by Steven Gould
“Do I gotta cut her? NOW!”
Kimble walked gingerly over to Suze, clucking his tongue, and took her reins. The little horse jerked her head suddenly, nostril flaring, but he had her firmly. “Shhhhhhhh.” He moved his hand to stroke her nose and she jerked even more. He realized, it’s the smell of the blood on my hands. His hands were also shaking.
“Get a move on, kid!”
Kimble led Suze over, holding the reins at their full length to keep the blood away from her head. Nice and easy, he told himself. The horse wasn’t the only creature he wanted to avoid startling.
“Stop there! Hold her head.”
The man had lost his hat, either in his earlier fall or during his initial encounter with the Rangers, but the impression of the hatband was still across his forehead. His shirt had greasy stains on the front, and even from two yards away, Kimble could smell stale sweat and wood smoke. The man’s jeans were faded, but he had on fancy boots with composite spurs. He was so tan that at first Kimble thought he was Hispanic, but his upper forehead was practically pink.
Kimble couldn’t take his eyes off the knife on Sarah’s throat.
“Hold her head, dammit! On the other side!” The man backed Sarah up to Suze’s shoulder and grabbed her hair and pulled it until she was arched back to the saddle. He pinched her hair between his hand and the pommel and jerked up onto the saddle. “Up!” he said to Sarah, pulling on her hair.
Sarah gasped and hopped involuntarily. The man dipped and snagged her belt, pulled her up and across his legs, turning her facedown, head on one side, legs on the other. “Reins!”
Kimble handed him the right rein, then stepped around to the left side to give him the other.
The man had his knife arm across Sarah’s back. He took the rein from Kimble and said loudly, “You tell those Rangers that each time I see them, I’m cutting off an ear. When I run out of ears, they’ll find her head, you got that?”
Kimble thought he was talking to Mrs. Costillo, but just in case, he nodded.
The man gathered the reins in his knife hand and grabbed the pommel to secure Sarah. As he sawed the reins around, Kimble dropped to his knee and darted his hand forward, grabbing the free end of the slipknot on the cinch strap. At the same time the man jabbed his spurs back into Suze’s ribs.
Suze, unused to such treatment gave a tremendous leap forward, her left hip knocking Kimble over. He slapped and rolled, coming to his feet in time to see the saddle, Sarah, and her captor fly off Suze’s back.
Sarah, facedown, came off best, landing on her feet and falling forward. The man landed on his back with the saddle on top of him. The white ceramic knife winked as it tumbled through the air.
Kimble took three strides and picked up the knife, keeping an eye on the man. The man was having trouble breathing, but he shoved the saddle off and was struggling to sit up when Sarah grabbed him by his hair and slammed him back down. She had a rock in the other hand. “See how YOU like it,” she screamed, holding the rock up in the air.
Then her brother arrived and took over, turning the man facedown and pulling another piggin’ rawhide thong from his back pocket. For good measure, he tied the man’s hands to one of his ankles, arching the leg up behind.
Sarah kicked the man in the side and went back to her mother.
Kimble’s hands stopped shaking, but his knees buckled and he dropped back to the ground. She could’ve broken her neck and it would’ve been my fault. What was I thinking?
Suze came up and prodded him with her nose. Keeping the bloody hands away from her head, he climbed to his feet and stroked her neck. Mrs. Costillo spared an arm to pull her daughter to her, running her free hand across her neck, to assure herself there’d been no cut.
Kimble slid up onto Suze’s bare back. “Right, girl. Let’s go get those other horses.”
* * *
“SO, you want to tell me what happened?”
Captain Bentham and Kimble were riding alone, forty yards in front of the Costillos’ wagon. A single squad rode behind the wagon. Bentham had sent the remainder of his troop back to Nuevo Santa Fe with the prisoners. He’d offered to send Mr. Costillo back with them, to the Territorial Medical Facility, but Mrs. Costillo, after consultation with the Rangers’ medic, decided he would heal better in his own bed.
“Saddle came off. He shouldn’t of spurred Suze.” Kimble reached forward and patted the side of Suze’s neck. “She’s not used to that kind of treatment.”
“The saddle came off? How did that happen? I mean, if the cinch had been loose, he couldn’t have climbed up in the saddle like he did, could he? Or hauled Sarah up. The saddle would’ve just slid around.” He glanced sideways at Kimble. “Mrs. Costillo and Paco saw you grab the cinch. Sarah told me you kept it in a slipknot.”
Dammit. “Okay. Yeah, I untied it. I’m sorry.”
Captain Bentham had been drawing breath to speak but shut his mouth abruptly, blinking. “Sorry? For what?”
“She could’ve broken her neck. He’d taken the knife off of her to grab the pommel but he could’ve stabbed her as they fell. He could’ve landed on his feet and we’d be back in the same hostage situation only he’d be even more desperate.”
Kimble glanced at Bentham who was looking back, eyebrows raised.
“Thought about it, I see. How old are you?”
“Turned thirteen in February.”
“That’s right.”
Kimble frowned. “Right? What do you mean? Oh, yeah, told Sarah.”
“Did you? No, that’s not how I knew, Mr. Creighton.”
Kimble felt his stomach sink but he tried to brazen it out. “Pardon? Name’s Monroe.”
“So you say, Kim. I was going to give you a lecture about how dangerous your stunt was. But I’m also mad at Patowski. Not only did he leave his assigned post when he blocked them at the ford, but that’s what drove them up the wash. And I’m furious with myself. I should’ve left an entire squad behind.”
“Save some of that anger for Mr. Costillo. If he hadn’t tried to stop them, they would’ve just ridden on by.”
“Yeah, well he paid for that choice, didn’t he?” Bentham looked sideways at him again, considering. “You’ve a clear way of looking at things. It worked out that you pulled the cinch. Sarah is okay and the rat bastard didn’t get away. But I’m also glad you see it could’ve gone wrong.”
“I just did it, though. Didn’t think about all that other stuff until after. He was so afraid.”
“You mean her, right? Sarah was so afraid?”
“Hell, no. She was angry, I could tell. But he looked like a cow in quicksand, the whites showing all around. He could’ve done anything in that state. And, dammit, Sensei’s medicine was in those saddlebags!”
“Sensei. Is that who you live with?”
Kimble nodded.
“What does he teach?”
“She. She’s a fifth dan in aikido. I’m her uchideshi.” At Bentham’s blank look he translated, “Inside student.”
“You’ve been studying long?”
“A couple of years. Nine months with Monroe Sensei.”
“Ah. So that’s where the name comes from.”
Kimble clamped his mouth shut.
“Let’s leave it for now, Kimble. I’m not usually out in the field like this, you know. This was the result of a platoon leader being on sick leave. What I usually do is sit at a desk and read reports. I tag things and collect things and put things together. When I think I see a pattern, I go investigate or send someone to investigate.”
Kimble licked his lips. “Where is this going?”
“I’ve seen the missing child fliers coming from outside. The territory is a favorite destination for runaways, at least until they find out how hard life is out here. I remember things. It’s my talent, the aptitude that got me my job, so I remember the fliers from after your father was medevaced. I remember the occasional queries since, and then the recent version with the computer-aged photo. Pretty close, by
the way.” He took a deep breath. “But I also remember the domestic violence reports from Golondrinas stretching back four years from before your father was transported.”
“Oh.” Kimble remembered visits from the village deputies, but hadn’t realized that they’d resulted in reports. He blinked his eyes rapidly for a moment. He thought about some of their neighbors. Guess they weren’t ignoring the yelling after all.
“You’ve got to balance things, sometimes,” said Bentham. “We could go have an administrative hearing at the capital, but because your father can’t enter the territory, I’d have to transfer you up to Colorado. Your sick instructor would have to travel there, to make a case for custody. Other relatives could get involved. Sounds like a right mess.”
“I’d run,” Kimble said. “I swear it. I’m not going back to that man.”
Bentham eyed him. “No hearing necessary if I never recognized you in the first place. Getting older, you know,” he said in a confiding tone. “Memory isn’t what it used to be.”
“You’d do that?” Kimble said.
Bentham looked at him with dead eyes. “Pardon, Mr. Monroe? What on earth are you talking about?”
Kimble exhaled. “Nothing, Captain. Nothing at all.”
* * *
“GOOD trip?” asked Ruth. She’d used the rescue inhaler first and her breathing had eased and her color was improving. “You made it without any difficulties?”
“Yes, Sensei.”
7
Tatami, Vigas, and Skinny-dipping
Fatigue is a symptom of asthma, one that often shows up before one feels the constricted breathing in the chest. A week after Ruth began taking the oral corticosteroids she had more energy than she had had in months.
As a result, Kimble was exhausted.
“Sensei, don’t you think you should get some rest?”
“Shut up and keep weaving.”
They were making gozo mats, the top layer for straw-core tatami. The layout of the dojo called for forty of them and they’d only completed one full tatami that Ruth had been satisfied with. When Kimble wasn’t weaving the gozo or bundling wheat straw shafts for the tatami core, he was hauling Ruth’s old travois up and down the bosque, cutting dried reeds for more mats, or running off to get straw from the local wheat and oat farmers.
They’d also taken delivery of the promised roofing tiles and had one third of the roof up, but were waiting for more latillas (lattice sticks that crossed over the vigas, the beams), before they could continue that backbreaking chore. But in the meanwhile, Ruth felt well enough to add an additional class every morning before the heat of the day took hold.
I should’ve let Captain Bentham take me back to Colorado. Bet I could’ve slept to a decent hour there.
In desperation he went to Marisol, the TMS nurse. “She’s really overdoing it. I’m concerned for her health.”
“I talked to her yesterday,” Marisol said. “She looked good to me. Her lung function is really improved.” She reached out and turned Kimble’s head from one side to the other, looking in particular at his eyes. “You getting enough sleep?”
He pulled away. “I’m okay. It’s her I’m worried about,” said Kimble.
The nurse cleared her throat. “Ah. I see. Well, perhaps you’re right. I’ll speak to her.”
The next day Ruth declared that she would take an afternoon nap.
“And what do you want me to do while you’re asleep, Sensei?”
She looked at him and said, “Hmmm. There’s the latillas for the dojo roof, the reeds for the tatami, the garden needs weeding, the compost pile needs turning, but what I really think the most important thing is … you should nap.”
Two days later, returning from the bosque with more reeds, he overheard Ruth talking to Marisol by the spring. “You were right. I didn’t have kids, myself, and it’s been so long since I was a teenager.”
“He’s a good kid,” said Marisol.
“He is.”
Kimble blushed and crept back down the path. When he returned he let the bundled reeds rustle against the mesquite branches and dropped them noisily by the dojo walls.
The next time they went to town, Martha Mendez, the storekeeper/county clerk/postmaster had a letter for Ruth.
She sat down on the bench outside the store to read it.
Kimble could tell at a glance that it was from outside, laser-printed text on lightweight paper.
When Ruth was done reading it, she went back inside and penned a short response, paying for heliograph transmission. Perro Frio didn’t have a heliograph tower but there was one ten miles north. The regular mail rider would drop it on his way and it would be transmitted from tower to tower to the edge of the territory, then e-mailed.
On their way back home Ruth said, “We will have a visitor sometime next week. She will stay for several days. You’ll sleep in the deshi quarters, all right?” There was a set of student rooms on one side of the dojo. The one on the end was to be his and it was already roofed.
“Of course, Sensei. Might as well get moved in.” He was intensely curious about the visitor. Ruth said very little about her life before the territory.
“Who is coming?” he asked.
“Karen. My oldest student.”
* * *
WHEN Karen came, she rode with a guide, three pack mules, and her own student, whose name, for all Kimble could see, might have been “trouble.”
Kimble liked Karen at first sight. She was not as old as Ruth, but she had white streaks in her red hair and, like Ruth, the muscles in her arms were well defined. When Karen swung down off her horse she bowed immediately, but Ruth took two steps and pulled her into her arms. When they stepped apart, tears were running down both their faces.
Kimble stepped in and took the reins of Karen’s horse, face averted. He’d never seen Ruth cry before.
“Here,” said the other young woman, thrusting her reins at Kimble. He took them and bowed politely. She walked forward and bowed to Ruth without even looking at him.
Kimble shrugged and watched her walk. She was wearing tight pants and he’d reached an age where watching the opposite sex fascinated him. Her hair was blond but the roots were dark and she smelled of exotic deodorants and soaps.
Karen introduced the young woman to Ruth. “This is my student, Athena.”
“Welcome. Are all these horses yours, Karen?”
Karen gestured to a weathered man still on horseback. “Mr. Clemments is our guide—he brought us from Colorado. The horses are his. He’s going to return in six days, if that works for you, Sensei.”
“Unless you can stay longer, it works just fine.”
“No, our flights out of Denver are set.”
Mr. Clemments took the panniers off two of the pack mules. “I’ve kin near Isleta,” he said. “I’ll be back on Saturday.” He loosened the girths on the two saddle horses and changed their bridles for halters before leading all the animals off.
“We brought extra provisions. I didn’t decide to bring Athena until after I’d written.”
“Not to worry. This is Kimble.”
He bowed. Karen bowed back, though Athena only nodded.
“Give us a second to organize ourselves, all right?” She gestured to Kimble and stepped off to the side. Quietly she asked, “Would it be all right if we gave Athena your room? If I’d known, we could’ve finished another of the deshi rooms.”
“Sure, Sensei. I can have my clothes out in a few minutes. The bedding was just changed.”
Later he showed Athena the room, carrying her bags for her. She prodded the thin rolled-up futon and said, “It’s better than the camping we did on the way here. Where’s the bathroom? I could use a shower.”
He showed her the composting toilet at the end of the hall. “Sorry the roof isn’t up yet.” He pointed at the two clay containers beside the seat. “You put sawdust in every time you go. If you defecate, add straw, too.”
She wrinkled her nose up. “Don’t you guys
have flush toilets?”
“Seen ’em. Terrible waste of water.”
“And the shower?”
“This time of year, we use water from the pond. When it gets cold, we heat water on the stove.” He decided not to tell her about Sensei’s plans for a solar-heated hot tub. “I’ll be sleeping in the dojo proper if you need anything.”
“What does that mean?” she said. “Why should I need anything?” She glared at him. “And why are you sleeping here? Why aren’t you in your own room?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Let’s just say that’s not convenient right now.”
He went back to the cottage to see if Ruth needed anything. She was sitting with Karen on the bench built into the wall and Karen was holding a long flat wooden box that Kimble recognized from the pack mules.
“So you were able to do it?”
“Yes, Sensei. They’re still light but by increasing the density of the reinforcing fibers, we were able to come close. I did a test cutting with bundled straw and another with green bamboo. Very satisfactory.”
“Let’s see, then.”
She slid the lid off and removed a sheet of packing foam. Beneath were three swords, katana, in black lacquered scabbards, and several extra blades. The blades were milky white.
“Why so many blades?” asked Ruth.
“I’m pleased with how strong they are. If you’re really cutting properly, they’ll slice through bone. But they’re still not folded steel. I deliberately chopped at some bamboo—not slicing—and the blade snapped off near the hilt.”
Ruth held the sword out, both hands on the hilt. “I’ve missed iaido. I thought I’d miss movies or the ’net or driving, but those haven’t been a problem. I certainly missed certain people,” Ruth said, smiling at Karen. “We’ve done what we could with bokken and jyo, but I was surprised how much I missed iaido.”
Karen nodded. “I use your sword every week.”
“Your sword. Good, it was made to be used, even if it is four hundred years old. It certainly wasn’t made to be eaten by bugs out here.”
That night Kimble slept on one of the new tatami in the corner of the dojo. He slept well but more than once he heard Athena tossing and groaning on the much softer futon. She was asleep when he got up at dawn. He could hear her snoring. He tiptoed out and started the morning chores.
