildly within his chest. Biting on his lip, he removed his gazed from her small seated figure, wondering if he could walk around the trunk without making a noise.
But suddenly, a blast of wind came from the direction of the road, sweeping away the dust and leaves as well as the frilled cap she put on her lap, making her jump up, to try to catch it.
'Mr. Holmes?' she hissed upon seeing him standing behind her, as scrambled to her feet to catch her cap.
'Forgive me, I…'Sherlock heard himself stammering, leaping forward to catch the fabric on the ground, before it was carried away. Turning back to face her, he couldn't think of any excuse to justify why he was where he was.
'I didn't mean to intrude-'
'Oh, thank you!' she interrupted him before he could speak further, smiling and taking the cap from him to brush off the dirt and sand. Sherlock felt his breath hitch. He opened his mouth a few time but was unable to form anything coherent.
'Are you well, sir?' she looked up and asked, still brushing the dust from the fabric, absent-mindedly. 'You're a bit flushed.'
'I…' the botanist looked down at his feet, clenching his fists, feeling the twigs between his fingers. 'Ma'am?' he glanced up at her, muttering quietly.
'Yes?'
'Do you need these?' he lifted up his hand, presenting the white flowers attached to the sprigs. 'I noted that you don't wear any in your hair today-'
'I didn't have time to pick this morning,' she whispered, staring at him. 'I was…'
'You're tired.' he said, staring back. 'Even if you don't appear pale now, you are still rather low in spirit.'
'Low in spirit, how?' she asked him. Sherlock took in a deep breath, feeling the back of his neck burning up. He griped tightly onto the leafy sprigs.
'You talked very little on our way here. You didn't even try to stop Archie climbing onto my shoulders.'
She burst into a small laugh. 'Oh, that!'
'Exactly,' he smiled back, nervously. 'So, um…do you?' he plucked a couple of white flowers from the sprigs, offering them to her with a smile, as he saw the beam on her face widening.
'Indeed,' she answered with a giggle, accepting the flowers and beginning to tuck them into her coiled hair. 'I might need some more,' she asked, looking up.
Sherlock quickly complied, plucking a few more of white flowers and watching her turn away from him to put them into the inner pockets of her skirt, before she covered her hair with the frilled cap once again.
'You ought to drink some water before we go on, Mr. Holmes.' She didn't look back at him after she finished inserting flowers. Instead, she stepped away to collect the bamboo water tube lying on the ground between the roots, gesturing for Sherlock to come forward to take the water. 'Your cheeks are red. And you may not notice but there's a lot of sweat on your face. So it's for the better if we ensure that you're…'
'Fine,' Sherlock murmured in response, taking the water tube from her, staring at the opening at the top then shaking off the through that his landlady had just cleaned herself from the same tube of water, as he gulped from the yellow stem. The sound of his swallowing covered the quite little noise from the forest nearby, distracting him from his surrounding but for the fact that Mrs. Jansen was standing ahead and looking at him. Slurping down the last drop, Sherlock wiped his chin and focused on his landlady again, feeling embarrassed as she tittered, amused by his eagerness.
'You should have drunk when you were first offered, Mr. Holmes.'
'I will bear that in mind next time, ma'am,' the botanist sighed, feeling refreshed from the water but still wishing for more. 'I'm…' he began, but immediately stopped, for all of a sound of gunshot thundered ahead from the road, almost making him jerk. 'What the…' he bit back curse, glancing down at his landlady. She looked up to him and opened her lips. But before she could say anything…
'Verdorie, niet dit weer!' Fredrik Bos swore with a growl, rushing to see what had happened and shouting even louder once he saw where the gunshot came from. Stopping in the road, he waved to the tall Formosan man, ahead, who was carrying an empty basket and pointing the gun towards the sky as he trotted up to them. A laugh escaped from the young soldier.
'That's one of Saiyun's brother,' Mrs. Jansen turned to tell Sherlock, as they walked around the tree to rejoin the others.
The young Formosan man spoke hastily and started to put some of Fredrik's luggage into his basket, ruffling Archie's hair and greeting John, while he stood up to wait aside. He looked back and forwards among them, pausing for a moment when he saw Sherlock but soon gave him a slight nod. 'Are you Sena Molly's guest?' he asked.
'Ja, ik ben haar gast.' Sherlock nodded back, looking him up and down, immediately noticing that his calloused hands bore the same bruises and marks as the Company's musketeers. And the gun he carried had clearly belonged to him for at least one…no, two years because the barrel and the wooden butt had his palm marks on them.
'Welcome to our grounds,' he said to the botanist. 'Feel free to ask for anything here.' He began to move, his earrings, tool bag and the cleaver knife at his waist were all swaying as he walked. But there was barely a sound under his feet. 'As long as you stay with us, you should be safe.' he grinned back at them, as he reached the road, pulling at the rope of his basket. 'Ah, and-' he turned back, staring at Sherlock once again.
'Give him some water before he falls, Fredrik. He's too flushed even for a newcomer.'
The Dutch appeared in this chapter:
Mijn God!'= My God!
Wat?= What?
Misschien= Maybe
Ik geloof het niet…= I can't believe it…
Niets= Nothing
Meneer, u moet wat drinken= Sir, you need to drink.
Verdorie, niet dit weer!= Darn, not this again!
Ja, ik ben haar gast= Yes, I'm her guest
