“That was quick,”Peter told Lochlan when we got back. “It isn’t even long past noon.”
“Thank goodness, too,” Lochlan said, carrying in one of the baskets of yarn. “Shipment passes through tomorrow.” He dug into one of the skeins of wool and withdrew a scrap of parchment. “Four wagons, a dozen guards, and the first shipment of”—he glanced once at me before finishing—“porridge.”
All three of them snickered at whatever inside joke they shared.
Roderick cleared his throat. “Peter and I will handle the porridge. Lochlan, you know what to do.” He turned his attention to me. “Gil, you’re about to have a dreadful stomachache.”
“I am? Why?”
“Because I say so.”
“I don’t like the idea,” Lochlan said. He was back seated in his rocking chair and was arranging his yarn.
“Stop nagging,” Roderick said, irritated. “You really are a mother hen with your fretting and knitting and worries. The boy wants to prove he can handle a man’s job, and I say we give him the chance. We took Peter on.”
“Peter single-handedly broke out of a high-security prison and already has a reputation. We know what he’s capable of.”
“Exactly,” Roderick said, smiling smugly. “No one will know Gil. He’ll be easy to underestimate, and if he can stop his chattering, he’ll be perfect to send. We can try him out, and if he doesn’t perform well, we kill him. Easy as that.”
CHAPTER 9
“So I just go in?” I asked Lochlan later that afternoon.
“Right,” Lochlan told me softly, nodding at the small hospital across the road. The sun was beginning to set behind it so the fiery reds and oranges of twilight silhouetted the structure against the sky. “Your job is to feign an injury and go in for treatment and get them to let you stay the night.”
“That’s it? Don’t I have a secret mission or anything?”
“Nope. Pretend to be really sick. I’ll be with you the whole time.” He slapped my shoulder. “So don’t worry. Now let’s see how good of an actor you are.”
Once no one was coming from either side of the road, I stumbled out of the forest and into the open, hugged my arms around my middle, and staggered up to the door, groaning. Lochlan kept to my side, an expression of deepest concern on his face.
Before I even got through the entryway, the scent of strong soap hit my nostrils so forcefully it stung. But even with how powerful it was, it couldn’t quite hide that strange odor of sickness that no amount of cleaning could ever scrub away.
A motherly-looking matron in a starched white apron approached me with a kind expression and a ledger in her hands. “How can we help you?”
“It’s my stomach,” I groaned. “I think I ate some bad shellfish or else I’m real sick.” I let out an agonized moan and made tears fill my eyes. “It hurts so bad and I keep fainting.”
“Please help my cousin,” Lochlan told the woman, gingerly patting my back and wincing as I dry heaved. “He’s been throwing up a lot. I tried to help him the best I could, but we can’t get the vomiting to stop.”
“Oh, you poor dear. Can you keep walking? What’s your name?”
“Gil,” I squeaked. I plodded down the hallway, letting groans and whimpers escape every few steps.
“Well, follow me, Gil. We’ll have you triaged in no time. Your cousin can come along, too. That was very kind of you to bring him.”
From somewhere within the hospital, a bell rang, and a man ran past with a stack of linens with another man following, trying to hurry without spilling the basin of hot water he carried. Tendrils of steam curled up from the basin, floating up before they disappeared in the rather chilly hallway.
“Here we are,” the matron said kindly, guiding me into an examination room and helping me climb onto the raised seat. She perched herself on a stool next to me. Behind her, bottles lined the counters, filled with all sorts of liquids and pastes, and a long table near the back of the room held sharp instruments laid out in rows. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I feel real sick,” I told her simply, making sure to let my head bob as if I were becoming light-headed and weak. “I think my oysters had gone a little bad, but I ate them anyway and now…” I let my voice die and took several deep breaths as if I were fighting down nausea.
How long would I need to continue the act after being admitted?
The matron patted my hand. “Not to worry. Let me get a few things to look at you.” She got up and bustled to the back of the room. The moment she turned away, I shoved a finger down my throat and forced myself to vomit so it splattered on the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked out when she turned back. “It’s all a mess and I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t.”
“Don’t worry about it. It happens every day here,” she said with a smile. “Let’s get you in a room and I’ll have someone come clean this up. It’s already getting late and we’re going to get you all settled and keep an eye on you tonight. Do you need help walking?”
