15
The Coward
—1892, August 7: 12-Hour 46—
It is not unheard of for some people of the Six Nations to settle in New Occident proper. Some come and go as merchants, others take advantage of what the cities of the eastern seaboard have to offer. But the majority stay comfortably within the area settled by the Six Nations. Salt Lick, to the west of Pennsylvania, offers everything one might wish for in a city other than a seaport. In fact, if there is migration between New Occident and Six Nations, it tends to flow from the former to the latter.
—From Shadrack Elli’s History of New Occident
THE ARROWS WHISTLED as they flew through the air and struck the unprepared company. In the distance, Major Merret shouted instructions. “Theo,” Casanova shouted, over the thudding of arrows and the groans of falling men.
He realized that if he did not reach Theo in the next few seconds, the boy would be crushed under the wagon’s wheels. With a grunt, he dropped their packs, losing all his protection against the arrows, and burst into a run. He jumped over a fallen man and dove forward, head down, toward the vanishing wagon.
Merret’s lessons had accomplished their intention, for the company was fighting with more discipline than Casanova would have imagined. Turning to face the trees on either side, the troops fired on their attackers. Casanova ran between them, in the wake of the wagon that had charged through. The troops’ only insubordination was in their use of equipment; almost to a man, they had thrown off the unwieldy masks that made it impossible to see or hear clearly. Casanova did not stop to remove his. Theo was being tossed beside the wagon like a fallen kite dragged by the wind.
“Whoa!” Casanova shouted. “Whoa!” It was no use—the mules could not hear him, or if they did, their terror was too great. Tucking his head down, Casanova ran with all his might.
Suddenly the mules hesitated, impeded or startled by something in their way. Casanova reached Theo, passed him, and then flailed at the mule nearest him, attempting to grasp the reins. He missed, and grabbed again. Then he had it. Pulling fiercely, he wrenched the mules to a halt. But it was only momentary: he knew that at any second they would take off once more. He spun back to where Theo lay on the ground and rapidly unhooked the harness from the chain. Casanova lifted Theo and then, using all his strength, heaved him upward into the covered bed of the wagon.
Theo was unconscious, and an arrow jutted from his shoulder. “No, no, no, no,” Casanova said under his breath. Putting his fingers against Theo’s wrist, he felt a weak pulse. “Wake up, Theo,” Casanova urged. He unfastened the harness as quickly as he could. As he tossed it aside, the mules bolted and the wagon hurtled forward once again. Casanova crouched in the wagon’s bed.
He could not think what to do next. Then he realized there was no hope of saving Theo while staying with the company. They would be killed—at best, captured. He threw himself toward the opening at the front of the wagon bed and crawled up to the empty seat. As he fumbled for the reins, he saw that they had already left the scene of their attack behind. He tore off his helmet with relief and threw it into the back.
Driving the mules as fast as he dared, he took them north for another ten minutes and then led the wagon off the path and tied the agitated mules to a tree. One, he could see, was badly injured. It had continued running out of sheer panic, but it had lost a great deal of blood. Casanova shook his head and hurried to the wagon. Theo’s injury needed attention first; then he would see to the mule.
Theo had not yet woken, which was a relief, given what Casanova had to do next. He ripped the shoulder seam of Theo’s shirt, exposing the embedded arrow in his left upper arm. He needed a way to remove the arrow as cleanly as possible.
The wagon that had carried them to safety turned out to hold the major’s private supply store. Fine food and linens surrounded them. Casanova opened a cask of water and found a clean napkin, which he soaked in the water. He wiped his hands with the napkin and then, holding the wound open with his fingers, prepared himself to pull the arrow out. To his surprise, the wooden shaft came loose with ease. Then he cursed quietly, realizing that the arrowhead had remained buried in Theo’s shoulder. “Why couldn’t they have hit your iron hand, Theo?” Casanova asked aloud. He tossed the shaft aside and carefully reached his fingers into the wound. The arrowhead was there, but his blunt fingers could not grasp it. “I need tweezers. Or tongs.”
He found neither. But he did find two silver forks, and using these like pincers, he managed, over several long minutes, to pry the arrowhead out of Theo’s shoulder. He examined the offending piece of weaponry after dousing it with water, and his worst fear was realized. The arrowhead was stone, and fragments of it had been chipped off. No doubt these were still lodged in Theo’s shoulder. Casanova resisted the urge to hurl the arrowhead into the dirt. He needed to save it so that the pattern of missing pieces was discernible. And he needed a medic—a proper medic.
Casanova searched the wagon for alcohol, and washed Theo’s shoulder with it, using a clean napkin. The boy had still not woken, and it unsettled him deeply. “Hang on, Theo,” he said as he propped him up with the major’s comfortable blankets. “We’ve got a journey ahead of us, and you must stay alive until we reach our destination. You hear me?”
Theo, his face strangely calm, made no reply.