The Call of the Thunder Dragon by Michael J Wormald

and seduce me since she set eyes on me!
“Were you really all the way out here with just the Chamberlain as
a chaperone? I bet you seduced him and ran away with him didn’t
you?!”
    “John-San!” Zam exclaimed, “I did
not! He was an ugly old man! You would know if you had ever seen
him!”
    They were interrupted by the
arrival of more tea and chicken soup.
    Zam unbound his hands. “It was to
stop you fighting and lashing out?” She reassured him with a peck
on the forehead. “Did it hurt terribly?”
    “Yes, it did. Worst is not being
able to … breath.” He finished with a pain filled sigh.
    The maids swished smoothly in and
out. Shortly rice was also brought. After starting by sipping tea,
then being spoon fed the soup, he was able to sit and scoff some
rice before he collapsed exhausted.
    He lay savouring the flavour of
the rice and soup. The first real thing He had eaten all day. It
tasted sublime.
    Zam ran her hand along his firm
jaw. He was a strong man, who could bear pain she reasoned. He’d
flown in the sky and fought the other flying machines. Zam wanted
to lie down next to him and talk to him about things, about life.
Questions were bubbling up about England. About the war, about
China, about Falstaff and about the silk chemise she’d found around
his neck? She stopped in disgust at the thought. Zam took a deep
breath, the Englishman’s willingness to bait and tease, just as
much as she, made her stop and think. She felt uncomfortable with
his brutish lewdness.
    Baiting and teasing were her
games. It felt different to receive such attention. Not that she
hadn’t experienced men before, but those few occasions had been
instigated by herself. She was also surprised how she’d enjoyed
caring for the man, cleaning his wounds, feeding him. Having never
wanted for care herself, nor found herself having to provide it
before this was a new state of affairs for her. She realised she’d
actually developed a concern for the man she’d have happily mocked
and lured along all the way to Bhutan without letting him lay a
finger on her. Was it possible she felt something for the dirty
English man?
    Zam looked at him again. Falstaff
had woken up, his face on one side towards her. He smiled and
winked.
    Zam eyes traced a line from his
eye to her open thighs. “Bastard! Don’t look!” She squealed,
slapping him across the chin. She rearranged herself, wishing she
hadn’t prepared for the bath so soon.
     
     
    Falstaff hadn’t been sure if his
legs would hold, but he’d made it to the bath house, thankfully not
too far away. The baths offered were all within the old inn itself.
The prospect of a rickshaw ride to an external bathhouse made him
shudder. However, it had only been along the corridor and barely a
few steps down.
    Zam was there all the way.
“Di-di, be careful now!” She patiently coaxed him all the way.
    “Damn it, I’m not a baby? I’ve
broken a rib that’s all!” Falstaff wasn’t about to admit how weak
he felt or how much the pain was tiring him.
    This was not how he had pictured
his imagined bath, a ‘victory tub’ with the pretty almond-eyed
girls and hot tub with warm rice wine on tap.
    He sat against a white tiled
wall. Somewhere nearby was the pool, with the sound of hot water
splashing. The air was filled with steam. A faint smell of smoke
and the trace of pine blew in from the forest outside. He could
hear running water close at hand. The steam was warm, enveloping
him. He squinted wearily about. Zam stood at his back holding him
close. He tried to relax and looked back at her; he felt her
breasts naked against his scalp.
    ‘This just isn’t fair’ he cursed
silently. ‘Either I’ll fall asleep or forget this afterwards!’
    Just as he tried to think of
something to say, four women arrived and slipped out of their robes
and naked made their way through the steam towards him.
    The number of the attendants were
unnecessary he surmised to himself. Yes, they wanted to make