Left Behind
When Wyld had made her exit, she had avoided most of the sharper rocks on her landing by nothing but luck. Her tumble was impossible to control but the moment her head was clear, she scrabbled to a bush of desert thorn, lying flat and concealing herself against its mass.
The Bluecoats and Wilheim’s men were engaged in a deadly back and forth, sending pot shots across the train tracks as horses gained ground against the carriages. With her rifle gone she could only rely on her sidearm should the occasion arrive when this gambit didn’t pay off. Her shoulder stung like liquid fire had crept through muscle, leaving a dull, smouldering heat.
There wasn’t time to dwell on any of that.
The rumble of horses advanced, bringing with it the discord of battle. The Bluecoats and Wilheim’s riders, separated by a single length of track, competed against one another to reach the train. Gunfire cracked in the desert air, escalating louder and louder. Then, they were upon her.
Wyld covered her head, camouflaged behind a mass of thorny black bushweed, and kept her profile as low as possible. Hooves pounded the ground, legs of magnificent animals blazing past, kicking up so much ground that it threatened to blot out the sun. A sharp crack was just about audible above the thunder, sending one of the Bluecoats jerking backwards and rolling off his steed, yanking the reins to the side and sending them both the ground. The horse pulled itself onto its feet but its rider showed no signs of movement.
Wyld watched patiently, biding her time as the melee made its way past, leaving her in the clear. She crawled on over to the Bluecoat, grimacing at his galvanized expression after a bullet had entered his forehead and exited out the other side.
Far from the city Wyld’s choices were limited. Her injury was already causing her to lose more blood than she was comfortable with and left out here to her own devices, she would surely die, if she wasn’t arrested first.
Wyld got to work.
She hurriedly relieved the corpse of its uniform jacket, replacing her sanded poncho, patting off the dirt and buttoning the jacket up around her. It was a size too big to be sure, but not enough to cause suspicion. Next came the trousers, violently yanked away and pulled over her own legs. The belt was pulled this way and that, with the Bluecoat’s own holster tied around her waist. The illusion was complete, making her entirely passable as one of the local law.
The horse watched this, before giving a disgruntled neigh. Its chestnut eyes blinked as she cautiously approached, softening slightly as she rested her hands upon its neck and drew a palm down the ridge of its nose. The horse’s ears flicked playfully, accommodating this.
‘I’m going to need a favour …’ Wyld confessed to the animal.
* * *
Muddick shuffled along the shelves of his haphazardly organized shop. With a ream of paper and a pencil, he turned jars and withdrew simple wooden drawers, counting the contents and scribbling the numbers down in an effort to better organize his inventory. Straggled threads of smoke from a walnut smoking pipe mimicked every dip and shift of his head, as he out this and that from shelving.
Horse hooves slowed on the cobblestones outside. The bell above the door jangled with a new customer.
‘We’re closed,’ Muddick droned, without even expending the attention to look at the individual, instead taking hold of a jar filled with a green liquid and eyeballing odd floating curiosities inside. He made another mark on the paper.
Staggered footsteps made their way towards him, prompting the old man to finally look up from his work.
Initially his first reaction was one of shock, for he spied the Bluecoat uniform before anything else. The law wasn’t welcome here. In fact, if the law ever found its way here, it would be for a handful of reasons, either involving fines, questioning, or straight-up arrest. Any of these wouldn’t bode well for Muddick’s future. This would have been bad enough, until he recognized the pale woman’s face, greatly pained. She gripped her shoulder. A patch of blood had seeped through the jacket, revoltingly sticking her hand to the material.
‘No, no!’ Muddick protested, immediately shuffling to the door, sliding across a bolt and pulling down its blind. His voice was already escalating. ‘No, no, no! You do not bring this trouble in here. I want you out, immediately!’
Wyld staggered with her last reserves of energy before collapsing against a cupboard cluttered with a myriad of unrecognisable musical instruments. A couple rolled from their places and landed on the floor. A clay flute shattered on impact. Wyld peeled the jacket from her body with great agony, the smear of crimson running down her arm and breast.
‘I need patching up.’
Muddick squatted before her, knees cracking as he did so. The wound was concerning.
‘What is this? Stab?’
‘Bullet.’ Wyld winced, unable to recall how long it had taken for her to make it back to civilization. ‘Done a couple of hours ago at least.’
‘Bullet, eh?’ Muddick pulled at Wyld’s shirt, easing it aside to get a better look. The wound was concerning and gory. ‘Removing that will cost extra.’
Wyld placed her bloodied hand on his shoulder, firmly. ‘Just get it done.’
Muddick was meticulous in his handiwork. Despite his appearance of frailty, his hands were as steady, guiding his tools with total precision. The bullet was extracted and the wound sewn up. Wyld herself had forgone his recommendation of a sedative created from crushed this and ground that. Instead she took the other option of hard alcohol, which – whilst not completely numbing her from the agony of forceps being inserted into flesh – did plenty to lessen its impact.
* * *
The days after were spent taking it easy for fear of the stitches rupturing and creating an unholy mess. There were times when she jolted up in alarm from her bed upon hearing the shop bell ring downstairs, shuddering at the thought that someone had found her stolen mare hidden in a storehouse around the back and alerted the Bluecoats. It was hard not to envision any number of betrayals in her stupor. Was she seen escaping? Had someone looked too closely as she hung limp in the saddle, concluding that she looked out of sorts? Maybe they had spied the bleeding?
At any rate, all she could do was rest and wait.
* * *
‘You’re not staying longer? You’ve not fully recovered. Could do yourself a great mischief. Infection would be a bad thing to contract I’ll have you know.’
‘With how much you charge by the day? I’ll be skint before the week is out.’ She rubbed her bandaging, kneading the tender muscle. Yes it hurt, but the stitches were holding together and the pain had subsided to the point where she could perform most tasks without blinding agony. The newly claimed horse nodded its head, eager to venture out once again. Wyld fiddled and checked the last of her preparations, ensuring nothing had been forgotten or was amiss.
‘Ah but I do fine work.’ Muddick puffed on his pipe, savouring the daylight that streamed through the poky alleyway, an imposing contrast of sun and shadow. A daytime chorus of busy people in the street was just about audible.
‘That you do, that you do. I can’t complain about that.’
Wyld rummaged through her knapsack, passing him a bound roll of money. ‘This should cover you for your services.’
Muddick pocketed it immediately. There was no reason to be shortchanged by this one. Wyld had been a fine customer and was welcome back at any time to do further business. He had use of someone with her talents, but his offers of jobs were completely dismissed. Clearly she had no intention of staying.
‘Do you have all you need?’
The woman pulled on the saddlebags ensuring they were tight enough, vigorously rubbing the horse’s side as its tail swatted away flies. They were clad with plenty of provisions – food, water, temporary shelter and, importantly, ammunition.
‘For the time being.’
‘If you stumble upon something of interest to me, you let me know, okay? You always seem to bring me the best, Wyld. I’ll gladly be accommodating to you. Give you a good price.’
‘Of that I have no doubt.’
Wyld hoisted herself up by a stirrup, wiggling herself until she was comfortable against the pommel of the leather saddle. The reins were taken in hand and wrapped between her fingers, gently enticing the mount’s attention.
‘Which reminds me.’ Muddick looked down the alleyway at those passing in the street, walking alongside as Wyld led the horse along with a clop-clop-clop. He offered out a small square of paper. ‘I asked around about into this individual you’re looking for. You should be thankful he tends to make a scene wherever he goes. Has quite the reputation that one – plenty looking for him on all accounts. I won’t ask if you know the trouble you’re getting into hunting down a mercenary but I would suggest you be careful. Especially in your condition.’
* * *
Wyld unfolded the paper showing a list of known sightings. Deducing these, Wyld presumed they were travelling north. Past the outposts and towns of Surenth, past the Sand Sea itself, the last sighting being a commotion just beyond the mountain overpasses across the territory border. It wasn’t a precise route, not by any means, but there were plenty of leads to chase for now.
Wyld thanked him, filled with a warm determination. ‘It looks like I’m going north,’ she exclaimed, placing the paper into a vest pocket. ‘Eifera by the looks of things.’
‘Quite the journey ahead of you then. There’s good treasure to be found out in the grasslands.’ The old man’s eyes lit up excitedly.
Wyld progressed out into the street, forcing the flow of bodies to step around the animal between her legs. She answered this directly, giving a parting wave before being absorbed into Windberg’s traffic, a shape in a sea of shapes, a pilgrim among others of immeasurable number.
‘Oh, the best,’ Wyld agreed before making her way off.