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DUN SAT, FEET STUCK out, inhaling the heady aroma of the huge plants, and easing out a happy sigh.
“How much of this stuff does she want?” said Padg.
“Who cares? Let’s take aaaallll of it.”
“Hmm,” said Padg, “is this stuff narcotic?”
“I don’t think so,” said Dun, “Sari would have warned us. I think she said ‘don’t burn any!’ but that was about it.”
Padg poked Dun with a reed. Dun snatched the end and snapped it off, poking him back and then with a second thought, sticking the stem into his mouth and chewing it. Padg tutted and rummaged in his backpack for a sack and strode back into the stand of plants. Dun heard Padg tapping the stem with something hard, a knife maybe? Then after small, wet rasp, he felt the waft of the massive plant as it fell. Padg shuffled over, Dun followed and threw himself down again where the flower heads were.
“I think Tali was right,” said Dun. “All that stuff about the healing power of smell.” He sniffed heavily.
Padg toed him in the ribs, “Your smell, I find less than healing. Get up, and stop rolling round in the plants, you’ll crush them. Which bits of these did Sari say we needed?”
“I don’t think she did?“
“Shreds, really?” said Padg. “It’s a bit massive to take the whole thing.”
“How many sacks have you got?”
“Two. Three, I guess, if we empty all the gear out of my pack and carry on without rations?”
“We could eat them all,” said Dun.
“You have got stupider in your old age,” said Padg.
“Thank you,” said Dun. “I think we should go straight back with it all, take it to the Sanctuary and go back out for the spider then.”
“Ok, not totally stupid. What should we take then?”
“I guess: flower heads, some stem, some leaves?”
“Did she mention roots, or whatever? Gods, these leaves are sticky.”
“No.” Dun chewed thoughtfully on his stick, “I guess we’d better take some.”
“Gah,” said Padg. “You wanna do chopping or digging?”
“Neither, right now there’s someone coming, get down.”
They retreated into the mass of stems. The someone was several someones—a patrol then. Dun crouched, knife drawn in his good hand. He could sense Padg next to him with their last remaining sword-spear ready. They were likely to be Red Duchy. Padg crouched in that limbs-coiled stance ready to leap. Red Duchy units usually came in fours or eights, the latter they’d be completely outmatched. In their prime they’d have easily taken four, but today? With one mangled hand and two aging folk, it would be a tough ask. Padg lowered his stance, Dun slowly put an arm out across him. If they waited and were still enough, the thicker smell of the nicotinia would cloak them.
The soldiers were heading towards the garden, but would pass it on the near side and were headed to the Red Duchy barracks. There was a sharp shout and the soldiers crunched to a halt. By the number of feet, Dun thought eight not four. If they were discovered they’d be in trouble. There was muttering and a reply and the sound of boots on foliage. They were closing in. Dun could feel Padg’s muscles strain under his arm, it was his injured arm too, he couldn’t hold him back if he pushed.
There was a crunch in front of them. Dun hoped the plants smelled stronger than they did. They held their breath. They could hear the soldier investigating why the plant was down at the behest of the group commander. The soldier was making ‘hmm-ing’ noises to himself. No idea they were there then. Dun leaned back gingerly, feet in place, to avoid a questing hand. The guard reached farther, he was a finger away. Dun leaned back as far as he dare, his balance was starting to give. His brain told him to throw a hand out to break his fall. The years of warrior training took over and his movements slowed to a crawl. If he did put a hand out, slow enough he was unlikely to be Air-sensed, if the soldier got close enough to find him, he’d have a third point of balance to deliver a kick from. He reached out slowly, ever so slowly, to the side of him. As his hand touched the ground, he found an odd shape, a stem and a large sticky leaf. A grin spread across his face.
“Search properly,” came the hushed command of the sergeant from the rest of the pack of soldiers.
The questing soldier thrust his hands out in spite. Dun ducked and proffered up the massive leaf.
“What the—?” said the soldier. “Aw man, it’s stuck to my fur. This stuff’s awful.” He shrieked, and flapping his arm with the leaf still attached, ran back to his troop.
There was a loud whack. Then the gruff voice of the sergeant again, “Forget it, idiot, our roster’s nearly over. Back to the barracks.”
And with that, they left. Dun reached round to find Padg who was shaking with a hand clamped over his mouth. “What? You okay?” His friend placed a reassuring hand on his arm in reply but didn’t respond till the troops were out of earshot.
“It’s stuck to my fur!” Padg echoed.
They both chuckled as they stuffed plant parts into bags.
