***
Captain Hemmett Greinholz ran up the front steps of The Shadows and across the entryway to the stairs. When he reached the second story, he turned left, toward the suite where Katrin lived with Menders and Eiren.
Ifor was standing before the suitedoor and stepped in his way.
“No, Hemmett,” he said. “Menders has just helped her to bed.”
“This is not your business,” Hemmett said fiercely.
“It is indeed. Katrin’s had enough for one day,” Ifor scowled.
“Stand aside, Lieutenant,” Hemmett answered.
Ifor lasted for another thirty seconds, then sighed and turned away. Hemmett strode past him and knocked on the door of the suite before letting himself in.
Menders looked around from the window of the lounge.
“She’s in bed,” he said evenly.
“I would like to see her,” Hemmett replied.
“No.”
“This is between Katrin and me,” Hemmett answered, holding his ground.
“Anything and everything concerning Katrin also concerns me.” Menders held fast.
“Hemmett?” Katrin’s voice called from the bedroom. Menders closed his eyes tiredly.
Hemmett went to her room and let himself in.
She was trying to reach for her wig but he got to the bed before she could and took her hands in his. She had been crying and her face was wet.
“I’m sorry, Willow,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. That was very stupid of me.”
“It’s all right. I’m sorry too, that I can’t be what you want,” she said in a tiny voice, pulling a hand free and putting it on her bare head.
“Stop that,” Hemmett said gently, “I’ve seen you without hair before, you know. I was alive before you was borned.”
Katrin smiled at his repetition of his favorite childhood declaration, used whenever he wanted to boss her around. Suddenly Hemmett swooped her up from the bed, complete with her blankets, and held her close as if she was a child. He stepped over to her armchair and settled himself in it, refusing to contemplate the fact that he could lift her so easily now and how that had come to be.
He made her comfortable, cradling her on his lap and shoulder. He steeled himself to stroke her bald head, though even seeing it made him remember her lifting her hair out of her scalp, marveling in that strange soft voice about how easily it came away.
“I remember the very first time Menders trusted me enough to hold you,” he said. “We’d been at The Shadows for about a week and I kept asking if I could hold you. He had me sit in an armchair like this and put you on my lap. Your head felt the same then, smooth and soft.”
Suddenly her baldness wasn’t so horrifying any more. He only felt regret that her beautiful hair was gone, not the revulsion that had gripped him whenever he’d caught a glimpse of her naked scalp.
He chatted to her about inconsequentials. Sometimes she would sleep for a few minutes, then wake and smile at him, content.
“I wanted to say yes,” she finally ventured, as the light was growing low.
“I knew it. I felt it. I’m sorry you couldn’t but you were right to tell me the truth,” Hemmett responded, swallowing hard. He would not show her weakness again. He had done far too much of that since she was tortured. “We go on from here, Willow, just as Borsen always says. No point in trying to change what we can’t.”
“But what about Luntigré?”she asked.
“That’s been sorted between Luntigré and me. I would never have done this without her consent. We understand each other and always will,” Hemmett said with a touch of sternness. “Don’t worry about us.”
“I may not ever be able to be a wife to anyone,” Katrin said, and she explained to him about the infection that had spread to her womb.
“I understand,” he replied when she was finished. “But that wasn’t why you said no.”
“No. I don’t love you that way, though I love you so very much. Even if I could sleep with you, I can’t help feeling that it would be a terrible mistake,” she sighed softly.
“Then there it is. Don’t keep hashing it over, Willow. It hurts both of us. The sooner we put it away, the sooner we can go on.”
“I do love you,” Katrin said again.
“And I love you. Always have, always will, in whatever way you can accept. Now, enough.”
“Aren’t you getting tired holding me?”
“No. You aren’t heavy. Do you want me to stop holding you?”
“No.” She said it so emphatically that it made him laugh.
“Then don’t make me think you do. Now, it’s time for the flowers to start glowing, so stop worrying and watch with me.” He helped her turn so she could see the orchard from the window, where the last of the light was dying, the long rays lighting the blooming trees so that each flower seemed to glow from within. They had watched for this effect when they were children and made up myths about the apparent lighting of the flowers being tiny creatures living inside them lighting their lamps for the night.
Katrin fell asleep once more. Hemmett gathered her closer, lowering his head to brush his lips against her forehead.
I’ll always love you, he thought. I swear on everything I hold dear that I will always protect you, no matter what I have to do, no matter who I have to kill, no matter if I have to sacrifice my own life. I will never, ever, let you be unprotected or hurt again, Willow.
Never.
And I will help you get well. You’re going to get well.
The Shadows, Mordania
4
Captain Greinholz’s Remedy
C
ook and Varnia were going over the week’s menus when Hemmett breezed into the kitchen. At their request, he put on water for tea and while waiting for it to boil, made sandwiches and raided the cookie jars. An impromptu tea party assembled, he served the ladies and then sat down with them.
“Take a break from the menus and tell me what is in that food Franz is having Katrin eat,” he invited.
“Not much to my way of thinking,” Cook said defensively. “Mainly cereal, a little skimmed milk. Broth made from fish. It’s supposed to keep her from feeling ill, but to my mind there’s no nourishment to speak of.” Cook lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I’ve been stirring an egg into the cereal while it’s cooking and using cream instead of skimmed milk.”
“Good for you,” Hemmett said. “That doesn’t sound very nourishing to me either.”
Varnia shook her head.
“He showed us the recipes in a book about caring for invalids, but there’s no provision for them recovering from being invalids,” she said briskly.
Hemmett nodded. “I saw that same book. Just finished reading it. I think it’s a crock of grundar turds.”
“Language!” Cook said automatically, then flushed. “I’m sorry, Hemmett, I do forget you children are all grown now.”
“Queen of the Kitchen, you may tell me to watch my language whenever you wish,” Hemmett laughed. “This is your domain – and I’m going to ask if we can conduct an experiment here.”
“Nothing that will explode,” Cook said quickly, remembering various past events.
“Nothing that will explode. Something that I’m sure will make Katrin start getting well again.”
“What?” Varnia asked, her eyes flashing as she looked at him.
“We’re going to find a way to start giving her real food,” Hemmett answered. “Starting with Seven Spice Soup. She’s hardly eating anything because she has no appetite, but who would want to eat that invalid stuff? Better to use it to put wallpaper up.”
“Have you talked to Doctor?” Cook asked as Hemmett rose and began dragging out the jars of spices.
“I have his blessing. Said if I can get Katrin to eat, he doesn’t care if I carve Demon up and roast him,” Hemmett answered.
Varnia strode from the room, headed to the chicken house to get one of the ingredients for the soup. Cook joined H
emmett in grinding and measuring the spices.
“Plenty of other things she can eat that would tempt her,” she declared. “I know she has trouble swallowing because her throat was infected a while back, but we could put things through the colander there and press them through. That makes them very fine. Stews, soups.”
“Just what I was thinking,” Hemmett answered, giving her such a perfect example of his smile that Cook laughed a little and bent over her mortar and pestle full of sweetbark to hide her red cheeks.
***
“It’s his, Luntigré’s and the Princess’ business and that’s all!” Villison declared fiercely, glaring at several members of Menders’ Men who had expressed indignation at Hemmett’s proposal to Katrin.
“Don’t tell us what to do, Villison,” Haakel said with irritation. “We’ve known him much longer than you have.”
“And there it is!” Villison shouted irascibly. “Menders’ Men! All highly educated assassins and spies that can’t be told anything by anyone else. Some of them haven’t left The Shadows and carried out a mission in years, but that doesn’t stop them knowing it all. Bloody bunch of killers for hire is all you are.”
“Take care, toy soldier. You’ve got some stripes on your back for your kind of courage.”
The nasty remark came from a new Menders’ Man. He went only by the name Vartok.
The Men’s Lounge went silent, even though a number of the “killers for hire” had been rising from their chairs in fury at Villison’s detrimental remark.
“I had the guts to take those stripes so my men didn’t get killed by an idiotic order to stand on an open beach shooting rifles at a boat firing mortar shells at them,” Villison shot back. “Tell me about your courage, New Man, sitting in here with the rest of the old biddies, chucking gossip around about Hemmett and those two young ladies. It’s none of your damned affair and you can call me whatever you want.”
“All right, Vil, they’re just upset because we all care for Katrin,” Kaymar said, walking into the lounge from where he’d been smoking outside. His mouth was twitching with amusement at Villison calling Menders’ Men ‘old biddies’.
“If that’s the case, they should be upset because they care for Hemmett too, since he’s been hurt as well,” the determined Villison countered. “What’s wrong with him asking for what several of us have, a wife to love him? This matter is for him and the Princess alone – and for your information, he did it with Luntigré’s knowledge and blessing.”
Furious, the little man swung away from them and slammed out of the Men’s Wing. A wave of indignant swearing swelled in his wake.
“He’s absolutely right you know,” Kaymar said quietly, stopping the conversation cold. “Menders would tell you the same. Don’t think I don’t know about the things that are said in here. Hemmett’s life is none of your concern. Neither is Katrin’s. I’ve heard that term ‘toy soldier’ far too many times since Katrin was hurt. I don’t think any of you could have done what Hemmett did on the boat coming back from Erdahn with her nearly dead. He pulled steel spikes out of the body of the woman he loves until his mind broke under the strain. You are to put no further strain on him. Villison says this is not your business, and it isn’t.”
“All right, nancy,” Vartok said sarcastically.
“Pack,” Kaymar said. “Get off this place within the hour.”
“Who do you think you are?” Vartok asked.
He found himself pinned against the wall by Kaymar, a knife held under his chin.
“I’m Menders’ second and I’m still the best killer for hire in the world,” Kaymar hissed. “You’re finished here. Leave or you won’t need to bother.”
Kaymar released the man and gave him a shove that propelled him halfway to his room. Vartok hurried the rest of the way, shutting and locking the door behind him.
“Anyone else?” Kaymar asked very calmly and casually, turning back to the assembled Men.
Everyone rapidly found something important to do.
***
“Pa?” Hemmett looked up from the newssheet that he had been reading to his father. It was their evening activity whenever Hemmett was at The Shadows. Lucen dearly loved to be abreast of the news, but his reading was as slow and halting as Hemmett’s had been in his boyhood.
“I hope that was the end of the article,” Lucen joked.
“I would never cut short an article,” Hemmett grinned back.
“I can tell when you start condensing, boy.”
“Well Pa, some of them are very badly written. I’m actually sparing you,” Hemmett said, laying the newssheet aside.
Lucen looked incredibly smug. “To think my son can tell when something is badly written and can write it off better in his head while he’s reading aloud,” he marveled. “Pretty damn good for a non-commissioned soldier and a peasant lass to have a son like that, eh Zee?”
Hemmett’s mother, Zelia, looked up from the dress she was stitching for Flori. “Very good indeed,” she replied. “You’re a clever one, Hemmett.”
“I need to be really clever, which I why I have a question for you, Pa,” Hemmett smiled, winking at his mother, who hid a smile by looking down at the little dress. “I’ve been reading through that book of Franz’s about caring for invalids and it seems to me that it keeps people invalids. You spent time nursing in Army hospitals. How did they build the soldiers back up after an injury?”
“That was an interesting thing,” Lucen replied. “I’ve seen that pap that Cook has to make up for Katrin and it’s got nothing much to it. We gave the soldiers beef if we could, pork if there wasn’t beef to hand. Red meats. Broth, from the moment they came in. Milk if we could get it. They fussed over that, didn’t like drinking milk – they wanted grog, of course. We gave them red wine. It’s not that the meat and wine are red, but there’s something in them that strengthens the body and helps make blood. So many of them were almost bloodless when they came in.”
“What about eggs? Chicken?” Hemmett was listening intently.
“Oh yes. Eggs stirred into all sorts of things, because the men who were well enough didn’t want them served as a meal. They wanted meat. Craved it. For the ones who were sick as Katrin is, broth with egg. Bring it to a boil, beat up an egg, whisk it in. Double goodness, you see. Milk too. Put it in everything. They’d fuss about a glass of milk, but make them a sweet custard and stand back. Men are fools for sweets.”
“As I well know,” Hemmett laughed, as he had just taken a chocolate from the box Zelia always had on hand. “Katrin is too, so the custard is a good idea, both milk and eggs. What else did they do to build injured men up?”
“As much fresh air as possible and we got them up and walking around as soon as we could,” Lucen replied, warming to his subject and lighting his pipe. He offered one to Hemmett who brandished his case of small, fragrant cigars made for him by Luntigré. Lucen watched closely as he lit one of the few remaining.
“You’ll need a refill of those,” he observed.
“I’ll be going to Samorsa before long,” he assured his father. “Miss both my girls, need more cigars and Flori’s birthday.”
“Should bring her here for her birthday,” Lucen rumbled.
“Perhaps you should come with me and explain that to Chetigré and Montigré and all her cousins,” Hemmett replied. “They’d no more let her leave on that occasion than they would turn into a flock of birds and fly away. Luntigré and Flori would like to visit but Katrin is anxious about it.”
“Now, why is that?” Zelia asked. “She likes Luntigré and Flori.”
“Loves them both,” Hemmett said, turning toward her. “She’s sensitive about how her wounds smell.”
“And they’ll keep smelling if they’re all wrapped up,” Lucen added. “We used to keep wounds open to the air, try to get sunlight on them. Sunlight kills the infection. Wash them often, use ointment to keep them from stiffening. We had a doctor who swore by wrapping them up in garlic poultices. It drew out
the infection.”
“Considering how Katrin is about the smell now, I think we’ll avoid the garlic,” Hemmett laughed.
“It worked.” Lucen took a moment to look at the window. “Why, it’s our Kaymar,” he grinned.
“Indeed it is,” Kaymar responded, stepping over the low windowsill and taking the seat Zelia indicated. He was a frequent evening visitor at the Greinholz’s. He proferred a paper packet to Hemmett, who took it, opened it and saw it was full of a powdered substance.
“Will is just back from Surytam and brought me a double portion of it,” Kaymar explained.
“I’m glad he’s back!” Hemmett exclaimed. “He’ll be a great help with Katrin.”
“We didn’t say anything, in case he didn’t want to take another change of posting. He just went up now to poke his head in and tell her hello,” Kaymar explained. “That’s a medicine that the Surytamians use for deep infections like Katrin’s. Put it in water or food. I use it all the time because I have some wounds that have never entirely cleared and healed. It keeps them from opening up again and causing trouble.”
Hemmett raised his eyebrows, inhaling the pleasantly pungent scent of the powder. “Franz said I can change her diet and get her to exercise, but no medicines,” he told Kaymar.
“So don’t tell him. Two small spoonfuls in her food or drink throughout the day – a little at a time. I can promise you it works well, but it certainly can’t hurt her. It keeps that one crater on my back under control and that slice DeLarco put on me as well. That one’s never healed properly.”
Kaymar’s back was a map of wounds, some of them deep enough for a man’s hand to fit into. He never explained where he got them, though as Hemmett grew older and heard stories about Kaymar’s youth from some of Menders’ Men, he had a good idea. Kaymar had other wounds all over his body, largely from self inflicted cuts or burns from his cigars. For some reason inflicting pain on himself helped him keep his madness under control. Infection was an ongoing concern for him, no matter how careful he was to clean the wounds afterward.
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 38