Barely inside, I managed to right myself, pushing the door shut and then sagging back against it. When the old man caught sight of my face in the scarce light from the fireplace, he scowled.
“You look like death,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Why are you here?”
It took me a moment to catch my breath before I could answer. “My recruit. He needs help. Fluids, whatever you can give him.”
His brows arched so high they practically disappeared into the mop of frizzy hair hanging over his forehead. “You’re joking.”
I shook my head. “You helped me. Now, help him.”
He scoffed, and a cruel smile curled his lips. “That’s the way of it, Kit. Not everyone survives. Not everyone is meant to. You know that.”
No matter what he thought, I didn’t intend to let him refuse. “Don’t forget, I know all your secrets, old man,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice low and even. “I’m happy to pass them along to Levitt.”
Harlan’s smile dropped away, and he snarled. “I won’t let you threaten me with that again, boy.”
I staggered forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. In a move much quicker than I’d thought myself capable of, I dragged my knife from its sheath and pressed it up under the old man’s chin. His eyes grew wide and he leaned away from it, but I moved with him.
“Would you prefer a physical threat?” It was all I could do to pray that I sounded more threatening than terrified. “Because I can manage that too.”
His breath hitched, and his lip lifted in a sneer. “You’re as much a bastard as your father was,” he hissed. “More like him than he thought you were. He’d be proud.”
The accusation stung, but nothing was powerful enough to overcome my fear for Penny's life. I gave Harlan a rough shake that might have toppled us both.
“I didn’t come here for an assessment of my character,” I said. “You will do whatever you can to ensure my recruit lives through this, or I will gut you where you stand.”
“You know as well as I do that there isn’t much to be done. There’s no antidote for hemlock. That’s why it was chosen.” He swallowed, flinching as the edge of the knife scraped against his throat. “Getting fluids in him might help, but it’s almost as much a risk injecting something into his veins as it is to wait out the poison.”
I’d waited already, sitting on the kitchen floor until Penny convulsed in my arms. He was waiting now, alone and in need of whatever intervention Harlan could provide.
“Do it,” I snapped. “Get what you need. And hurry.”
He glared up at me. “Fine. Let go of me.”
I released his shirt and lowered the knife.
He stepped back as soon as he was able, and turned to the long counter that stretched half the length of the room. It was cluttered with jars and vials, and shelves stretched up to the ceiling behind it full of every sort of herb or remedy I could have imagined. He pulled a bag from the far end and packed it with a roll of canvas tied with a leather strap, gauze and bandages in a glass jar, and a large jug of clear liquid. I urged him through lacing up his boots and pulling on his own cloak before he finally shouldered the bag and gestured for me to lead the way.
I tucked my knife back into its sheath and braced for the cold as I pulled the door open. We set off, following what little sign was left of my trail from my trip there. It was slowgoing, exhaustion weighing me down and making each step twice as much effort as it should have been. Numbness crept up my legs, and I couldn’t even feel my thighs by the time we climbed the two steps to my front door.
Once the door shut behind us, Harlan tossed his wet cloak over the arm of the couch and stamped the snow from his boots. “Where is he?”
I waved for the older man to follow, shedding my own cloak in a heap in the hall as I crossed through to the kitchen. Penny was, thankfully, just where I’d left him. His long, slender body was stretched across the floor, blond head nestled in the couch pillows. Sweat glistened on his forehead and cheeks, and his chest fluttered with rapid breaths.
“I need you to help me move him to the bed,” I said, crouching to press a hand to Penny’s face and dismayed by how cool and clammy it was.
“Of course, you do,” Harlan muttered, turning toward the hall. “Which room?”
“My old room.”
He disappeared, presumably to deposit his bag in the room in question, and returned a few moments later. “Get his feet. Can’t trust you not to drop him.” He shooed me away and stooped to slide his arms under Penny’s shoulders.
I did as I was told, throwing back the blanket and grabbing Penny’s ankles, then grunting with the effort to lift him. My arms shook, and my knees were ready to give out, but I forced my body to cooperate as we carried him down the hall and set him in the bed. And as soon as he was settled, I allowed myself a moment of weakness and sank onto the edge of the mattress.
Harlan retrieved his bag from the top of the dresser,pulling out the canvas roll and undoing the tie to reveal several sizable syringes and needles. He glanced at me over his shoulder as he unloaded the other items. “Get a fire going.”
I slid off the bed and practically crawled to the fireplace, tucking some kindling into the cracks between the logs and striking a match to set it alight. Sitting back, I fed in additional kindling until the larger pieces of wood caught.
The warmth was welcome and needed, washing over my body still chilled from the journey through the snow. I rubbed my hands together and raised them toward the flames, feeling the slightest sense of calm. I'd done what was necessary, and now Harlan was here. Penny had the help he needed. He would pull through this. He had to.
