CHAPTER EIGHT
Illya, Joseph and Trudy met up in the middle of the camp, which had the atmosphere of a farmer's market. Sellers and buyers of various goods were bickering in groups, and the smell of cooking permeated the air. Joseph's eyes were wide.
"My father never lets me get this close," he admitted to Trudy in accented English.
"I can see why," Trudy said dryly as she observed a pair of children no older than five, pick the pocket of an unknowing vendor. She held her loaded basket close.
"Well, you get back to your father," Illya said flatly, leaving no room for dissent. He took Trudy's arm. "Thank you for your help."
"Good luck," Joseph whispered with a cocky grin. Trudy saw he'd spied a curvaceous young woman on the other side of the camp, and he moved that way.
"Watch you pockets," Trudy advised as Joseph slapped away the hand of the thieving youngster on his way.
Trudy sighed. "Now what?"
"Come. We need to find the leader." He nodded towards the wagons parked off to one side. "He's probably over there."
Again, Trudy's curiosity was piqued as to how he would know that, but kept quiet. Illya's grip on her forearm was heavier than she would expect. She knew he was hurting, but knew now wasn't the time to get into that. She simply followed the direction he indicated and kept her mouth shut.
When they got to the wagons, she noticed the eyes upon them immediately. They weren't that obvious, but they were there in the shadows of the wagons and around the cooking fires. She also noticed as they moved deeper into the group of wagons that silent ranks of sturdy young men were closing off their retreat. They were quietly being surrounded.
"Illya," she whispered worriedly as she ducked her head.
"I know. Just keep walking."
Soon they were at a wagon that was in slightly better repair, and had the signs of fresh paint. By the time she and Illya stopped at the bottom of the steps, their exit route was entirely blocked. The young man casually leaning in the doorway of the wagon, although obviously waiting for them, had a relaxed air about him but steely eyes.
"Are you lost?" The young man asked in the dialect of his tribe. The surprise in his eyes was quickly masked as Kuryakin responded in kind.
"It is urgent I speak with the father," he asked.
"You are of our tribe?" the young man inquired, straightening.
"I have a .. relationship with your people," Illya replied vaguely. "Please. It is important."
The young man didn't have to make the decision. A much older man appeared behind him and dismissed him with a nod. The young man stepped down and aside, allowing the grey haired patriarch to study the newcomers from the doorway.
Trudy studied the interplay with interest. She didn't understand the words, but knew that Illya had raised their curiosity. He certainly has that knack with people, she thought.
The conversation was brief. The leader asked a question, and as Illya responded, the old man's eyes got bigger and soon he smiled broadly and stepped down, taking both of Illya's shoulders in his hands. What he did next surprised Trudy. The man kissed each of Illya's cheeks!
The ice was obviously broken and the others surrounding them became joyous and laughing, taking turns to greet Illya and her in the same fashion. Trudy was amazed at the amount of people that simply appeared from nowhere, as they were soon in the middle of a thick crowd. She found Illya and could see that he was fighting to control the pain of all the attention. Trudy pushed her way to his side, took his arm and pulled him to the wagon. The old man then saw the problem, waved off the crowd and indicated they should get inside as he barked some orders to the women.
Trudy could hear Illya sucking in his breath as she helped him up the stairs. "You have to tell me what that was all about," she said lowly. "Don't tell me you are related! Although at this point, I guess I wouldn't be surprised."
Illya didn't reply. He was too busy trying not to pass out as she lowered him onto the first bunk she found. "I helped the tribe once a long time ago," he replied cryptically. "They made me an honorary member in gratitude."
"Lucky us we got the right long, lost relatives," she mumbled as she checked his arm. Since the splint and wrapping had been removed, the swelling had spread from fingertips to elbow, and the arm was turning an ugly purple color. His forehead was hot and bleeding, and she was sure the bullet wound was just as ugly as the arm. She had just finished uncovering the arm when she felt the close presence of a body.
A young and serious looking woman in bright clothing had kneeled next to her and began prodding the arm. Illya clinched his teeth and barked something at her, and she just gave him a patronizing look and continued her exam. Trudy smiled to herself and fell into an assisting nurse mode; this woman knew what she was doing.
The woman rattled off a list of things that sent a younger girl flying off. The examining woman completely ignored Illya's litany, of which Trudy was glad she didn't understand. The woman clicked her tongue at his temperature and the bruises, and nodded approvingly at the bindings on his ribcage. When her fingers found and prodded the bullet wound, and she turned Illya onto his side to see it more clearly, he simply bit his lip and dropped into semi-consciousness. She frowned at the obvious infection and swelling, and rolled him back onto his back.
By then, the little girl had returned with an armload of things. Trudy recognized the makings of another splint, many herbs, and some kind of ointment. The woman took the things and sent the girl off again with some more orders, then took a hold of Illya's wrist.
The woman looked at Trudy, and indicated with her eyes and free hand for her to hold the injured agent's elbow.
Oh, Lord, she's going to set the bone! Trudy realized as she nodded and did as instructed. The woman prodded the thick and discolored arm, finding the exact spot of the fracture. This caused Kuryakin to groan and completely pass out. That's actually a good thing at the moment, Trudy thought as she braced herself and the elbow.
The gypsy healer's brow furrowed in concentration as she felt the break with one hand, and gently pulled on the wrist with the other, twisting it a bit back and forth as she prodded. Then she started what Trudy recognized as a countdown, ending in a quick and expert jerk. The snapping sound of the bone clicking in place made Trudy's stomach turn. The healer felt the arm again, found a second break, and repeated the action once more. Then, smiling a satisfied smile, she quickly applied the splint and began to wrap. When the little girl returned again, the woman turned the wrapping over to Trudy and inspected the basket.
Trudy marveled at the handiwork. She could tell by the fingernails that Illya's circulation was already returning. It should heal quickly now. The smell of herbs as they were crushed added to the eerie atmosphere of the wagon, as did the joyful music that started playing outside. Trudy found herself leaning back and observing the woman and her young helper work on their patient. A dressing was applied to the head wound, and a poultice of some sort was pressed to the bullet wound. That was the wound that made the woman click her tongue in worry. She knew there was more to that wound than she could fix here; the knowing glances she gave Trudy needed no interpretation, and soon she left to let nature take its course.
**********
Bratsk nosed his vehicle into some bushes near the camp and climbed out. He felt very out of place amongst the bartering crowds, and pushed his way along as he looked for the blond agent. He didn't notice the looks he got or the intense scrutiny of several of the older natives. Quietly, using their own silent communications, they surrounded and followed him without him even knowing it as he first searched the crowd and began to inspect the wagons more closely.
One of the young men led Trudy to a discreet vantage point, and she remembered the military man from the base. There was no need to speak the same verbal language; her eyes, wide with alarm, were all that he needed. He escorted Trudy back to Illya, and motioned for her to keep low and quiet.
Bratsk was allowed to inspect several wagons, but as he got closer to the one containing the fugitives he was suddenly swarmed by a collection of youngsters whose hands picked at his clothing as they chattered incessantly in their language. Bratsk tried to wave them off, but they relented until he physically threw two boys aside. Then he was surrounded by yapping mothers noisily rounding up and collecting their brood. Next were young women batting their eyes and touching his uniform in admiration, showing plenty of cleavage. This caused him some alarm as he tried to brush away their hands. He was right in front of the refuge wagon when two young men pulled away the women and then began to argue with each other, keeping Bratsk between them. They threw questions at Bratsk, trying to engage him in their heated argument, but Bratsk didn't understand the language. Soon the young men were pushing each other and Bratsk figured that he didn't need to be in the middle of this debacle. The crowds were starting to look his way, and he didn't need the patrols interviewing him.
As Bratsk backed off from the confrontation and turned, he saw one of the young boys waving his wallet at him. Bratsk slapped his pocket, realizing it was now empty, and chased the boy. By the time the boy dropped the wallet and disappeared, Bratsk was well away from the unconscious agent and his concerned partner. Giving up, Bratsk retreated to his vehicle and left as the gypsies watched him go with confident smiles.
*************
Night fell as Napoleon stood on the dock where the Empress was moored. Although he looked like he was inspecting the ship, his thoughts were much farther away.
After the initial setting up of all the equipment both in Stevie's home and on the Empress, all that was left was the waiting. That was the part Solo hated the most. He knew that somewhere out there his partner was doing his best to survive and get within rescuing distance; there was nothing Solo could do until then. The reports on the news of the release of the other hostages made it even more difficult. The missing Russian was never mentioned publicly, and to the rest of the world, never existed. It had been several days since Illya's message, and Solo couldn't help but wonder how he was faring. Would he, Solo, even know if he was caught? Or killed? At what point would Waverly pull him from this duty?
Part of his mind heard the soft steps of Stevie on the dock behind him, and he welcomed her hands on his elbow. She sensed his need for thought, and didn't interrupt them with words. They both gazed off to the west as darkness fell, deep in their own thoughts. After awhile, Napoleon put his hand on hers and smiled.
"I hate waiting," he said softly. "But it's much easier with company."
"I stand here often, waiting for my father," Stevie replied. "He has always returned safely. It will be the same for your friend."
"Keep those thoughts. It's all I have right now, and I appreciate it." He turned towards the shore and they walked arm and arm along the path to her home. And good thoughts are all I have to offer Illya right now, too.
Illya, Joseph and Trudy met up in the middle of the camp, which had the atmosphere of a farmer's market. Sellers and buyers of various goods were bickering in groups, and the smell of cooking permeated the air. Joseph's eyes were wide.
"My father never lets me get this close," he admitted to Trudy in accented English.
"I can see why," Trudy said dryly as she observed a pair of children no older than five, pick the pocket of an unknowing vendor. She held her loaded basket close.
"Well, you get back to your father," Illya said flatly, leaving no room for dissent. He took Trudy's arm. "Thank you for your help."
"Good luck," Joseph whispered with a cocky grin. Trudy saw he'd spied a curvaceous young woman on the other side of the camp, and he moved that way.
"Watch you pockets," Trudy advised as Joseph slapped away the hand of the thieving youngster on his way.
Trudy sighed. "Now what?"
"Come. We need to find the leader." He nodded towards the wagons parked off to one side. "He's probably over there."
Again, Trudy's curiosity was piqued as to how he would know that, but kept quiet. Illya's grip on her forearm was heavier than she would expect. She knew he was hurting, but knew now wasn't the time to get into that. She simply followed the direction he indicated and kept her mouth shut.
When they got to the wagons, she noticed the eyes upon them immediately. They weren't that obvious, but they were there in the shadows of the wagons and around the cooking fires. She also noticed as they moved deeper into the group of wagons that silent ranks of sturdy young men were closing off their retreat. They were quietly being surrounded.
"Illya," she whispered worriedly as she ducked her head.
"I know. Just keep walking."
Soon they were at a wagon that was in slightly better repair, and had the signs of fresh paint. By the time she and Illya stopped at the bottom of the steps, their exit route was entirely blocked. The young man casually leaning in the doorway of the wagon, although obviously waiting for them, had a relaxed air about him but steely eyes.
"Are you lost?" The young man asked in the dialect of his tribe. The surprise in his eyes was quickly masked as Kuryakin responded in kind.
"It is urgent I speak with the father," he asked.
"You are of our tribe?" the young man inquired, straightening.
"I have a .. relationship with your people," Illya replied vaguely. "Please. It is important."
The young man didn't have to make the decision. A much older man appeared behind him and dismissed him with a nod. The young man stepped down and aside, allowing the grey haired patriarch to study the newcomers from the doorway.
Trudy studied the interplay with interest. She didn't understand the words, but knew that Illya had raised their curiosity. He certainly has that knack with people, she thought.
The conversation was brief. The leader asked a question, and as Illya responded, the old man's eyes got bigger and soon he smiled broadly and stepped down, taking both of Illya's shoulders in his hands. What he did next surprised Trudy. The man kissed each of Illya's cheeks!
The ice was obviously broken and the others surrounding them became joyous and laughing, taking turns to greet Illya and her in the same fashion. Trudy was amazed at the amount of people that simply appeared from nowhere, as they were soon in the middle of a thick crowd. She found Illya and could see that he was fighting to control the pain of all the attention. Trudy pushed her way to his side, took his arm and pulled him to the wagon. The old man then saw the problem, waved off the crowd and indicated they should get inside as he barked some orders to the women.
Trudy could hear Illya sucking in his breath as she helped him up the stairs. "You have to tell me what that was all about," she said lowly. "Don't tell me you are related! Although at this point, I guess I wouldn't be surprised."
Illya didn't reply. He was too busy trying not to pass out as she lowered him onto the first bunk she found. "I helped the tribe once a long time ago," he replied cryptically. "They made me an honorary member in gratitude."
"Lucky us we got the right long, lost relatives," she mumbled as she checked his arm. Since the splint and wrapping had been removed, the swelling had spread from fingertips to elbow, and the arm was turning an ugly purple color. His forehead was hot and bleeding, and she was sure the bullet wound was just as ugly as the arm. She had just finished uncovering the arm when she felt the close presence of a body.
A young and serious looking woman in bright clothing had kneeled next to her and began prodding the arm. Illya clinched his teeth and barked something at her, and she just gave him a patronizing look and continued her exam. Trudy smiled to herself and fell into an assisting nurse mode; this woman knew what she was doing.
The woman rattled off a list of things that sent a younger girl flying off. The examining woman completely ignored Illya's litany, of which Trudy was glad she didn't understand. The woman clicked her tongue at his temperature and the bruises, and nodded approvingly at the bindings on his ribcage. When her fingers found and prodded the bullet wound, and she turned Illya onto his side to see it more clearly, he simply bit his lip and dropped into semi-consciousness. She frowned at the obvious infection and swelling, and rolled him back onto his back.
By then, the little girl had returned with an armload of things. Trudy recognized the makings of another splint, many herbs, and some kind of ointment. The woman took the things and sent the girl off again with some more orders, then took a hold of Illya's wrist.
The woman looked at Trudy, and indicated with her eyes and free hand for her to hold the injured agent's elbow.
Oh, Lord, she's going to set the bone! Trudy realized as she nodded and did as instructed. The woman prodded the thick and discolored arm, finding the exact spot of the fracture. This caused Kuryakin to groan and completely pass out. That's actually a good thing at the moment, Trudy thought as she braced herself and the elbow.
The gypsy healer's brow furrowed in concentration as she felt the break with one hand, and gently pulled on the wrist with the other, twisting it a bit back and forth as she prodded. Then she started what Trudy recognized as a countdown, ending in a quick and expert jerk. The snapping sound of the bone clicking in place made Trudy's stomach turn. The healer felt the arm again, found a second break, and repeated the action once more. Then, smiling a satisfied smile, she quickly applied the splint and began to wrap. When the little girl returned again, the woman turned the wrapping over to Trudy and inspected the basket.
Trudy marveled at the handiwork. She could tell by the fingernails that Illya's circulation was already returning. It should heal quickly now. The smell of herbs as they were crushed added to the eerie atmosphere of the wagon, as did the joyful music that started playing outside. Trudy found herself leaning back and observing the woman and her young helper work on their patient. A dressing was applied to the head wound, and a poultice of some sort was pressed to the bullet wound. That was the wound that made the woman click her tongue in worry. She knew there was more to that wound than she could fix here; the knowing glances she gave Trudy needed no interpretation, and soon she left to let nature take its course.
**********
Bratsk nosed his vehicle into some bushes near the camp and climbed out. He felt very out of place amongst the bartering crowds, and pushed his way along as he looked for the blond agent. He didn't notice the looks he got or the intense scrutiny of several of the older natives. Quietly, using their own silent communications, they surrounded and followed him without him even knowing it as he first searched the crowd and began to inspect the wagons more closely.
One of the young men led Trudy to a discreet vantage point, and she remembered the military man from the base. There was no need to speak the same verbal language; her eyes, wide with alarm, were all that he needed. He escorted Trudy back to Illya, and motioned for her to keep low and quiet.
Bratsk was allowed to inspect several wagons, but as he got closer to the one containing the fugitives he was suddenly swarmed by a collection of youngsters whose hands picked at his clothing as they chattered incessantly in their language. Bratsk tried to wave them off, but they relented until he physically threw two boys aside. Then he was surrounded by yapping mothers noisily rounding up and collecting their brood. Next were young women batting their eyes and touching his uniform in admiration, showing plenty of cleavage. This caused him some alarm as he tried to brush away their hands. He was right in front of the refuge wagon when two young men pulled away the women and then began to argue with each other, keeping Bratsk between them. They threw questions at Bratsk, trying to engage him in their heated argument, but Bratsk didn't understand the language. Soon the young men were pushing each other and Bratsk figured that he didn't need to be in the middle of this debacle. The crowds were starting to look his way, and he didn't need the patrols interviewing him.
As Bratsk backed off from the confrontation and turned, he saw one of the young boys waving his wallet at him. Bratsk slapped his pocket, realizing it was now empty, and chased the boy. By the time the boy dropped the wallet and disappeared, Bratsk was well away from the unconscious agent and his concerned partner. Giving up, Bratsk retreated to his vehicle and left as the gypsies watched him go with confident smiles.
*************
Night fell as Napoleon stood on the dock where the Empress was moored. Although he looked like he was inspecting the ship, his thoughts were much farther away.
After the initial setting up of all the equipment both in Stevie's home and on the Empress, all that was left was the waiting. That was the part Solo hated the most. He knew that somewhere out there his partner was doing his best to survive and get within rescuing distance; there was nothing Solo could do until then. The reports on the news of the release of the other hostages made it even more difficult. The missing Russian was never mentioned publicly, and to the rest of the world, never existed. It had been several days since Illya's message, and Solo couldn't help but wonder how he was faring. Would he, Solo, even know if he was caught? Or killed? At what point would Waverly pull him from this duty?
Part of his mind heard the soft steps of Stevie on the dock behind him, and he welcomed her hands on his elbow. She sensed his need for thought, and didn't interrupt them with words. They both gazed off to the west as darkness fell, deep in their own thoughts. After awhile, Napoleon put his hand on hers and smiled.
"I hate waiting," he said softly. "But it's much easier with company."
"I stand here often, waiting for my father," Stevie replied. "He has always returned safely. It will be the same for your friend."
"Keep those thoughts. It's all I have right now, and I appreciate it." He turned towards the shore and they walked arm and arm along the path to her home. And good thoughts are all I have to offer Illya right now, too.