by Helen Gosney
Davi smiled at him.
“You’re the one who’s been doing all the hard work, Rowan. Nobody else. I don’t think it’s selfish at all. ‘Honest’, I’d say.”
“Well, I hope I’m always that, at least.” He laughed. “You know, I think I must be getting old and grumpy. All the miserable old buggers quacking on were starting to really irritate me this time, even before I fell. Truly, I’m fed up with hearing that I’m too old, that I shouldn’t be here, that I’m going to fall apart before the bloody competition even starts, and if by some miracle I don’t, then I certainly will once it’s begun. And now they’re all saying I can’t come back from a bloody rolled ankle and a bump on the head.”
“It’s a bit more than that, Rowan.”
He shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter. It won’t stop me. When the Trophy comes around I’ll be running about like young Scrap here, I hope, but even if I’m not I won’t be there just to make up the damned numbers. I’ll just have to try and see the other lads off quickly, and look after my ankle and the rest of me as much as I can.” He looked at the healers again and smiled happily. “No, Davi, Zefer, this time I’m going to shut the old miseries up once and for all. This one’s mine.”
Davi and Zefer looked at him closely. They knew that Rowan didn’t brag and he didn’t make idle predictions either. And he looked very strong and fit, even if he hadn’t been training since the accident. Davi clapped him on the uninjured shoulder.
“Good lad,” he said, “I’ll look forward to it. But you must take it very bloody carefully.”
“Aye. I will.”
**********
“Davi, I’ve been thinking about this cursed splint,” Rowan said slowly, “When it comes off, my ankle will still need support, won’t it? Bandages or something?”
“Aye, it will. Good strong support, and probably for quite a while too, I’m thinking,” the healer replied, “Especially if you’re really planning on trying to run around on it.”
“Then tell me what you think about this…” Rowan hesitated, knowing how daft the idea would sound and quite prepared for both healers to fall about laughing, “You know how a corset is, with the stays and all?” Both men looked at him askance and nodded warily. “Do you think it’d be possible to make some sort of support for my ankle like that? Or maybe even a… a boot with the stays built into it? Sort of like the scabbard in my boot for my clan knife?”
Davi and Zefer stared at him and then at each other and burst out laughing, just as Rowan had expected.
“A corset for your ankle? Did I truly just hear you say that? You’ve got too much damned time on your hands, lad! No wonder you’ve taken up juggling,” Zefer said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
“Well, I just thought, maybe…”
The healers chortled happily for a while, and Rowan was starting to wish he’d simply said nothing and that the healers would just shut up about it when both men suddenly began to look thoughtful.
“You know, Zefer, it’s just bloody daft enough that it might work,” Davi said slowly.
“Mmm… maybe. Have you spoken to the splintmaker about it, Rowan?”
“No. I thought I’d ask you two what you thought first,” Rowan said.
“Well, I think I can speak for my esteemed colleague here when I say it’s the daftest bloody idea I’ve ever heard,” Zefer said, “But at the same time it might just be sheer bloody genius. Let’s talk about it a bit more, Rowan. Who would make it, do you think? The splintmaker or a bootmaker? Or both together, probably?”
Rowan braced himself for more hilarity.
“I, um… I thought both of them, and, er…”
“Out with it, laddie!” Davi said sternly, though he was dying to hear what else Rowan might come up with. The man had a well-earned reputation for odd innovations that worked in spite of their initial peculiarities. Rowan’s very unorthodox approach to physical training came to mind, and so did his brilliant idea of introducing the recruits to scrambleball.
“Well, I thought the lady in the town who makes corsets and things too. They’re bloody stupid things, corsets, and I’ve never understood why anyone would want to wear one, but they do give good strong support and are sort of lightweight too. And they wouldn’t need to put all the lace and ribbons and things on the splint, or whatever you might call it, so it mightn’t take too long to make,” Rowan said, straightfaced.
This time the healers laughed so hard that they were in serious danger of doing themselves a mischief.
“Dear Gods! Can you imagine them all beavering away on such a thing?” Zefer somehow managed to pull himself together a bit, “Poor old Gordon, the splintmaker, is a bloody old bachelor who’s likely never seen a damned corset in his life.”
“Or a woman!” Davi added happily.
“And he’s a poor shy bloody Wirran into the bargain!” Rowan chuckled, “You know what sheltered lives they lead.”
The enlightened citizens of Bettra, Crell and Sian decided it would be worth seeing the look on the splintmaker’s face when they made the suggestion, even if nothing else came of it. But the more they thought about the daft idea, the more they thought it might just be possible.
To their surprise, once he’d recovered from the shock of the wildly improbable suggestion, Gordon agreed that it might just work. He wasn’t sure if a relatively lightweight fitted brace – or corset, as they were still calling it at odd moments – would be best, or if Rowan’s idea of a boot braced with stays would be better. Of course the leather would have to be soft and supple while still being strong, but that wouldn’t be a problem: there were some very good leatherworkers in the town. It was decided that they’d try both ideas.
**********
The healers Zefer and Davi were both married and unworried by visiting the very discreet corsetiere’s shop in the town. Rowan, too, had been wed and in fact had often bought interesting little silken somethings for Zara from Madame Estella’s. Zara had been too slim to need a corset and Rowan hadn’t wanted her to be torturing herself in one anyway, but Estella was nothing if not inventive and talented at her craft. Both Rowan and Zara had always been delighted with his purchases there. The bootmaker, Yosse, and Gordon the splintmaker were both Wirrans and though Yosse was wed, he was appalled at the idea of visiting such an establishment. Somehow the scorn of the Crellian and Bettran healers, as well as Siannen Rowan, spurred them both into making the effort.
Estella was most surprised to see five men come into her little shop and the thought crossed her mind to toss them all out, but she recognised Rowan and knew he’d not be there merely to be a damned pest or waste her time and so she listened to the proposal. The Wirrans almost fainted when she closed the shutters, locked the front door, and produced a beautifully made corset for them to inspect in private and with no fear of being interrupted. After their initial shock had worn off and they got past the pretty ribbons, frothy lace and delicate embroidery, they found themselves fascinated by the construction, the sheer engineering of it and soon they were engrossed in a lively discussion about the possibilities of Rowan’s ideas. Rowan’s foot and ankle were measured in every conceivable dimension and the now excited splintmaker thought they might have something for him to try in a few days.
For his part, Rowan was looking forward to seeing the last of the cumbersome ‘walking splint’.
**********
“Uncle Rowan…” Fess’s eldest boy said slowly as all three lads inspected the new scar on Rowan’s head after the healers had brought him back from Madame Estella’s, had a cup of tea and another good laugh and finally gone on their way.
“Mmm…? You sound puzzled, young Rowan d’Fess,” Rowan smiled at his namesake. He often used the Siannen form of address, and many in the garrison did too as it saved quite a bit of confusion. Many babies in Wirran had been named for Rowan after Messton, particularly among Guardsmen and their families and folk from the town of Den Siddon, and there were several ‘Rowans’ in th
e garrison. “What’s wrong? Healer Davi said it was healing up well.”
“Aye, ‘tis too, I think. But… well, er… it, um…”
“It looks like your hair’s going to grow back red!” the youngest lad, Aaron piped up.
“What?” Rowan looked at him very sceptically. “Didn’t your Ma ever tell you not to make up silly daft stories like that, Aaron?”
“But… but ‘tisn’t a silly daft story, Uncle Rowan. I promise it’s not,” the little boy protested. “You can ask Ma if you don’t believe me or the others.”
Rowan looked at the three little lads all nodding at him, as solemn as owls. He knew that at least one of them would be giggling by now if they were playing a trick on him, and they certainly wouldn’t have invoked Bella’s name for a prank.
“I’m sorry, Aaron. ’Tisn’t that I don’t believe you, exactly. ‘Tis that I simply can’t imagine why my hair would suddenly be red again after all this time,” he said slowly.
“It’s only that bit where the healers had to cut it so they could sew up your poor head when you hurt it,” Stefan, the middle son, said as he looked a bit more closely. “Come and look in Ma’s big mirror. She’s got a hand mirror too, so you can see it better.”
Intrigued, Rowan allowed himself to be dragged into the Captain’s Cottage.
Bella looked as sceptical as Rowan had when she heard the story, but her eyes grew round as she too inspected Rowan’s head.
“Bloody Hells! It’s still fairly bruised, Rowan, but the hair truly is growing back red! It’s only barely stubble yet, but it truly is red in the light. But how…?” she managed. She pulled herself together a bit and thrust a hand mirror at Rowan. “Here. See for yourself…”
He went to the big mirror over the mantelpiece in the sitting room, angled the hand mirror… so… He hadn’t had a proper look at the wound yet, but he knew Davi and Zefer had cut the least possible amount of his hair so they could stitch the cut, and the actual injury was bigger than that. He winced at the swelling and dark bruising still there, appalled at the extent of it, and then he said a most disgraceful but very useful B’Ni phrase as he saw the unmistakeably dark auburn haze around the neat, almost three inch long scar. For a moment he wondered why the healers had said nothing, but he’d been sitting in the shade of the trees, and perhaps it had been indiscernible amongst the bruising.
“Please accept my apologies, Aaron. And Rowan and Steffie too. I’m truly sorry I thought you were trying to trick me. But I… I don’t understand…” he said.
Rowan remembered that Glyn had had a white patch in his dark hair after he’d knocked his head on a branch as a youngster, but he’d never heard of it happening the other way. He decided he had better things to be fretting himself about.
“Do you think it might all grow back red if you were to cut all of your hair off?” Aaron asked innocently.
Bella gasped in shock that her son would suggest such a thing to a forester, but Rowan smiled. The boy was only six, and Wirran, after all.
“We’ll never know, laddie. I’ve never heard of a bald forester, and I am certainly not going to be the first one. We’ll just have to be content with a red patch,” he chuckled, “At least it’ll match my beard.”
**********
48. “I might ask old Hibbon…”
“You’re truly set on this bloody daft idea, aren’t you?”
Rowan smiled. At last, a Wirran speaking bluntly. He’d thought all his efforts to teach them had come to nothing. Apart from Fess and Cade of course.
“Aye, Telli, I am. I’ve come too damned far to give up so easily,” he said.
Telli sighed. Nobody’d be blaming Rowan if he gave up now.
“… But I don’t want to be taking up too much of Stefan’s time and distracting him from his own training and the rest of the squad. He’s got enough to do without that too,” Rowan added softly.
“Ah. And what does he say about that, laddie?”
“He said to shut up and let him worry about it.” After a slow and diffident start, Stefan had been another of Rowan’s successes as far as plain speaking went. “Telli, I truly don’t want to see Stefan or anyone else blow their chances at the Trophy just because of my cursed ankle. ‘Tisn’t right.”
Telli watched him carefully as they sipped their cups of tea. Most would be happy to have people fussing about and going out of their way to do things for them, some in Rowan’s position might even expect it, but not Rowan. He was still too stubborn and too independent for his own good and always would be. Well, perhaps he, Telli, might be able to help his friend in spite of it.
He’d seen Rowan and Scrap walking past the Commandant’s Cottage on their daily morning exercise and invited them in. Beatrice had promptly dispatched Scrap to the pantry to hunt the mouse she’d seen there the day before. Then she’d settled Rowan and Telli in the sitting room with a pot of tea and a plate of her own excellent gingerbread and discreetly disappeared. She’d known exactly what Telli had in mind to say.
“Well, Rowan lad, I’ve been thinking about this and I think I might be able to help you out a bit.”
Rowan looked at him consideringly. He’d been a champion swordsman in his day, had finished in the Round of Four in Johan’s Trophy after all, and he was still very fit as every Wirran Guardsman must be. All the same… Rowan knew that Telli’s knees weren’t what they might be. Before he could say anything he heard Telli chuckle.
“Ha! Not ME exactly, laddie! No, I thought perhaps I might ask old Hibbon to get up off his backside and come and make himself useful. The old bastard’s as fit as a flea and it’d give him something better to do than shuffling papers at Den Sorl.”
Hibbon Harrelson was perilously close to retirement now, would probably have already retired if not for Messton, but the Guard had been seriously depleted of good men by that and he’d agreed to stay on at Den Sorl as Captain when Telli had been promoted to Commandant and Lieutenant Trav had taken command of Den Ree. Captain Trav now, of course.
“Hibbon? Bloody Hells, I’d not thought of him. Do you think he’d mind?”
“Mind? Do I think he’d bloody mind?” Telli grinned at Rowan’s worried face, “He’d be very damned offended if we didn’t ask him. In fact I’d be surprised if he didn’t invite himself once he hears what’s happened.”
“And what about Stefan?” Rowan said, still concerned, “I’d hate to offend him when he’s helped me so much…”
Telli shook his head. He’d already spoken with the Sword Master, and not as his Commandant.
“Don’t fret yourself about that, Rowan. Stefan said he’d be honoured to have Hibbon here. Don’t forget the old bugger’s nearly as famous as you are, in some circles. He was runner-up in the Trophy before Johan’s, the one that Crellian lad won, and he’s trained the last three winners of the damned thing. Well, sort of trained you last time. It’s still incredible, when you think about it. Between you and me, I suspect Stefan’s looking forward to stealing a few ideas from Hibbon.”
“I’d certainly be a lot happier if I didn’t feel like I was going to be taking up too much of Stefan’s time now,” Rowan said thoughtfully, “Let me talk to him, though. I don’t want him to be upset and I don’t want him to be feeling pressured. He’s got enough to think about without that.”
A muffled shriek brought both men to their feet.
“Beatrice? What’s wrong, love?” Telli said as he and Rowan headed into the kitchen, where the sound had come from.
“Nothing, Telli. I just got a, er… surprise, that’s all,” she said, “I hadn’t expected so many, so quickly.”
She pointed to the hearth where Scrap had just deposited the third mouse he’d caught.
“He’s a good little hunter, Beatrice. He likes to get on with the job and he doesn’t mess about. Would you like to borrow him for a bit while I go and see Stefan? There might still be a couple left for him to catch,” Rowan said as he patted the cat’s soft fur and admired the trophies as expected.
“Mice don’t usually come in ones, I’m afraid. But Scrap will clear them out for you. I’ll come back for him later.”
The conversation with Stefan reassured Rowan. Far from feeling put out that Rowan might have a new trainer, the Sword Master was looking forward to seeing just how Hibbon did things. And he was indeed hoping to get a few pointers from him. Rowan suspected he might even be feeling a little relieved, even if Stefan hadn’t admitted it to himself.
“Send the dispatch please, Telli,” he said when he went back to collect Scrap after lunch and found Telli there just finishing his own meal, “And thank you.”
“Thank you for lending us Scrap, laddie. Those bloody mice have been driving poor Beatrice to distraction,” Telli said with a laugh, “Every time he’s brought another one out to show us, she’s had conniptions, and look! He’s caught baby mice and old grandfather mice as well. I reckon he’s cleared them out good and proper.”
The little cat had caught nine mice, some of them very small indeed, and he seemed to have lost interest in the pantry. Beatrice had hopes that he really had caught all the mice for now, but if not she’d borrow Scrap again now that she’d seen his expertise. He certainly didn’t mess about, just as Rowan had said.
**********
49. “A bit of a setback”
Old Sword Master Hibbon – Captain Hibbon, now - appeared at Den Siddon a surprisingly short time later, considering just how far it was from Den Sorl. Both the dispatch rider and Hibbon himself had made a real effort to get to where they needed to be, quickly.