Page 47 of What Remains (John Worthy #3)

“Yes.” His cheeks heated, his body trying to betray him yet again, but he swallowed, gave himself a moment to steady. “Why don’t you ask the woman who was with him? She would know why they’re here.”

A short silence, filled only by the continual slap of wind against the yurt and, from somewhere further away, a shrill exclamation and short babble. Children, maybe. A few of the men turned quizzical looks in the direction of the sounds and then to one another, but otherwise no one moved.

“Conveniently,” Kur said, seeming neither to hear the noise or, if he did, to care. “Or perhaps not so very conveniently, you seem to be the only person who can speak to her.”

He wanted to ask what relevance that had to anything going on but held his tongue.

“You don’t think that’s unusual?”

Hadn’t they just gone over this? “People speak many languages in Kabul. That’s not a crime.”

“But he has been shot and so perhaps they were committing a crime.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Why do you think your Mr. White and this woman are here?”

“I have no idea.”

Kur opened his mouth to continue, but Amu cut in. “This is getting us nowhere. Let me deal with him. He’s mine, after all.”

Don’t do it. But he couldn’t help the sudden surge of rage. He had lost so much, been through so much. When would he get a say? When would he be in charge of his own life?

“What are you accusing me of?” he asked Amu. “Do you think I’m the reason he’s here? Think again. I found them . The gunshots were from the mountains, not here.”

“And you don’t think that’s important?” Amu ground out. “You don’t think that he might have imagined you were there ?”

“What?” He was confused. “ There ? Where is there?”

Kur spoke. “The mine, of course.”

What? Poya opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “What mine?”

“The one east and north,” Kur said, “in the mountains. Where you heard those shots. That is where the mine is. So, did you come from there?”

“Me? In a mine?” He shook his head. “No.”

“Didn’t you escape? Didn’t you run and make your way to Sarhad?”

Kur was spouting gibberish. “No,” he said, “I don’t know anything about a mine. I’ve never been in those mountains.”

“Then how do you explain this man?”

“I can’t. It’s a coincidence.”

Kur’s mouth set in a grim line. “Quite a coincidence.”

“Even so, that’s what it is. I don’t know about any mine. Why are you accusing me?”

“Because you are a boy,” Kur said. “Because you have no family.”

“I had a family.” His eyes stung, and he thought, Don’t.

Don’t let them make you cry. “I had a mother and a father. My father is dead. My mother is probably dead. She left me to fend for myself. I don’t know these people.

Why are you accusing me of bringing then here?

Or being the reason? I met him once .” Though seen him twice, but details.

“I had no idea that he was here in the valley?—”

“Don’t lie !” Amu’s shout was a thunderclap, and Poya jumped. “I’m not a fool !” Amu bellowed. “None of us are fools!”

“Keep shouting at the boy and we’ll get nowhere,” Kur said.

“He’s mine to deal with, Kur,” Amu ground out. “You are older, but that doesn’t make you wiser. Don’t tell me how to deal with my own property.”

“Please.” Poya raised both hands. “I never said you?—”

“But you plot !” Amu’s face, already ruddy from years of cold and sun, purpled. Surging to his feet, he backhanded the pathetic little stack of Poya’s books, swatting them aside with a curse. “You steal !”

“Don’t!” The word leapt from Poya’s mouth. Not my books. He itched to gather them up, keep them safe. “Please, just…ask me whatever you want to ask me. Only don’t?—”

“Only don’t what ?” Fist balled, Amu was on him so quickly that Poya’s feet tangled and then he was on the ground, turtled on his back as Amu reared over him.

“You plan. You lie !” Flecks of spittle speckled Amu’s lips.

His face was choked with blood. Even his eyes reddened.

“You have passports, you have supplies, you are getting ready to run and then he shows up and you ask why ?”

“I’m sorry.” He held up both hands to ward him off. “I’m sorry. Yes, you bought me, and yes, I was going to run away, but it’s not what you think. I didn’t call Mr. White. I don’t know why he’s here.” He cringed as Amu drew back a fist. “Please don’t…”

“Now, then get up!” Bending, Amu grabbed a fistful of Poya’s tunic and jerked him to his feet. Poya was light and no match for this man. “ Tell me!” Amu roared. “Are you from the mine? Are you? Sent to spy on us? So, they will know when we have boys old enough for them to take?”

What? “I d-don’t know.” The words were herky-jerky, jumping out of his mouth while Amu shook him so hard Poya’s head wagged back and forth on the slender stalk of his neck.

“P-please!” Clamping both hands around Amu’s wrist, he tried pulling the man’s hand from his tunic. “I don’t know what you mean!”

“Liar!” Amu bellowed?—

There was a blur, something rocketing for his face so fast that Poya had no time to react, and then Amu’s fist slammed into his left jaw.

Poya’s head snapped to the right and he lurched back, only vaguely aware of the sound of something tearing.

Then, he was on the ground, face-first, a queer high whine in his ears and blood in his mouth.

Tears blurred his vision. That ripping sound…

Amu tore my tunic. Now, panicked as well as in pain, Poya wormed his right hand under his chest. His fingers found the rent in his top, but it wasn’t very wide and revealed nothing.

Which was about the only good thing he could say about this mess.

Amu was still shouting, though through the ring in his ears, he couldn’t make out the words.

I should have run. Tears of pain and fear squeezed from the corners of his eyes and ran down his cheeks to mingle with blood and snot and spit.

From somewhere beyond the yurt, he caught that faint gabble of voices again, but that might only be a hallucination wrung out of his scrambled brains.

I should have found a way to take that woman’s gun and take my chances ? —

“And so ,” Amu boomed. “I ask you again .” Squatting on his haunches, Amu knotted a fist in Poya’s hair and wrenched Poya’s head back. “ Who ?” Amu was so close, the man’s spit sprayed his cheeks. “Who are you working?—”

And then Amu screamed.

The sound was high, sharp, almost girlish.

Releasing Poya, Amu tried to stand and scramble back at the same moment.

He ended up coming down hard on his bottom and then the man was scuttling back on hands and feet in a queer, crablike movement until he’d reached the other men.

They were all standing now, too, or trying to, their eyes wide with shock, their mouths hanging open.

“What are you?” All Amu’s bluster and rage had evaporated. He pointed with a trembling finger. “What are you?”