“Very nice!” he exclaimed. “You’ll be able to sleep in your own bed tonight, I think, provided it isn’t too far a walk. What part of the city are your quarters in, my boy?”
“Not far,” Roland said by way of answer, and noted the way Mae rolled her eyes when he did.
Not even Tod knew where his flat was.
He didn’t spend much time there, truth be told, but when he did, he wanted to be left alone. No surprises. No knocking. No noise or bother.
Perhaps that was indulgent, but it was the one thing he had ever carved out for himself and refused to waver on.
“Mr. Beck has offered to take up your shifts here at the clinic while you are recovering,” Mae told him, tilting her head to the side. “Personally. I do not know where that leaves his gaming establishments, but I thought it a very kind offer. You do know you aren’t to be returning to work at the Vixen either, yes?”
“Yes,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. “Obviously.”
“Rest,” she said, smirking. “You can be useful again in a week or so, when it’s not dangerous to move anymore. I’ll pack up some ointment for you to take home with you.”
He only managed to grunt in response, his mind stuck in the mire of whatever tonic she’d given him until she had already walked away. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and muttered, if only to himself, “I can be useful now.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Dr. Ravi, who apparently had not walked away.
Roland glared at him until he did.
He set off toward home as soon as he was able to gather his things together. He’d sleep a little more, having now discovered the allures of midday slumber, and then he’d figure out just how to make use of days where his body was limited in motion.
He could be useful. That much he knew.
He had learned many ways to be useful during the course of his life.
CHAPTER 11
Mae had been under the mistaken impression that a few days free of the looming presence of Roland Reed would be restful for her spirit.
They hadn’t been.
A little over a week since he’d mumbled his way out of the clinic doors, favoring his cauterized side, and she was more irritable and restless by the day. The nightly deposits of livestock viscera, mercifully, had stopped, but in their place had started broad daylight attacks wherein the medical students would pass by the clinic at running speeds and fling things at the walls.
Usually it was dung. Dung, Mae had discovered, could vary quite a lot in moisture and viscosity. Once, it had been dissected frogs.
That had been particularly upsetting for the nursery children as the frogs had collided with their open window and several had made it onto the nursery floor.
The smeared feces and frog guts always seemed to appear just before another inspection, which of course raised all sortsof questions about the sanitary conditions and safety of the patients inside.
A coincidence, Mae was certain.
Little Winston still did not have the chicken pox. She had noted this as he’d come tearing onto the main floor of the clinic, clutching a globe that Ezra had bought secondhand and donated to the schoolroom.
“Winston, go put that back,” she’d snapped, already on her final frayed nerve.
“No!” he’d said, barreling past her, pock free, in search of Dr. Ravi. “Is it true you’re from here?!” he’d demanded, pointing at China.
“I’m not,” Ravi answered with a chuckle, rotating the globe slightly and pointing at India instead. “I am from there.”
“And we’re up here right now?” Winston clarified, pointing at England and waiting for Ravi to nod. He pressed his lips together skeptically, squinting down at India. “How did you manage not to fall off?” he whispered.
“I didn’t,” Ravi whispered back. “How do you think I got here?”
Mae frowned as Ravi glanced up at her, grinned, and winked.
He certainly was very good-looking.
