Yama was elated. It was too bad Blade and Hickok weren’t there. The language barrier had been a paramount concern, and the reason for their crash cram. The problem was that no one at the Home spoke Thai, so all they had to go on were books in the Library. “How is it that you do?”
The old man seemed to struggle to find the right reply. “Father knew…..his father knew more.”
“Lucky me,” Yama said. “My name is Yama…..”
At that, the old man and the husband and wife and even the small girl went rigid with what appeared to be fright.
“Par…don?” the old one said.
“My name is Yama….,” Yama began again.
“Pardon?” the old man said, and looked him up and down. “You….not Yama. Yama a god.”
“You know the other Yama?” Yama said. “The Lord of Kismet who calls himself that?”
This time there was no mistaking the outright fear that gripped them.
“You not Yama,” the old man insisted, with a vigorous shake of his head. “Yama Death God.”
“He thinks he is.”
“Sorry?” the old man said.
Yama lowered the Wilkinson to show he wasn’t a threat. “I have come from far away,” he explained, “to find the Lords of Kismet. Can you help me?”
“Find Lords?” the old man said, his tone implying it was the craziest idea he’d ever heard. The mother said something, and when the old man answered, all three, plus the girl, broke out in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Yama demanded.
The old man’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You find the Lords of Kismet,” he said, his English improving as he went, “and you die.”
CHAPTER 25
It would be as easy as anything for Blade to kill the woodcutter. Instead, he swept up the Commando, blocked the downward sweep of the machete with the barrel, and rammed the stock against then the man’s head.
The woodcutter dropped, senseless. His wife screamed, dashed over, and threw herself on top of him, protecting him with her body. Terror-struck, she looked up at Blade and cringed, evidently expecting him to strike her.
Blade lowered the Commando. “I’m not your enemy.” Stepping around them, he picked up the machete and threw it well out of their reach. As he did, he gazed off through the trees and spied tall buildings in the distance. He wasn’t far from the city.
When he turned back, the woodcutter had sat up and his wife was cradling his head and whispering.
Blade pointed toward the city. “The Lords of Kismet?”
The woman stiffened and addressed him in her language. The only word he recognized was ‘Kismet’.
“Sorry about your fella’s head,” Blade said, and strode off. His paramount concern was finding Hickok and Yama and getting on with their mission. But he hadn’t gone far when the patter of footsteps made him wheel with the Commando leveled.
The woodcutter and his wife had come after him. The man had a bruise on his forehead but otherwise appeared unhurt. They stopped, and the man gave a tentative smile and said a few words.
“I don’t understand,” Blade said. He started on but stopped once more when the woodcutter snatched at his arm. He cocked his fist and the man half-turned and averted his face. Puzzled, Blade said, “What do you want?” Not that they would understand. He wished they could communicate but he just didn’t know enough of the Thai language.
The man pointed to the west. “Ma,” he said. Not the ‘ma’ as a Southerner would say ‘mother’, but with a different inflection. “Ma, ma,” he urged, pulling lightly on Blade’s elbow.
The woman stayed well back, clearly too afraid of to come closer.
Blade decided to see what the man wanted. He nodded at the woodcutter and motioned for him to lead the way.
They didn’t go far, less than fifty yards to a small hut on short stilts. The wife went up first and stooped and entered. The woodcutter motioned for Blade to do the same. Blade indicated the man should go ahead of him, as a precaution. The woodcutter bent to go in, and Blade pressed the Commando’s muzzle to his back.
The interior was dark with shadow. After the harsh glare of the Asian sun, Blade had to wait for his eyes to adjust. There was no furniture. Their few possessions lined the walls. The woman had gone to a small stove of unusual design and was fiddling with a kettle, while the woodcutter unrolled a mat and gestured for Blade to sit.
Placing the Commando in his lap, Blade tapped Hickok’s code into the Micro Tech IV. The position of the blinking light hadn’t changed much. Hickok wasn’t more than a quarter of a mile away. He tapped in Yama’s code and once again a blinking dot appeared in the same location as Hickok. It occurred to him that that might be Hickok, that the watch wasn’t showing Yama’s location at all.
The woodcutter had sat across from him and was watching in fascination. He spoke quietly to his wife, who nervously glanced at Blade, then moved to a small cupboard and brought out an old tin.
Blade imagined they were serving him tea. He’d read in the Library that the Thai people loved tea. Before the war, tea exports were an important part of Thailand’s economy.
Pointing at the Micro and then at Blade’s Commando, the woodcutter went on about something or other.
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Blade said when the man was done. Anxious to rejoin the others, he tried one more time to elicit information. “The Lords of Kismet?"
The man smiled and pointed to the north. His wife, though, glanced at the roof, and cringed.
Blade frowned. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He went to stand but the woodcutter reached across and made bold to grip his wrist and point at the small stove and the kettle. Not wanting to antagonize them and maybe have them run to the authorities, Blade settled back. “I’ll have one cup,” he said, only to be polite.
Fortunately, in a surprisingly quick time, the wife brought over a wooden tray with three
