The creature slowed, its thin hands, with fingers twice as long as a human’s, dropping to the weapons at its waist. As it approached, the sunlight gleamed off a metal badge on its chest.
“Howdy, there, ugly,” Hickok said when the thing was close enough to hear.
The purple man, if that is what he was, stopped. A look of uncertainty or puzzlement came over it, and it cocked its oversized head from side to side.
“Four eyes, huh?” Hickok said. “And you’re not even wearin’ spectacles.”
The thing in the uniform uttered a cross between a snort and a snarl.
“Cat got your tongue?” Hickok said. “I don’t speak much Thai lingo. Any chance you savvy English?”
The four eyes widened. Raising its right hand, the creature tapped the circle of metal on its vest.
Hickok looked closer. Either made of gold or gold-plated, it wasn’t a badge, per se. Intricate engraving showed a woman in an elaborate outfit sitting cross-legged. She had four arms, and in one she held a sword aloft and in another a severed head.
“Who the dickens is that? Your mother?”
The creature addressed him, rapid-fire, in a language Hickok couldn’t peg.
“Was that Thai? I told you I don’t speak your lingo.”
Rearing to its full height, the purple being gestured sharply at Hickok’s holsters and held a hand out, palm up.
“You want my pistols?” Hickok said, and shook his head. “Ain’t going to happen.”
Hissing like a snake, the thing gestured again.
“You’re a mite slow between the ears,” Hickok said. “The only way you’ll get these Pythons is if you take them from my cold, dead body.”
The creature placed its hand on its pistol.
“Careful, now, gruesome,” Hickok said. “You don’t want to do anything rash.” A thought struck him, and he asked, “You’re not one of the Lords of Kismet by any chance, are you?”
At the word ‘Kismet’, the purple man touched his badge and rattled off more incomprehensible words.
“Damn, this is aggravating,” Hickok said. “Separated from my pards, and now I run into a lunkhead with more eyes than brains.” He figured to try one more time. “How about you take me to your leader? To the Kismets, or whoever they are?”
Clearly angry, the creature pointed a long finger at Hickok’s right Python, then curled its finger to indicate Hickok should give the revolver to him.
“This is gettin’ us nowhere,” Hickok said. He let his arms drop to his sides. “No!” he declared loudly and firmly.
The thing got the message. Its anger gave way to fury, and it swooped its hand to its sidearm.
Hickok’s own hand became a blur. He drew and sent a slug into the creature’s wrist before the other’s weapon cleared leather. For a human that would have been enough. The pain alone should have doubled the purple being over. But it didn’t. Instead, it let out a yowl of rage, whipped its sword from a ruby-hued scabbard, and attacked.
CHAPTER 24
Yama warily descended, every nerve primed to deal death. He was cut off from his companions, adrift in an ocean of potential enemies, as it were. He mustn’t take any chances.
The room below was sparely furnished. Mats lay on the floor. A pair of small tables of oriental design were by a wall. One the nearest table a candle flickered even though it was broad daylight. The smoke it gave off explained why. The candle was scented, and gave off an exotic fragrance. Lanterns in the shape of dragons hung from pegs on the support beams, but they weren’t lit.
Yama reached the bottom step and turned to go around the stairs. A slight sound caused him to stiffen, and spin. His finger was curling on the Wilkinson’s trigger when he spied the source of the sound, and stopped himself barely in time.
A small girl, not much more than seven or eight, was staring at him in astonishment. She had a button nose and an oval chin, and eyes of walnut-brown. Her jet-black hair had been trimmed at the front to give her bangs that hung down almost to her eyes. The sides and back were longer. She wore a shift and sandals.
“Sawa dee,” Yama said.,
The girl blinked but didn’t respond.
“Khun cheu aria?” Yama asked for her name, but again, she didn’t reply. “Do you speak English, child?”
Her eyes grew wide in consternation.
“I won’t harm you,” Yama said, wishing there had been time to learn more of the Thai language.
The girl finally said something. Yama shook his head to signify he didn’t understand. Unfazed, she stepped up to him and touched a fingertip to his leg as if to assure herself he was real.
“Where are your parents, girl? Are they home?”
She broke out giggling, then covered her mouth with her hand as if embarrassed. Suddenly darting by, she ran to far wall and slid part of it aside.
Yama went to go after her, and stopped.
Beyond was another room. More spacious, it contained half a dozen low couches or divans. Several were occupied. Squealing, the girl rushed to an older version of herself in a colorful sarong, a woman who must be her mother. The mother, laughing at whatever the adults were talking about, bent and listened, then glanced up in alarm, saw Yama, and pointed and shouted.
The two men on other divans jumped to their feet. Both were dressed in fashionable suits, and by their well-groomed appearance were men of means. One, about the same age as the mother, moved in front of her and the child as if to protect them. The other man, considerably older, took a few steps toward the room Yama was in but stopped when the woman yelled something.
Keeping them covered, Yama emerged. “Stay still,” he said in their tongue, and added in English as he had with the child, “I will not harm you.”
The older man gave a visible start.
“Do you understand me?” Yama guessed.
“En…gl…ish,” the old man said, forming the word haltingly.
“Yes, English,” Yama said. “Is there any chance you speak it?”
The old man said hesitantly,
