After again attempting to feed and hydrate his patient, Michael tended the woman’s bedsores with juice from an aloe plant, then left Shaman’s Wife to rest by the fire. Exiting the shabono, he found Olsson, Bancroft, and Baklanov in the clearing by the kapok tree. Heaps of leafy vine lay tangled on the ground before them, and Baklanov was smoking what appeared to be a colossal cigar.
“Had to find something to smoke.” He gave Michael a wry grin. “Nasty habit, I know.”
Michael stared at the bits of grass protruding from the rolled leaves between his teeth. “Is that . . . doing the job?”
“Tastes terrible,” Baklanov admitted. “Maybe it’ll cure me from my addiction.”
Michael laughed, then gestured toward the foliage on the ground. “I hope you haven’t enlisted these men to make cigars for you.”
“We’re making rope,” Baklanov answered. “For your grand experiment.”
“The children have become enthusiastic helpers.” Olsson grinned as he tied one section of vine to another. “They’ve been collecting vines all morning. Emma has the women helping us strip the leaves.”
Michael glanced toward the field, where Emma and Caitlyn sat with a group of women and young girls. Caitlyn was singing, and though the natives couldn’t understand a word of the song, they giggled whenever she finished with “Pop! Goes the weasel!”
Picking up a strand of vine, Michael tested its strength, then glanced around for any other sign of villagers. After the sunrise ceremony this morning, the men had gathered their weapons and gone out to hunt; only a few remained in the village for defense. Several of the women were picking fruit from the trees in the field, but most of them had gathered to help the nabas.
They had complete faith . . . which was more than Michael could say of himself at the moment.
“Can we really do it?” Michael shifted to face the botanist. “You’ll have enough vines?”
The flat line of Olsson’s mouth relaxed. “Sometimes I think the jungle is nothing but vines. This liana grows everywhere, and at the right thickness, it is quite pliable. Climbing might be a little slow because the vines will not be as smooth as a rope, but I can think of no reason why the liana would not work. The prusik loops should slide right over them.”
Bancroft grunted as he pulled a knot tight. “I don’t know much about climbing trees, but I can’t stand the thought of what might be happening to Deb in that other village. So if something in this tree will help Shaman’s Wife, I say we take her up there and get it.”
Michael ran his hand over his jaw to hide his smile. It was true, then—Bancroft had strong feelings for Deborah Simons. He would never have predicted that the burly ex-SEAL would fancy a scholarly entomologist, but one never knew what emotions resided in the secret places of a man’s soul.
Stepping directly in front of Olsson, Michael lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “You know we have to do this tonight. Our patient is fading quickly. Though they’ve been quite generous, this tribe can’t afford to have us living with them many more days. The shaman has been sharing his food and the families their hammocks, but you know the old saying—fish and visitors reek in three days.”
A brief smile twitched in and out of the tangles of Olsson’s beard. “I understand. In any case, the lack of equipment limits our options. We will attempt this climb tonight and consider leaving tomorrow.” He glanced toward Bancroft. “Getting us out of here will be your job, I suppose.”
Bancroft jerked his head in a grim nod. “Happy to do it. I’d like to find our way back to our base camp before we approach the other village— we could use any supplies we can find. We might locate one of the GPS devices, and if we can even pick up a couple of the weapons or machetes—”
Michael shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on ever seeing those machetes again. I’ve a hunch we’ve inadvertently done our bit to bring the Angry People out of the Stone Age. They’ll probably be searching for other nabas now, in hopes of obtaining more weapons.”
“They might be looking for us.” Bancroft verbalized an unspoken thought that had been hovering at the edge of Michael’s mind. “Think about it. We left with six of their warriors and their shaman’s woman. When we return without any of them. . .”
Michael watched as the burly soldier struggled to get a grip on his emotions. “Do you think we’re wasting our time going up this tree?”
“Do you?”
Michael recoiled from the man’s worried eyes and tried on a smile that felt a size too small. “I’m not sure the keyba can help her—she may be past the point of recovery. But we’ve come all this way, we’ve made sacrifices, and we’ve got to try.” He hesitated as Bancroft’s eyes seemed to focus on something far away. “Do you agree?”
The guard’s throat worked. “I don’t know, Doc. I figure I’ve done more illogical things than this in my lifetime. For Deb’s sake, we’ve got to try something, and if this works, it’d be a sight easier than putting one of the other women on the travois and trying to bluff the enemy before we attack.” A trace of unexpected vulnerability shone in the man’s eyes as he met Michael’s gaze. “I think it’s crazy to carry a sick woman up a tree, but the shaman of the Angry People sure thought it would work. So I’ve been praying it will.”
Michael fingered a length of vine. “I didn’t know you were a praying man.”
“Born and raised Catholic. I guess some things you never really outgrow.” Bancroft cleared his throat. “I haven’t been to Mass in years, but some of our recent conversations started me thinking. Maybe I’ve been a little too forgetful of God, but I know he hasn’t forgotten about me. He’s pulled me out of too many scrapes I never should have escaped—”
“Kenway!” Alexandra yelled from the entrance to the shabono, interrupting the conversation. “The shaman needs to talk to you!”
A broad smile found its way through Bancroft’s mask of uncertainty. “She’s calling you.”
Michael grunted. “So I hear.”
“She likes you, you know.”
“Surely you jest.”
Grinning, the soldier stripped a section of vine with his closed fist, then opened his hand and watched the shredded leaves flutter from his palm. “I call it like I see it, Kenway, and I know what I see. She’s crazy about you. And I figure the feeling’s mutual.”
Excusing himself with a roll of his eyes, Michael squared his shoulders and strode toward the shabono.
Surprising, what emotions could awaken in the secret places of a man’s soul.