“Thank you for the reminder.”
We eat in silence, him sitting by the whistling shutters, me at the bed—thinking that we’re going to have to extinguish the lantern at some point to conserve oil. When my stomach absolutely can’t fit another morsel, I excuse myself to the water closet.
Merc grunts from his perch and puts the plate down under his knees. He’s avoided the bread and greens, no doubt because he views them as sustenance for the weaker sex. I’m surprised he didn’t bring mead back, but then again, the Outpost is not like my little village. Even a man such as himself should keep his wits here.
I mostly close the door, needing some light to find my way around. What I see is… unlike anything I’ve ever found in a loo before. The little room isdominated by a porcelain basin big enough to recline in. There’s some kind of piping system above it… that appears to offer a raining upon the head? There’s also a chamber pot–like setup with a similar network on a smaller scale behind it, and a sink, as well.
I test out the former, finding a handle that rushes a quantity of fresh water into the bowl. After a quick swirl, things all disappear into a hole in the bottom.
“Genius,” I murmur as it refills. And so much better than the latrines of my village.
At the sink, I turn on the faucet, and the effort requires both hands due to corrosion. Though I expect what comes out to be cold and foul, as I test the stream with my fingertips, the rush is warm and sweet-smelling. No dirt or minerals taint the supply, just like the river out in the flats.
There are no cloths to dry off with, so I wipe my palm on my hip, and then I must inspect the big basin. The water release is a tiny wagon wheel on a vertical pipe, and there’s a squeak as I turn it to the left. A spray of warm droplets falls into the tub, and gets me right on the head with the same clean rush as the sink.
“I’m having a washing?” I call out.
I think I get a grunt in return. I can’t tell with the water coming down.
After I use the chamber pot and try out its fancy processing system for real this time, I pause and look to the crack in the door.
“Merc?” I go over and peer out through the aperture. “I said, I’m going to…”
My voice drifts as I push things open.
Across the way in the window seat, Merc has crossed his arms over his chest, like he’s activated his own latching system, and his chin is down on his sternum. With his pack still on his back, his surcoat, too, and his weapons all holstered, he’s ready to respond to any threat, and I wonder if he ever truly rests. Those black and white eyes of his may be closed, his lashes down on the summits of his cheeks, and his breathing may be slow and steady… but I have no doubt that if I so much as whisper something, he’ll be on his feet with that broadsword in his hand.
I also know I shouldn’t watch him like this.
But when I close my own lids briefly, I see only the burned houses, the bloodstains in the children’s beds and the symbol markings, theSand thePintertwined by the doors that were still standing.
Salvation and Protection.
Innocent people slaughtered because others thought they were cursed by demons. Whole families gone out of the same fear that hunted me.
Glancing over to the door, I realize Merc hasn’t followed his own rule.
In silence, I pad across the gray floorboards and bolt us in. Then I go back into the water closet. It’s easier to undress knowing he’s sleeping, and as I start to undo the fastenings on the navy blue coat, I can’t help but think of where I was when I put these borrowed men’s clothes on me. That glen of trees and Julion’s request feel like it happened to someone else, a lifetime ago—
The first hint of the problem that’s developed reveals itself as I try to pull my right arm out of the sleeve.
Pain lances up my forearm and I hiss a curse.
Persisting through the discomfort, I have to grit my teeth to keep from crying out, and when my outer layer is off, I catch my breath like I’ve been running. As I put the folds down, I see the ragged tear through the silver detailing.
I don’t know if I have the courage to inspect what was done to me by that giant black bird. But like I have the choice?
The inhale I take is rough, and then I look down at the red cloth that Merc wrapped the injury in. The makeshift bandage is damp. I tell myself it’s from my dip in the stream, except in this dim water closet, I can’t tell if I’ve just been slow-bleeding for hours. Heart pounding, I begin to unwrap things, and when I’m done, the room is spinning. Trembling, I step over to the slant of lantern light that pierces through the crack at the doorjamb—
“Oh…no.”
The periphery of the jagged slice is already turning red and puffing up, and the inside is heading for purple. It’s a deep cut, nearly to the bone in places, and very long, running from my wrist bone nearly to my elbow. If it looks like this now? By the morning, I’m going to have a fever.
I look longingly at the tub. And turn the water off.
Going back out into the room, I rewrap things as I clear my throat. “Merc? I have a problem.”
Forty-TwoThe Herbist.
