He unwrapped it like a starving man anyway, eyes bright with hunger.
I tugged the wool blanket free from the larger bag and dug through the bottom. My fingers closed on a long linen shirt, yellowed, rank-smelling, the fabric limp with old sweat. I pulled it up and pouted. “Ugh. Wehaveto figure out how this vessel works or I’m going to end up wearing this disgusting thing, aren’t I?”
“Aye. Yer dress inna fitting for this time.” He shoved a chunk of cheese into his mouth and chewed grimly.
“Well, I’m glad we are leaving this time, because this is gross.” I tossed it to the side.
“Aye, tis gross because the man who wore it afore was wretched and foul.”
I said, “The same man who packed up this food with his disgusting hands.”
He shrugged. “Yet he is dead, so we daena care about his hands.”
“That’s... not how germs work.”
He grinned around his chewing. “Daena matter if ye are hungry enough.” He held out a slice of cheese at the tip of his knife.
I grabbed it and shoved it into my mouth, grimacing. “Delicious.” I stuck out my tongue. “I look like you did when I gave you Diet Coke.”
He looked down his nose. “Dost ye like that drink? Twas terrible.” He ripped the dried bread into pieces and passed me a share.
“I love it, drink it all the time.” I ripped off a bite with my teeth, sprinkling crumbs down my sundress. “Ah, man, it’s dry.” I chewed and smacked my lips.
“Dry as a witch’s lips on a bitter day.” Torin sprayed crumbs into his beard. He finger-brushed them off. “Och, I am a mess. I hae the blood and bread of a dead man upon me.”
He reached back into the bag, rummaging until his hand closed on a squat little horn pot. He pulled the wooden stopper free, and a sharp waft hit us — pine, resin, something raw and biting, almost like turpentine.
Torin sniffed it and grunted. “Tis a balm for ye, Princess.”
He handed it over. The horn was unsettlingly warm. I peered inside. The paste was yellowish, streaked with green, glistening faintly in the light.
I furrowed my brow. “Whatisit?”
“My guess would be fat and nettles, a touch of pine, maybe garlic. Good for yer skin.”
I blinked at him. “You don’t truly expect me to put thisonmy skin? It looks like an infection. Who knows what…” I sniffed and gagged. “That man might have stuck his fingers in it!”
Torin shrugged. “Aye, he likely did. He probably smeared it on his chafed arse, same as ye need tae. But I told ye, Princess, he is a dead man now, and whatever he did daena matter anymore. He is gone. Smear it on yer skin and ye will feel the better for it.”
I made another face, sniffed once more, then shoved the stopper back into the opening. “I just can’t. I can’t use it. His toiletries, his shirt... What if he’s…?”
Torin’s eyes narrowed. “What if he’s what?”
I lowered my voice. “Haunting it.”
His eyes went wide. “Ye think he might be hauntin’ the arse balm?”
I grimaced. “You did murder him. It’s a possibility he’s angry. It cannot be safe to put that on my skin.”
Torin shook his head, amusement tugging at his mouth. “Ye think a man who kidnapped ye, near broke my ribs while I was pinned and couldna strike back, that same villain, is goin’ tae pour his demon spirit intae a horn jar of balm, just tae spite us?”
He dipped a finger into the yellow-green muck and smeared it across a scrape on his arm. The stench hit me as he winced. “Och it stings.”
“I told you!”
He chuckled. “Tis supposed tae sting, tis how ye ken tis working.” He exhaled, then gave me a sidelong glance. “But truly, Princess, ye believe a man so full of evil, so ready for the death I gave him, is still about, floatin’ in the balm?”
“He might be.”
