of the one Carter killed.
I can’t believe you. You lied to me. To me! ”
Kote sighed as he trudged up the stairs. “Are you
upset by the lie, or the fact that you didn’t catch me at it?” he asked as he
began to climb.
Bast spluttered. “I’m upset that you thought you
couldn’t trust me.”
They let their conversation lapse as they opened
one of the many empty rooms on the second floor, undressed Chronicler, and
tucked him snugly into bed. Kote left the man’s satchel and travelsack on the
floor nearby.
Closing the door to the room behind him, Kote said,
“I trust you Bast, but I wanted you safe. I knew I could handle it.”
“I could have helped, Reshi.” Bast’s tone was
injured. “You know I would have.”
“You can still help, Bast,” Kote said as he made
his way to his room and sat heavily on the edge of his narrow bed. “I need some
stitching done.” He began to unbutton his shirt. “I could do it myself. But the
tops of my shoulders and my back are hard to reach.”
“Nonsense, Reshi. I’ll do it.”
Kote made a gesture to the door. “My supplies are
down in the basement.”
Bast sniffed disdainfully. “I will use my own
needles, thank you very much. Good honest bone. None of your nasty jagged iron
things, stabbing you like little slivers of hate.” He shivered. “Stream and
stone, it’s frightening how primitive you people are.” Bast bustled out of the
room, leaving the door open behind him.
Kote slowly removed his shirt, grimacing and
sucking his breath through his teeth as the dried blood stuck and tugged
against the wounds. His face went stoic again when Bast came back into the room
with a basin of water and began to clean him off.
As the dried blood was washed away a wild scoring
of long, straight cuts became clear. They gaped redly against the innkeeper’s
fair skin, as if he had been slashed with a barber’s razor or a piece of broken
glass. There were perhaps a dozen cuts in all, most of them on the tops of his
shoulders, a few across his back and along his arms. One started on the top of
his head and ran down his scalp to behind his ear.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to bleed, Reshi,”
Bast said. “Bloodless and all that.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear in stories,
Bast. They lie to you.”
“Well you aren’t nearly as bad off as I thought,”
Bast said, wiping his hands clean. “Though by all rights you should have lost a
piece of your ear. Were they wounded like the one that attacked Carter?”
“Not that I could see,” Kote said.
“How many were there?”
“Five.”
“Five?” Bast said, aghast. “How many did the other
fellow kill?”
“He distracted one of them for a while,” Kote said
generously.
“ Anpauen, Reshi,” Bast
said, shaking his head as he threaded a bone needle with something thinner and
finer than gut. “You should be dead. You should be dead twice. ”
Kote shrugged. “It’s not the first time I should be
dead, Bast. I’m a fair hand at avoiding it.”
Bast bent to his work. “This will sting a bit,” he
said, his hands strangely gentle. “Honestly Reshi, I can’t see how you’ve
managed to stay alive this long.”
Kote shrugged again and closed his eyes. “Neither
do I, Bast,” he said. His voice was tired and grey.
Hours later, the door to Kote’s room cracked open
and Bast peered inside. Hearing nothing but slow, measured breathing, the young
man walked softly to stand beside the bed and bent over the sleeping man. Bast
eyed the color of his cheeks, smelled his breath, and lightly touched his
forehead, his wrist, and the hollow of his throat above his heart.
Then Bast drew a chair alongside the bed and sat,
watching his master, listening to him breathe. After a moment he reached out
and brushed the unruly red hair back from his face, like a mother would with a
sleeping child. Then he began to sing softly, the tune lilting and strange,
almost a lullaby:
“How odd to watch a mortal
I can’t believe you. You lied to me. To me! ”
Kote sighed as he trudged up the stairs. “Are you
upset by the lie, or the fact that you didn’t catch me at it?” he asked as he
began to climb.
Bast spluttered. “I’m upset that you thought you
couldn’t trust me.”
They let their conversation lapse as they opened
one of the many empty rooms on the second floor, undressed Chronicler, and
tucked him snugly into bed. Kote left the man’s satchel and travelsack on the
floor nearby.
Closing the door to the room behind him, Kote said,
“I trust you Bast, but I wanted you safe. I knew I could handle it.”
“I could have helped, Reshi.” Bast’s tone was
injured. “You know I would have.”
“You can still help, Bast,” Kote said as he made
his way to his room and sat heavily on the edge of his narrow bed. “I need some
stitching done.” He began to unbutton his shirt. “I could do it myself. But the
tops of my shoulders and my back are hard to reach.”
“Nonsense, Reshi. I’ll do it.”
Kote made a gesture to the door. “My supplies are
down in the basement.”
Bast sniffed disdainfully. “I will use my own
needles, thank you very much. Good honest bone. None of your nasty jagged iron
things, stabbing you like little slivers of hate.” He shivered. “Stream and
stone, it’s frightening how primitive you people are.” Bast bustled out of the
room, leaving the door open behind him.
Kote slowly removed his shirt, grimacing and
sucking his breath through his teeth as the dried blood stuck and tugged
against the wounds. His face went stoic again when Bast came back into the room
with a basin of water and began to clean him off.
As the dried blood was washed away a wild scoring
of long, straight cuts became clear. They gaped redly against the innkeeper’s
fair skin, as if he had been slashed with a barber’s razor or a piece of broken
glass. There were perhaps a dozen cuts in all, most of them on the tops of his
shoulders, a few across his back and along his arms. One started on the top of
his head and ran down his scalp to behind his ear.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to bleed, Reshi,”
Bast said. “Bloodless and all that.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear in stories,
Bast. They lie to you.”
“Well you aren’t nearly as bad off as I thought,”
Bast said, wiping his hands clean. “Though by all rights you should have lost a
piece of your ear. Were they wounded like the one that attacked Carter?”
“Not that I could see,” Kote said.
“How many were there?”
“Five.”
“Five?” Bast said, aghast. “How many did the other
fellow kill?”
“He distracted one of them for a while,” Kote said
generously.
“ Anpauen, Reshi,” Bast
said, shaking his head as he threaded a bone needle with something thinner and
finer than gut. “You should be dead. You should be dead twice. ”
Kote shrugged. “It’s not the first time I should be
dead, Bast. I’m a fair hand at avoiding it.”
Bast bent to his work. “This will sting a bit,” he
said, his hands strangely gentle. “Honestly Reshi, I can’t see how you’ve
managed to stay alive this long.”
Kote shrugged again and closed his eyes. “Neither
do I, Bast,” he said. His voice was tired and grey.
Hours later, the door to Kote’s room cracked open
and Bast peered inside. Hearing nothing but slow, measured breathing, the young
man walked softly to stand beside the bed and bent over the sleeping man. Bast
eyed the color of his cheeks, smelled his breath, and lightly touched his
forehead, his wrist, and the hollow of his throat above his heart.
Then Bast drew a chair alongside the bed and sat,
watching his master, listening to him breathe. After a moment he reached out
and brushed the unruly red hair back from his face, like a mother would with a
sleeping child. Then he began to sing softly, the tune lilting and strange,
almost a lullaby:
“How odd to watch a mortal
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