A Warlord's Lady (3 page)

***

So, I left the bar somewhat drunkenly with a man named Tao, the alcohol in my system making me giggly and uncharacteristically brazen.

‘Where are we going, Tao? Somewhere a little private, maybe?’ I leaned against him and inhaled. He smelled like the perfumed cigarettes: sweet and kind of nice in a smoky way. Yet a tickle of unease gnawed at the back of my mind. What was I doing? Heading into the depths of Vientiane with a complete stranger — not one of my best lifestyle choices. Eventually, when I was able to drag my eyes from the gorgeous planes of his cheekbones and the sensual promise of his lips, I realised I was a long way out of my comfort zone. How far had we walked? The buildings here were crumbling and the people who sat in the doorways seemed dodgy, with shifty eyes that narrowed as they assessed me, then flickered with worry as they noticed Tao.

‘Sabra,’ Tao purred, ‘I have some business to attend to.’ He lifted a gentle hand and caressed a line down my cheek.

I shivered.

‘Yes, you do,’ I smiled, hoping to seem flirtatious, ‘with me.’

Genuine amusement glimmered in the molten depths of Tao’s eyes. ‘Not just yet, but soon. I promise you.’

Despite my growing concern, I felt absurdly disappointed when he suddenly looked away. The muscles in his hand tightened around mine, and his voice became hard.

‘Jürgen, come, take her to the car. I’ll be back soon.’

I heard myself gasp in surprise. Jürgen? I spun around, tugging my hand from Tao’s to see the hideous German man from the bar standing not far behind me. Had he been there all along? Where was Mags? What was going on?

I felt stone-cold sober.

‘Sabra, if you would be so kind as to follow my colleague, he will take care of you. I will join you shortly,’ Tao murmured. His fingers reached out towards me, and ran their heat down my exposed arm. His touch left me weak.

At that moment, a silver Mercedes Benz rumbled down the cracked, potholed road towards us. My stomach was churning badly now. It stopped a metre away from us, and a fresh-faced Laotian man stepped out and opened the back door, a gun hung in the belt of his neatly pressed black trousers.

‘A gun!’ I cried and backed away from the men.

‘Sabra.’ Tao’s voice was firm and for the first time I recognised the smell of magic in the air.

‘What’s going on?’ I stepped backward, my nice new sandals from Thailand sinking into a foul puddle of water. The man beside the car lowered his hand towards the gun and horror boiled up through my body like acid.

‘Calm down, no harm will come to you,’ Tao soothed.

‘Are you kidnapping me?’ I cried, backing further away. I was beyond caring about my Chameleon abilities, and my face fluctuated wildly with colour.

‘She is a Chameleon, Boss, you’re right,’ I heard Jürgen say beneath the roar of blood in my head.

‘Boss? Who are you? You’re not a bar-boy at all.’

Jürgen sniggered and Tao stepped toward me, his presence calming and numbing at the same time. ‘Please, Sabra, just relax. I won’t hurt you…’

For a second I wanted to believe him, but the reality was frightening — I was lost in a dodgy part of Vientiane and there was a man with a gun.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t trust you,’ I whispered, backing away again.

As if sensing I was about to flee, Tao lurched forward to grab me. With a speed I didn’t know I possessed, I twisted and ran.

‘Get her!’ Tao yelled. ‘She can’t get away!’

Wildly, I ran. This part of the city was a warren of small alleyways and paths and it was easy to lose Jürgen, big and bulky as he was. People peered out from their front doors as I dashed by, panting, unused to the exercise. As the sound of Tao’s yells and Jürgen’s heavy footfall became lost in the jumble of backstreets, I began to slow down, heaving for want of breath. Carefully, I forced my Chameleon abilities into action, changing my brown hair to black and my light skin to a Laotian tan. I wouldn’t blend in perfectly, with Caucasian facial features, but I thought if I kept my head down, perhaps no one would notice me. With my new disguise I walked on, trying to ignore the gross squelching my ruined, sodden sandals made on the cracked and broken pavement.

A small boy who had been picking rubbish out of a nearby refuse pile turned as I walked past. Looking at me with wide-eyed surprise, a look of curious suspicion settled over his face and he approached me brazenly, hand outstretched for some pocket change. I knew then that my disguise would meet with failure. Whether it had been my clothes or my face, I was marked as a tourist and was therefore easy to spot.

Reluctantly, I reached into my pocket and handed the boy a few kip, and he accepted readily before returning to dig in the pile.

I walked quickly on, trying to ignore the prickling sense of being followed. Several street hawkers called out to me, gesturing to their produce, trying to engage me in barter. I shook my head. There was nothing else for it, I realised. I would have to get naked and camouflage completely, then find a way to the police station, or at least the hostel. Somewhere in the distance I thought I could make out Tao’s voice calling my name. My bowels squeezed. How had he followed me through this maze of streets?

As I paused to listen, it became apparent that some of the street venders could also hear his calls and they looked up the street, their eyes suddenly wary.

‘Toilet?’ I asked a gnarled woman who stood beside a noodle stand.

The old woman looked confused, then grinned, baring exactly five teeth, her hand extending a bowl of suspicious noodles.

‘No, umm.’ I fought the desire to laugh hysterically. I rummaged through my handbag with fumbling fingers and quickly looked up the phrases in my travel book. ‘Hàwng Nâm Yuu Săi?’ I finally asked with an appalling Lao accent.

The little woman looked disappointed and retracted the proffered bowl of rice noodles, but nodded and muttered something in Lao as she waved her arthritic fingers to the left. My heart hammered a little faster as the clamour of activity not far away reached my ears. I dashed in the vague direction of the lady’s hand. Like a godsend, there between two ramshackle buildings the universal symbol for toilet beamed at me. Without waiting, I rushed forward. As with most Laotian public toilets these were remarkably clean. There was a cleaning lady sitting on a plastic stool outside. She looked peaceful. I gestured towards an empty stall and she shrugged. Without wasting another second, I scampered into the stall — determined to get naked, camouflage and lose Tao and his German henchman. Once I’d lost them thoroughly, I’d find a policeman and hopefully get the hell out of Laos.

I didn’t want to alarm the old lady who cleaned the toilets, so I was carefully trying to quell my heavy breathing. I clicked the door shut behind me. Wasting not a minute more, I dragged off my clothes. They were gumming to my sweaty body and with trembling hands it wasn’t an easy task. Being careful not to step in the low squat toilet, I stuffed the items back into my bag, although part of me knew I wouldn’t be able to take it. I may have been able to change colour, but my handbag certainly couldn’t. For a moment I felt absurdly pleased I was in the tropics and not somewhere cold because, as soon as I was naked, the humidity clung over me like a cape. I closed my eyes, willing the strange chromatophores to react and adapt to my surroundings.

To be honest, I’d not done this kind of camouflaging since I was a child, living in a communal foster home. I’d lived in foster care from the age of five, and I still don’t know why. I’d had parents once, I think, but the memory is hazy. They were gone, that’s all that really mattered. I’d never found out the truth, and with no relative to claim me, the foster house had become home. The house-mothers were kind, and my foster siblings mostly good, but on hot summer nights I’d strip naked and camouflage myself to escape the fuss in the house. Like a cat, I’d sneak into the backyard of the property and climb a big gum tree at the back of the block. It was an ancient tree with boughs like arms, and there I’d sleep on those hot nights, covered only by a slight breeze.

The clarity of this memory hit me with almost physical force. I’d honestly not thought about the foster home in years. Biting my lip and ignoring the sense of wounded abandonment, I looked down at my body, focussing on being decently camouflaged instead.

As I looked down, the sight actually dizzied me. My breasts and stomach had all but disappeared. I’d forgotten just how good I was at doing this. My naked body had turned the exact pattern of the stall’s cream coloured tiles; they shimmered and reflected the dull fluorescent lights. I knew from experience that the illusion skewed slightly depending on the angle from which I was viewed, but I hoped in the crowded, ramshackle streets it wouldn’t matter too much. I turned and stared at my handbag. I couldn’t take it with me, I knew. There was no way I could keep camouflaged carrying an enormous fake designer handbag stuffed full of my discarded clothing. Reluctantly I pushed it into the corner of the stall, and said a mental goodbye. There was only some cash in there. All my cards and passport were still in the safety deposit box at the hostel. Still, I wasn’t a fan of leaving anything behind.

Giving my body plenty of time to camouflage in line with my movements, I slowly opened the door to the stall. Being obsessively careful, I pressed myself close to the wall, always keeping sight of the environment I was trying to blend with. I knew from previous experience that any distraction could cause the chromatophores to return to their natural colours, giving flashes of a naked, chubby white woman to all who happened to glance my way. Something I wasn’t prepared to do.

As I left the bathroom I noticed the old woman on the stool looking perplexed; she stood up and peered into the vacant cubicle. Muttering under her breath and shaking her head, she slowly bent down and picked up my bag.

I didn’t wait to see what she did with it. Instead, I sped up and fought the sense of nakedness that threatened to overwhelm me. There weren’t many people milling around in this area, and those that were seemed to be busy with their own occupations anyway. I began to move more swiftly, in the direction I guessed should lead towards the Mekong River. If I found the river, the hostel would be easier to find and then, hopefully, the police.

I crept on, hugging the walls and shadows.

‘Where is she?’ Tao’s previously smooth, deep voice sounded like gravel.

I froze, willing the chromatophores not to react to my anxiety. Slowly, I inhaled and turned my head towards his voice.

He was right there, chest heaving, and around him was the unmistakable shimmer of magic. Jürgen appeared to his left, his blond flossy hair dampened down with sweat. Panic speared my chest when I noticed several armed Laotians followed behind them.

Why the guns?

‘She’s near…I can feel it,’ Tao said, scanning the dank street. His eyes flittered past the section of wall I was camouflaged against. Even though his eyes didn’t seem to register me, I could feel his eyes graze across my body. I didn’t dare even blink. Although my eyes had changed colour, I knew a blink could cause a disruption.

‘How did she get away?’ Jürgen asked, his accent thick and guttural. He looked around and scowled.

Tao hissed, and his magic swirled around. ‘She’s here somewhere!’ He snarled and ran a hand through his hair, looking both beautiful and terrifying.

Ever so slowly, I began to creep further down the street. The vendors in the vicinity had receded behind their stalls or behind closed doors. The atmosphere was toxic with anger.

‘My lord,’ interrupted one of the Laotian guards with a gun. ‘I think I saw something to your left.’

My lord? What the hell kind of bar-boy was he?

Tao’s head shot to his left, to exactly where I had been standing.

I held my breath, and he stalked towards the spot. He stood little more than a metre away. I could smell his magic, spicy and exotic. With a gravelly utterance he conjured a spell that swirled around the section of street like a maelstrom.

There was a scream, and everyone froze.

‘Where is she?’ Mags burst forth from behind. ‘What have you done with her?’

Tao spun around, incredulous as Mags rushed towards him. She’d clearly fallen several times in her search; her clothes were a mess and mascara leaked down her cheeks.

‘Maggie.’ Jürgen frowned and caught Mags before she reach Tao.

I forced myself to stay still, although I wanted to cry out to Mags and tell her I was okay.

‘You bespelled me!’ Mags shrieked at Tao, struggling in Jürgen’s arms. ‘How dare you! Where is she? Have you touched her?’

She tried to slap Jürgen but he caught her hand in his beefy one.

‘Be quiet,’ Tao said. He cocked his head at the gun-wielding guards, and respectfully they lowered their weapons.

He raised his hands beseechingly, exuding an aura of calm. ‘I do not know where she is.’

‘You’re hunting her,’ hissed Mags, her lips curling to reveal her shockingly white capped teeth, ‘with those guns.’

‘No.’ Tao shook his head. ‘I will protect her.’

‘From what?’ Mags screeched. ‘Us?’

Tao shrugged, returned to the spot where I’d been standing and resumed his task as if Mags was nothing more than an irritating blowfly.

‘I recognise you, and I won’t let you touch her,’ Mags crowed, ‘and I’ve called the police!’

Tao became still, and his magic receded.

‘And who am I exactly?’ he murmured, taking a gentle step towards Mags, but she didn’t flinch. Until now, I hadn’t realised that Tao was easily as tall and as broad as the big German, and they both towered above Mags.

Mags snarled and her thin red lips curled. ‘Warlord, Cain Dath,’ she spat. ‘It took me some time to recognise you…the spell in those cocktails was good, but not good enough.’