The latter is bad enough.
After three cleaning rounds, I can’t take any more attention in that tender area—and given the amount of scrapes and rough spots I have in other places, I pass the bar over the whole of me, even my hair. At some point I have to stop and release the drain, for the water level is too high, and when it’s time to rinse, I unplug things entirely and stand up.
As I tilt my head back to the fall of warm water, I think of the rain outside. There’s got to be a cistern on the roof collecting what’s falling from the sky.
Whatever the Outpost can be criticized for, one cannot fault its bathing facilities.
When I finally turn off the faucet and step out of the tub, I feel quite a bit refreshed in spite of the thumping pain of the wound, and I don’t want to put the felt outfit back on—
“Here.” Merc’s thick arm comes through the gap between the door and the jamb. “Dry off and wrap up with this.”
It’s one of the sheets from the bed, that he’s evidently stripped off.
I slap a hold across my breasts, and my other hand goes to the juncture of my legs. But it’s not as if he can see through the gray wood panels—and he comes no farther inside.
“Ah… thank you.” I take what he’s offering like it’s going to bite me. “That’s most kind.”
The sheeting is soft and fragrant, and after passing it over my body anddamp hair, I wind it round and round. Then I tear off a piece and wrap up my forearm. After that… I stay where I stand, very aware of my nakedness in spite of all that covers me.
Except I’m not about to sleep in here.
Squaring my shoulders, I open the door as if I’m fully clothed and step out—
Merc is back in the window seat, his arms crossed over his chest, his chin down, his eyes closed. His dark hair is already drying, and I think of how grateful I am to be out of wet, constrictive clothing, all clean and warm. Doesn’t he want the same? Then again, we are not the same. Nothing about his circumstances ever seems to discourage him.
“Take the lantern,” he tells me without looking over. “To the bed. And then turn the flame down until it’s almost out.”
“All right.”
I go over and pick up the source of light by its handle. Before I pivot back around, I notice that he has followed his own rule this time. The bolting to our room is well latched.
At the bed, I see that he’s remade that which he no doubt messed up getting the sheet free.
“It’s quite big enough for the both of us,” I hear myself say. “The… bed.”
“I’m fine over here.”
“All right.”
My cheeks are flaming with embarrassment as I mount the mattress—and I find that there’s a hook driven into the wall right by my head. The lantern hangs from it readily, and I take a last glance at Merc before I turn the little lever and the illumination is strangled down to just a blue and yellow nub at the crown of the wick.
With the glow all but gone, sounds swell to fill the void: I hear the rain still falling with ferocity on the roof above, and the whistle of the wind in the shutters, and the distant notes of a piano. Voices crest and fall in volume and number, but they are far off.
“When are you leaving?” I ask into the darkness as I lie back on top of the covers.
There’s no reply, to the point where I assume he has fallen asleep. And then Merc clears his throat.
“Soon,” he says. “I’m taking another job.”
Curling onto my side, I give him my back, and tell myself it’s because I always face the door when I sleep. That’s not it.
I need to leave him first, and not just for my pride’s sake.
The sooner I get used to being on my own again, the better—
“I don’t want any payment.” His voice winds its way to my ears. “For getting you here.”
I close my lids and shrink in my own skin. What happened to the man who kissed me by the stream, I wonder. “Not even money?”
