by T K Foster
Sometime during the night, while everyone was asleep, Barret did something utterly despicable.
Around the same time that the fire was dying down to its last red hot embers and the bruising to his face had finally come through, Barret quietly dressed himself and then gently doused the lantern, rendering the room to a dull orange glow. He sat down on a chair beside the hearth where it was hot, the same chair his shirt and jacket had hung, and rolled his pants up to the knees.
As yet there was no movement from around him in the room, each one of his companions slept soundly. They’d all had an exhausting day.
Barret grabbed for the leather satchel hanging from the chair next to the table under the window; it was the same table that Rod had been put originally before taking the long and harrowing trip in the semi-gloom of the room to reach the comfort of Cetra’s pillow.
There was hardly anything left in the satchel, two rapples and a chunk of dried meat at the most, maybe the herb bundles, but it was too dark to tell.
He took Briar’s boots from the hearth; they were clean and warmed through from the fire and they fit nicely inside.
Briar’s snoring was now a little quieter than at first, hopefully it was a good sign of pig-face having gone into a deeper sleep; either way, his mouth remained open wide.
In part, Barret’s plan had been ill-conceived via the innocent quip made earlier on in the night by Rod the desert mouse – you could pop a rapple in his mouth and he wouldn’t even know it.
Amazing enough, yet somewhat predictably, Briar did not wake up when the offending fruit was indeed placed into his mouth. It dropped in easily, wedged against his teeth, and because his tongue was still hanging to the side, remained free from blocking his airway; something that Barret only now nodded his head in consideration to.
Now, although Barret had never had any kind of experience with babies at all, he figured that Briar was about the size of a big one, and as such knew enough to assume the potential comfort in wrapping him up in a blanket before trying to move him off the bed. Good thing Briar had never actually got beneath the covers at any time, which made it all the easier for Barret to fold the bottom of the blanket up and over Briar’s body, then bring each side over to cover him and encase him, like a babe in a rug.
Barret gagged.... ugly baby!
Barret threw the leather satchel over his shoulder and then tucked it behind his back. He leaned forward over the bed and slowly glided his hands beneath Briar’s knees and his shoulders, then picked him up nicely, allowing the pillow to fall away from behind his head.
So that was easy.
What would he have done if Briar woke up?
Well.... he hadn’t really thought that possibility through.
In any case, removing Briar from the room wasn’t enough to rouse him, nor was the effort of carrying him down the stairs enough. At the doors he fidgeted a little and uttered something incoherent behind the rapple in his mouth, but otherwise he remained sleeping still.
Outside the wind had already dried up the mud significantly, except in those areas where it was at its worst, like in front of the tavern where Barret and his sparring partner had churned it up earlier. Still, it was good to know they would be stepping out onto dry land when they departed at day break.
For some reason, in this instance, Barret had no conscience. This was payback, pure and simple. Briar deserved what he got.
In saying that, Barret tucked the bundle closer into his chest and out of the wind; he stepped out barefooted onto the now only slightly boggy road, and carried Briar away to give him what he apparently deserved.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR