by Lee Abrey
“Looks good to me,” said Ross, I nodded, and Fenric said,
“Three of those.” They didn’t taste of more than fruit and spices, topped up with lemonade and ginger ale, ice and crushed mint. While we waited for lamb kebabs, rolled in flatbread with greens and rosemary and doused with garlicky yoghurt sauce, we drank our teas, then drank another while we ate. I doubted any girl was going to kiss me after the garlic sauce, unless I brought her to the kebab stall and made her taste it. Long before we made it to the stall she’d probably pass out from the fumes I would breathe trying to persuade her. Ah well, I would have to fulfil my hedonism in other ways. We ate, drank, ate more and belatedly realised the fruit teas were alcoholic.
“Oh aye,” said the stallholder, when Fenric asked him, “and they contain mindweed tincture. You didn’t realise? I am so sorry, sirs.” The man pointed again to his chalked sign. I realised one of the drawn pieces of fruit was a mindweed leaf, a distinctive emblem, the written ingredients list contained no less than four different types of spirits. “Says so on the menu, sirs. Is why they’re High Island Teas, sirs.”
“Of course,” said Fenric, waving a hand, “these things happen. Sign’s right there.”
“Scouts,” said Ross, looking quite pie-eyed, laughing, “we’re observant.” The stallholder looked relieved as Fenric giggled. I giggled too, then pulled myself together.
“Perhaps,” I said, “sitting down with coffee is called for, possibly for several hours.” I didn’t mind being tipsy, that was part of the plan, but I had wanted to stay conscious past mid-evening.
****
Holding onto each other, we wandered carefully to the Black Pig Inn to watch the band. By then I was legless. On the bright side, as I kept telling the others, I couldn’t sign up for the army, I’d already done that.
We found a table and they propped me at it while Ross fetched coffee. I refused dances until my legs started working again, about an hour and three strong coffees later. Moderate sobriety achieved, I did some dancing. The girls didn’t seem to mind the garlic. Still quite floaty from the tea, I began drinking lemonade. On my way back in from a smoke I saw Belinda. She hadn’t left after all. I grinned and waved. Ross waved too. Belinda saw us and began to smile then stopped, wincing, just as I noticed the scowling man next to her, holding onto her in a very proprietary fashion and saying something that I bet wasn’t pleasant. I pretended not to be smiling or waving. It was too late. The man was making angry motions. Belinda rolled her eyes.
“Ah,” said Ross, leaning to talk in my ear, “is Belinda al-” He didn’t finish the sentence. Belinda’s fiance Johnny, at least I assumed it was him, swung round and punched her right in the face. Though a peasant, Johnny was a big man. Belinda was maybe five-four. She went flying.
There was a moment where everything suspended. Adrenalin washed through me and I felt quite sober, though I doubt I was. Among our physical traits, Blood tended to be bigger, faster and stronger than the peasants, which usually made us better soldiers. It meant us fighting a peasant was always unfair and we avoided it. The odds of being charged with at least assault were high. I could literally pick up a human male my size and throw him.
Belinda was tumbling across a table, some people tried to stop her falling and Ross, Fenric and I crossed the floor so fast I don’t think the fiance even saw us. I was closest to Belinda so picked her up just as Ross and Fenric reached the fiance. Ross had Johnny in an arm-lock and out the back door in seconds, Fenric at his heels. Several barmaids and waitresses came rushing up and insisted they’d take charge of Belinda, her being a guest. I offered to run for a doctor but one was staying there and they fetched from the dining room. I handed Belinda over, promising to come back later, then raced out after the others.
It wasn’t hard to find them. I only had to follow the sounds of the cheering and shouting. Everyone was in the garden where I met Belinda. There was a brief period, which I missed, where Johnny was held up by Ross’s hand on his throat. Ross was now holding him upside down by his ankles, having twirled him, as an onlooker told me excitedly, as if he were a baton. Fenric was lighting a pipe and, in a conversational tone, was explaining why men never hit women.
There was a small group of interested spectators, either patrons who came out or people attracted by the noise and told what happened. We all cheered when Fenric tapped the contents of the pipe down one of the fiance’s trouser legs while Ross held on tight.
“Waste of good mindweed,” Ross said.
“However,” said Fenric, shaking Johnny’s trouser leg to help the embers get further down, “this young man’s learning an important lesson. What have we learned?”
Between writhing and screaming, Johnny managed to say that he’d learned never to hit women and was really very sorry.
“Good,” said Fenric. “Ever touch a woman again, lad, I’ll do more than scorch your balls. Let him go.” Ross righted and dropped Johnny so suddenly that the man screamed again, then began beating at his crotch before running off towards the stables where there was a water trough.
Everyone laughed then guffawed at the splash as he sat in the trough. We could hear Johnny swearing at us but ignored him, going back inside to see how Belinda was. By then we all felt pretty clear-headed. The doctor was still with Belinda so we waited until he came down, saying she was fine if a bit bruised. We put our heads in to say hello. She took an icepack off her mouth and cheek so she could thank us and confirm we’d met the fiance.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, talking with a slight lisp thanks to swollen lips, “you’ve been so lovely. I was such an idiot. When Johnny came begging me back I didn’t realise it was only because the bastard was dumped by his floozy.”
We made sympathetic noises and eventually the barmaid on guard shooed us out so Belinda could rest. We left her some mindweed to help with sleep. With a handful of coin I opened an account downstairs and made sure the innkeeper would bill me, or at least the Duchy of Starshore, for any extra charges Belinda incurred.
“Decent of you, Your Grace,” the innkeeper said.
“She’s a sweet girl,” I said, “deserves better than someone who hits her.” Everyone muttered, as did the innkeep.
“I see it often enough,” he said, “and it’s always shocking. Not tolerated here and now I know the lad’s face he’s not welcome.” I nodded, thanked him and looked at the others.
“We heading out?” They nodded.
****
I was no longer in the mood for a party, though I could eat something. I asked the innkeep, who recommended an icecream parlour close by where we could satisfy our need to stay out a little longer without too much excitement.
We reached the front door. There were people standing on each side of the doorway but it was an inn, people right outside wasn’t unusual. I was thinking of icecream, perhaps vanilla with almond toffee chips in it.
Across the road some military polis were staring in our direction. They were with Johnny, Belinda’s ex-fiance. I was just stepping onto the front porch of the inn. Johnny pointed at me and the military polis nodded.
I opened my mouth to tell the others, but something slammed into my head behind the ear.
****
Chapter 24 – Who Did You Say I Was?
I didn’t come to for a while. Even the guards at the military stockade eventually became concerned and sent for a doctor. I didn’t know he was a doctor at first. I woke up to him arguing with a guard.
“-not a proven rapist and murderer,” a man was saying. “Damn it, even if he was he can’t stay here. He needs medical attention!” I had no idea who the man speaking was but my head hurt. I couldn’t remember anything. Was I in hospital? Again? Oh dear, what had happened this time? How many more weeks of my life had I lost? Another man said the murdering rapist couldn’t be removed.
“I need to treat him,” said the doctor. I didn’t know who the murdering rapist was but felt I possibly needed medical attention more than he did. How many limbs w
as I holding up? I began the now-familiar check of body parts. I could at least twitch all of me. A good start, but I hurt more than I really wanted to. Ever. Galaia preserve me, what had happened?
“Attempted murdering rapist,” the guard said, “the poor lass and her fiance lived.” Who? Had Azrael’s half-brother Perry tried to kill me again? Was he engaged to Cida now? Had I managed to kill the little bastard? Who was raped? What in the name of Thet was going on? Where was everyone? Where was I?
I tried to get up and fell back down. All I did in actuality was open my eyes, so the falling didn’t matter. Nobody noticed. I tried to do it again.
“Do not come between me and a patient,” said the doctor, “or I’ll have you sent to the worst fort my uncle the general can find for you! I have to give every man care whether he’s guilty or not. I took a bloody oath! This one’s too ill and injured to be treated here, and you should have the sense to see your bloody neglect might be killing an innocent man!” His passion was admirable.
“Uhhh,” I said. I seemed to be covered in blood. It was in my eyes, caking my eyelashes, which explained why they were so hard to open. I blinked and lifted a hand with difficulty, tried to clear my vision. Where was I? “Uhhh?” I repeated. The doctor was getting shouty.
“He’s hardly a threat to a damn duckling in this state, you oaf! I’m taking him to the hospital!”
“I’m not helping you,” said the guard, looking sullen, “or I’d be disobeying orders. Been told he’s dangerous and not to release him to anyone.” The doctor seemed to be biting his tongue for a moment.
“Thank you so much,” he said, and looked at me. I tried to grunt a hello. “Oh, you’re awake, good. Can you walk?” I wasn’t sure. I tried.
It turned out if the doctor let me use him as a crutch I could. First he peeled me out of a pool of my own blood which was coagulated around and under my head and glued me to the bioplas-covered mat on the floor, the only furnishing in the tiled room except for a bucket. Tiling, I thought, that was handy for the blood. While I sat on the dry end of the mattress, the doctor bandaged my head and wiped my eyes.
“Just cleaning you up for now so we can get you out of here. You’re not bleeding much, though you were. Let’s hope they don’t open up too much.” They? What had happened to my head?
“Sorry,” he said, “we’re walking. Normally I’d get some hospital bearers but by the time I get there and back we could be there.” He looked over his shoulder. “And they have it in for you, I caught him kicking you.”
Oh, well that explained some of the pain. I had no idea what had happened. Was all this blood mine? From being kicked? I didn’t know where I was, only that the doctor wanted me to go with him. I stumbled along pretending to be able to walk, leaning heavily on him. Though he was Blood he wasn’t a big man and I was crushing him. Soon he was panting and red-faced like me, though on me it was harder to tell, crusted as I was with blood.
We staggered down strange and suddenly cool alleys between buildings, and crossed small courtyards filled with so much sun I thought I would burn up. We stumbled into a blessed shaded corridor between two barracks, coming out on the shady side of a small square. The doctor shouldered me into the wall, using it to prop me against. Memory flickered. I’d been propped somewhere recently. At a table?
The memory slithered away and I looked around, blinking at the daylight beyond my precious patch of shadow. It was so hot. Where was I? It looked like a military base. Gods, had I been wounded in a battle already? I ransacked my memories. I couldn’t remember basic training but knew I was about to join the army.
“I’ll be right back,” said the doctor, propping me more securely. “Lean here in the shade, that’s it.”
I watched him run across the square as I slid down the wall. Everything was all bloody. That was me bleeding on it. I couldn’t focus but it didn’t matter. If I just kept sliding I could curl up on that comfortable bit of pavement. It was nice in the shade. There was a light breeze.
That was where the doctor found me when he came back with a stretcher and two bearers. Curled up like a cat, he said, a nearly dead one. I couldn’t have been nearly dead, because before I woke up in the stockade with the doctor and the guard arguing, I didn’t remember any of whatever had happened to me.
I can only relate it now because the doctor and others filled me in. As I assured the doctor at the time, if I was nearly dead I would be floating around watching, like all the other times I nearly died.
****
I couldn’t scratch the itch. I tried to move my head. I couldn’t. Gods, I was paralysed. Wait, don’t panic, other bits of me could move. Not very far. What had happened? Deja vu hit me so hard it made me dizzy. Had the something happened again or was this the same accident? On opening my eyes, it all got worse. I was handcuffed to a bed.
As I began to panic in earnest, a nurse came running, disappeared again, then a doctor arrived. He shouted for a nurse. I recognised the doctor and tried to speak, but my throat was so dry I could only croak and twitch. I may have whimpered. I was trying to sign that I had an itch and to please have mercy.
“Steady,” the doctor said, “I’ll undo the cuffs, just lie still a moment.” I managed to nod slightly, struck by the thought that the last time someone said that to me I was in a brothel.
A nurse came in. At the doctor’s request she held a straw to my lips. The straw went up my nose on her first attempt, which made my eyes water a little. I swore and sneezed.
“Watch it, nurse,” said the doctor, still fiddling with the cuffs, “keep your personal feelings out of this.” She sniffed and put the straw to my lips that time. Then she deliberately tipped the glass so it spilled up my nose. The doctor swore at her and told her to back off. I had a hand free by then so wiped away some of the water, which had gone everywhere including into my lungs. I had no idea why she was being so nasty but didn’t have time to ask, I was drowning.
“Galaia’s tits,” I said, coughing, “why can’t I move my head?”
“You can’t move your head,” said the doctor, “because there’s a big bandage on one side, acting as a chock against your pillow.” He explained further, there was a stitched gash behind my ear, courtesy of a firm blow to the head delivered by one of the military polis. More cuts all over me, likewise courtesy of the military polis. The nurse butted in, saying it was nothing more than a person like me deserved. Wait, the military polis? I blinked.
“I’m not in the army.” I wasn’t yet. Was I? The nurse tried to walk out. The doctor called her back. She took off the old bandages in a very bad-tempered fashion while the doc checked me over and how many fingers was he holding up? I must have got it right, because he smiled.
“You’re going to be fine,” he said, “what’s your name, by the way?” I began to answer, even opened my mouth, but really couldn’t remember. I frowned. That hurt the stitches. I winced. That also hurt them. I sighed, gently.
“Don’t know,” I said, my voice croaky, “do you?” He smiled.
“No,” he said, “but don’t worry, I’m sure your name will turn up late back from leave and we’ll figure out who you are. Loss of memory is quite common after a head injury, usually doesn’t last too long. But you may find you always have a blank space around the injury time itself.”
That was what it felt like. A blank space. I didn’t seem to have a life before I woke up in the bed. Yet I knew I was Sendrenese, how to eat, to talk, and seemed to be otherwise fine. I was going to join the army. I didn’t know why. I didn’t remember wanting to. Almond toffee chip ice cream was involved.
There was sex. A vague notion of many bodies on a bed and being drugged but accidentally. Was that how I ended up in the stockade? It all seemed unreal. I lived on a farm and was pretty sure I could milk a cow, but every time I tried to focus on the memories they floated off like a dream on waking, just out of mental grasp.
I could walk, so a different nurse said she’d get me a towel and I went to shower, stitches
safe under a shower cap. I looked a sight. How did I get two black eyes? Whose footprints were those on my ribs? Showering stung and I discovered more grazes and cuts.
The nurses were united in their detestation of me. When I went to get dry I discovered the nurse had given me a hand-towel instead of a bath one.
There was a linen store on the way in. Familiar with hospitals, I walked out dripping into the corridor, the hand towel over my groin, making several nurses scream. I grabbed a bigger towel and then on the way back saw the lass who’d given me the hand-towel and made an extremely rude gesture in her direction.
****
Back in bed I found out why they all hated me. I nearly killed some poor girl, though I raped her first. Beat her young man nearly to death too.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, sure of it.
“You don’t even know your name,” said the doctor, looking sceptical, “how can you be sure?” I laughed.
“I’m sure,” I said, “that’s just not me.” I wasn’t sure how I knew either. Gods, what if I had raped someone? What kind of person was I?
“Any idea who me is yet?” said the doctor. I shook my head carefully. I got a little dizzy if I did it too fast.
“I don’t know. And why is there ice cream in my head?” I said, quite plaintively. The doctor shrugged. “It seems important. Almond toffee chip.” The doctor didn’t know much but told me what he did.
“Soldier named Stapleton is on the report. There weren’t any real details. Said the victim was under doctor’s care after you raped her. He rescued her but you and your friends beat him.”
My friends? The doctor didn’t know who they were either. The name Stapleton wasn’t familiar, or if I knew him I didn’t remember. I grimaced. I would never rape a woman. My kind of sex was fun. I knew it. Fun for everyone involved. It was how I got my kicks.