James watches Cutler fold up, collapsing first at the knees and then the body and blade part company violently, and what had been the boy he'd grown up with, a neighbour, is no longer a person but a huddled, bloody mess on the floor.
As a canon booms overhead, James throws up.
He would have preferred not to, but no matter how many years of training he's had, nothing has prepared him for that. Nothing has ever prepared him for watching life ebb away from a body, or the guilt the washes over him.
He wipes his mouth, and then looks up, trying to get his bearings. There are other bodies out in the clearing, less than he expected to see. There are one or two figures disappearing into the woods.
Horatio is nowhere to be seen.
The adrenaline pumping through James is still going strong, and he manages to curl his hand around the machete again and head towards the tree-line. He runs across the clearing, towards the shadowy spot where he thinks Horatio disappeared, Simpson just behind. But he is not at home in forests. He's not completely sure this is the same place, all the trees look the same, and there's no sound beyond apart from the wind in leaves.
It's foreboding and dark, and there could be anything, or anyone waiting behind the trees on either side of the faint track. But Horatio is in there somewhere, with Simpson, and he can't hang back.
He takes a breath, the air under the canopy tastes different and as far as it's possible, green. But it doesn't smell like blood.
James heads in, trying to move as quickly and as quietly as possible. Barbara had said something about not being silent because woods were never silent. There was always the wind in trees, birds and insects. Move carefully, tread lightly, but not silently.
It was impossible to be silent in any case, impossible with so many twigs and dried plant matter underfoot. But there was no sounds of running, no noise of fighting. Not clearly. There might have been a scuffle some distance away, but there was no shouts or noises of pain.
They said they wouldn't call out. That was sensible. Horatio knew bird calls. But what if he was hurt? James cursed himself. He should have followed Horatio straight away, left Cutler till later. But he did not want to have to face Cutler and Simpson as a united front.
There's another boom of a canon, and it chills James' blood. He doesn't know who it's for, and it could be for anyone, but suddenly sneaking around the trees isn't worth doing. His grip on the blade tightens, and he quickens his pace, listening intently for the sound of anyone else near-by, for bird call.
But despite Lady Barbara's comments about birds, there's not a sound.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-09-04 07:21 pm (UTC)As a canon booms overhead, James throws up.
He would have preferred not to, but no matter how many years of training he's had, nothing has prepared him for that. Nothing has ever prepared him for watching life ebb away from a body, or the guilt the washes over him.
He wipes his mouth, and then looks up, trying to get his bearings. There are other bodies out in the clearing, less than he expected to see. There are one or two figures disappearing into the woods.
Horatio is nowhere to be seen.
The adrenaline pumping through James is still going strong, and he manages to curl his hand around the machete again and head towards the tree-line. He runs across the clearing, towards the shadowy spot where he thinks Horatio disappeared, Simpson just behind. But he is not at home in forests. He's not completely sure this is the same place, all the trees look the same, and there's no sound beyond apart from the wind in leaves.
It's foreboding and dark, and there could be anything, or anyone waiting behind the trees on either side of the faint track. But Horatio is in there somewhere, with Simpson, and he can't hang back.
He takes a breath, the air under the canopy tastes different and as far as it's possible, green. But it doesn't smell like blood.
James heads in, trying to move as quickly and as quietly as possible. Barbara had said something about not being silent because woods were never silent. There was always the wind in trees, birds and insects. Move carefully, tread lightly, but not silently.
It was impossible to be silent in any case, impossible with so many twigs and dried plant matter underfoot. But there was no sounds of running, no noise of fighting. Not clearly. There might have been a scuffle some distance away, but there was no shouts or noises of pain.
They said they wouldn't call out. That was sensible. Horatio knew bird calls. But what if he was hurt? James cursed himself. He should have followed Horatio straight away, left Cutler till later. But he did not want to have to face Cutler and Simpson as a united front.
There's another boom of a canon, and it chills James' blood. He doesn't know who it's for, and it could be for anyone, but suddenly sneaking around the trees isn't worth doing. His grip on the blade tightens, and he quickens his pace, listening intently for the sound of anyone else near-by, for bird call.
But despite Lady Barbara's comments about birds, there's not a sound.