caspia-writes

At last Abril dragged in a deep breath and became First Captain again, if an unsteadier captain than usual. Rainier kept a hand on her arm. “He was in the gaol?” she asked Leander in clipped tones. “For how long?”

“The guard didn’t know. I’d guess since soon after the last battle. He’s- he’s been there a long time.”

“Good,” Abril said curtly. “Why didn’t anyone tell you he was captured?”

Leander sighed. “In all honesty, Abril, I think they forgot. There was so much happening in those days. Each man probably assumed someone else had told me and didn’t bother any more about it.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“Because it is one. What are you going to do with him?”

“He’s sick. And hurt. And nearly starved. I’m going to have a healer look at him.”

“Not what I’m asking.” Abril stepped forward and put a finger in Leander’s chest- not jabbing him, just making sure he felt the pressure. “Long term, Leander. What are you going to do with him?”

Leander opened his mouth to answer and realized he had none. He hadn’t thought about it, and when he did think about it, no reply came to mind. He couldn’t keep Emauri chained in the spare bedroom for the rest of his days, but he couldn’t send him back to prison. He couldn’t welcome him into the court; the nobility would be outraged that one of their own had been left to rot in gaol and the common folk would be outraged that he wasn’t still there. He couldn’t find work for him- it was obvious even without a healer’s advice that Emauri would never again be as he had been.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.

Abril’s hardened face softened a little. “I wanted you to say it,” she told him. “You think with your heart, Leander. That’s good. But you have to think with your head, too. Rainier and I try our best for you, but you are Lord Protector. The blame will always fall on you.” She became captain again, standing straight and tall, planting her feet. “Right. You don’t have a long term, so we’ll focus on the short term. Rainier, ask Master Brindle to come see the- the prisoner.” Leander could tell she’d wanted to say much harsher words.

Rainier nodded and took himself off to the healer’s tower. Leander went to the window at the end of the corridor, staring out at the lightening sky. It wasn’t quite full morning.

“I’m sorry, Abril,” he said.

He heard her sigh behind him. “When I had nightmares, I used to tell myself that it was all right because everyone in them was dead. I still have them. I’m in the Tarasque house. It’s dark. There’s blood. The baron stands over me with a knife. Emauri holds the lantern for him. They’re both laughing.” Her voice trembled in her throat. “I remember the baron telling me that what he was doing to me would be nothing compared to what he had in mind for you. When they put us up on that wall and tried to make you surrender- I’ve never been so afraid in my life, Leander. And he was there. He was there and I thought he was dead and now you tell me he’s not only alive, but living in my home.” She was Abril again. Leander wished she’d be First Captain. The First Captain never sounded like she was going to cry.

“I couldn’t leave him there, Abril. I know who his father was. I know what they did. I still couldn’t leave him. Part of me even wanted to, but- I can’t know that a man is suffering and let it continue. I had to put a stop to it.” He wrapped his hands around the stone of the windowsill and watched the sun and thought about a pitch-black prison cell.

Abril said nothing else. He knew she was still there, but he didn’t turn to look. They stayed silent and waited for Rainier to come back.

When he did, he had a look of grim satisfaction on his face. “Where’s Master Brindle?” Abril asked.

“Not coming,” Rainier said, flat and cold as steel.

“Why not?”

“He says he won’t treat a traitor.”

“You told him?” Leander felt the first flash of anger rather than guilt. “Why?”

“I thought he ought to know. I swore him to secrecy first. He said he’ll look at him if the Lord Protector commands it, but he won’t waste his medicines and things on a kingsman.” Rainier shrugged. “He was a soldier in your army, Leander, you can hardly blame the fellow.”

“And the town healers will talk.” Leander glared at Rainier. “Fine. If Master Brindle won’t treat him, I’ll send for Master Atticus.”

“Master Atticus is still alive?” Abril blurted.

“He lives at the edge of town now, keeps himself to himself and doesn’t advertise his practice much. But he’s alive and well, and he’ll come for a summons from the Lord Protector.” Leander turned back to the open window and silently added I hope.

————————————————————————

Leander sent a messenger with a sealed letter to Master Atticus and went to his rooms to wait for a reply.

By the time one came, it was early afternoon and he was nearly out of his mind with impatience. He’d thought of going to see Emauri again, but he had eventually decided he’d stepped on Rainier and Abril’s toes heavily enough.

He didn’t see Abril for the rest of the day. Rainier’s stopped by his room at midday to tell him, in severe tones, that he was going to look in on the prisoner. Quietly, Leander asked him to give Emauri water, and pretended not to see that Rainier was carrying a chain.

“He wouldn’t drink,” Rainier reported, coming back empty-handed. “Got it down his throat. It wouldn’t stay there.” He shrugged, as if it made very little difference to him. “I have a guard posted.”

“Thank you,” Leander told him, sincerely, and thought he saw Rainier’s eyes warm just a little.

Just as the shadows started to lengthen, Leander heard a horrific bwooooo sound on his balcony. He jumped nearly out of his skin and hurried to see what on earth was making it.

The ugliest pigeon he had ever seen sat on the railing. It had one eye that looked outward and another that stared straight up into the sky. Its feathers were ragged and in some places nonexistent, and its feet were an absurd yellow. There was a note tied to one of them. When it- somehow- managed to look at Leander, it said Bwooooo, and held out the leg for him.

“Um- thank you,” Leander said, untying the note. The pigeon preened its patchy feathers.

Leander unrolled the note. It was a scrap of parchment, with a single line of writing in a bold, elegant hand.

The note read, You are an idiot.

Leander read it four times. “This doesn’t say if he’s coming or not,” he told the pigeon.

Bwooooo, said the pigeon unhelpfully, and soared off the balcony and very nearly into the opposite roof before it straightened itself out. Leander watched it go, feeling as if he couldn’t fly straight lately either.

A short while later, a serving boy rapped at the door to tell him that there was a strange man in the main hall. “Do you know him?” Leander asked.

“No, sir,” the boy answered, “but he’s got a pigeon.”

Leander sent for Rainier and Abril, and they went together to receive Master Atticus.

The old healer was a tall, thin man with a hooked nose and long ink-black hair that did not dare wave in the slightest. He wore a long robe exactly the same color as his hair, even in the hottest months, and Leander had never once seen him smile. And, sure enough, the scraggly pigeon sat on his wrist with the exact same sour expression on its beak.

Bwooooo, it said, when it saw Leander.

Master Atticus turned and saw him.

“Thank you for coming-“ Leander began.

“You are an idiot,” Master Atticus told him.

“So your pigeon said.”

“Oh, yes.” Master Atticus turned to Abril and held out his arm. “Let Atticus the Younger out the door for me. He’ll make his way back to the house all right.”

Abril stared at the pigeon, then at the healer, then at Leander. “Atticus the Younger?” she asked.

Master Atticus raised one eyebrow and looked at her. Suddenly the name seemed perfectly fitting. She took the bird- who protested with a Bwoooo- and hurried off. Rainier hid a laugh as a cough.

“So you’ve taken some poor wretch out of that gaol and you think I can heal prison fever,” Master Atticus said, turning back to Leander.

“Can you heal prison fever?” questioned Rainier.

“Of course,” Master Atticus replied, finishing it off with his customary “You idiot.”

“There’s a lot more than that to heal,” Leander said. “He’s nearly starved, and there are many injuries, and he’s too ill even to hold down water. And- I feel I should tell you who he is. His name is Emauri Tarasque. He and his father were two of the old king’s most loyal men.”

Master Atticus looked at him.

Leander shifted his feet awkwardly.

Master Atticus continued looking at him.

“What?” Leander asked.

“Does the fact that he is a king’s man have something to do with treating his injuries?” Master Atticus said.

“Master Brindle refused to do it because of it.”

“Brindle began his career treating cows and pigs and ought to have kept at it. Does this man’s loyalty somehow affect my treating him?”

“Well- no, I suppose not.” Leander glanced at Rainier for help. Rainier lifted his brow in a don’t look at me sort of look. “I- thought you should know, that’s all,” Leander fumbled.

“I am a healer,” Master Atticus said, biting off each word in his mouth as though he thought Leander was slightly dim. “I heal people who need it. I do not particularly care whether a person who is sick or injured is one of the idiots loyal to you, or one of the idiots loyal to the old king. I only care that the person is sick or injured and I have the ability to help them.”

Abril came back inside- pigeon-less- just in time to hear the last sentence. She and Rainier exchanged a look that Leander did not care to dwell on. “He’s upstairs on the third floor, in the spare bedroom with a guard by it,” Leander told Master Atticus.

The healer produced a large bag from somewhere under his bat-like robes and swept up the stairs without waiting for an escort. “I shall need some fresh water,” he called to them.

The three of them stood there, staring at each other.

“What a loon,” Rainier said.

Leander shrugged. “As long as the loon knows how to heal. Come on, let’s fetch that water.”

——————————————————————-

They hauled two pails of water up to the third floor and found Master Atticus standing outside Emauri’s room, storming at the guard who also stood outside it.

“-see that I’m a healer, with your hideous head stuck so far up your culette! Now let me in, you misbegotten spawn of a beetle’s buttocks-“

Holding back a laugh, Abril waved at the much-affronted guard to allow Master Atticus to pass. The healer swept into the room in a very offended cloud of black.

“Do beetles have buttocks?” Abril whispered to Leander.

“If they don’t, I’m not going to tell him,” Leander whispered back. He was glad that they seemed to be friends again.

He moved into the room and immediately found himself the new target of Master Atticus’ ire. The healer flung a hand toward the bed where Emauri lay. “What in the name of the father of fire do you think you’ve done?”

Leander could not see any obvious mistakes. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve put furs on him! Godsbelow, you had some sense when you were a shepherd, where’s it all gone?”

“He’s been locked in a dark, cold cell for years,” Leander replied, a little stung. “I wanted to make sure he was warm.”

“By loading him up with heavy trappings? When he hasn’t yet managed to keep down a sip of water? You’ll have him sweating out what little he’s managed to hold onto, and he’s not strong enough to go without. No, take those away. A light blanket will do. Even that’ll be a good deal warmer than that hole you told me of.” Master Atticus strode to the bed and flung the furs back.

The room went silent. Even Abril gave a little gasp of dismay on seeing her enemy’s condition.

The blue tunic was soaked through with fever-sweat, and Leander thought some darker patches might have been blood. The bruises and cuts stood out stark against Emauri’s pale skin, and the badly healed break in his leg seemed almost worse. His breathing had changed; shallow and even before, now it was shallow and ragged, rattling in his lungs. The hair spread out on the pillow was stringy, dark with sweat. He was clearly still unconscious.

“Who chained him?” Master Atticus demanded, pointing his chin to Emauri’s better leg.

Rainier had kept his word- one end of the chain was latched around Emauri’s painfully bony ankle, the other around the bedpost. “It’s staying,” Rainier said firmly.

Master Atticus accepted this, setting his bag at the foot of the bed. “At least you had the mind not to put it on the bad one,” he said half under his breath. “I’ll do what I can for him, but he’s too weak to stand much. Leave that water and clear out, the lot of you. I work best alone.”

So they cleared out, the three of them, and left Master Atticus to his work.

He called them back in as darkness was setting outside. He was washing his hands in a basin, and Leander saw that the water was tinged pink. “I cannot reset the leg today,” he told Leander bluntly. “I would have to break it again, and the shock would likely kill him. I wonder if it might not be better, overall, to leave it as it is.” He shook his head, returning to the bedside. Emauri lay just as he had been, his breathing slightly better, the soaked tunic exchanged for a pair of dove-grey linen pants. His back had been bandaged, and there was a wet cloth laid across his forehead. He had still not woken.

“Certainly a fever has set in,” Master Atticus continued. “I gave him a tincture of elderflower, and a poultice on his chest for the weakness in his lungs. He must sweat it out. Keep a cool cloth on him, and make sure he gets plenty of water- even if he coughs it up, keep giving it to him. I will return in two days to see how he is coming along.”

“I’ll make sure he gets the best care,” Leander promised.

Master Atticus shut his bag. “No, you won’t.”

Abril and Rainier frowned.

“You will follow the instructions I’ve given and no more than that,” Master Atticus said. He stepped back from the bed, his expression pinched. “I know you all too well, Leander. You have an unfortunate addiction to being the hero and to being lauded for it. And since this man is in no condition to be singing your praises, you will doubtlessly want him to be well quickly so that he can do so. You will ply him with the best of everything- bread and meat from your own table- to return him to health as fast as possible. And in doing so, you will kill him.”

“How could feeding a starving man kill him?” Rainier broke in, and received a withering look for his trouble.

“Because, Captain,” Master Atticus drawled, “when the body has been used to the coarsest fare, and precious little of that, for years on end, a sudden surfeit of rich delicacies comes as a shock to the system. Not unlike the shock that occasionally comes to your system when the brain you supposedly carry between your overlarge ears manages to produce a coherent thought.”

Rainier, like Leander, was well used to Master Atticus’ biting tongue and only looked a little insulted.

Master Atticus turned to the bed again. “So,” he said. “You may give him a little thin broth and some cool water, but no more than that. You will kill him if I am disobeyed. Am I quite understood?”

“Yes,” Leander answered. “You are.”

Master Atticus picked up his bag and made to exit. “Oh, and leave a candle lit in this room.”

“What will that do?” Rainier asked.

“The candle will provide illumination, Captain,” Master Atticus replied dryly. Then, a bit more gently, and addressed to the unconscious figure on the bed, “When one has been in the dark for so long, he will treasure a little light.”

——————————————————————————

So Jesse sat awkwardly in the car, looking out the window and trying to ignore the way his dad’s eyes were hooded and tired and defeated.

Everyone in the lab was the same way. Steve the security guard barely managed a smile for Jesse. Miss Joni seemed even more grumpy than she had been the last time Jesse visited. Even Mandy only gave Jesse a wave and a half-hearted attempt at her happy grin, and there wasn’t any chocolate sitting on her desk.

Dr. Shaw pulled on his lab coat, and this time he didn’t seem proud of it or show it off. He put it on like it was a chore and he was tired of it, like someone had told him to do it the way he often told Jesse to clean his messy room. “I’m going to be analyzing test results most of the day,” he told Jesse, and he already sounded exhausted. “I don’t care what you do.”

“Can I talk to Chris?”

Dr. Shaw shrugged. “Go ahead. Won’t hurt anything now.”

Jesse thought about that as one of the team members he hadn’t met- she seemed really stressed out, and he had to ask twice before she told him her name was Claire- escorted him to the hallway where Chris was and unlocked it. She didn’t stay, just unlocked the door and went away muttering about negligence and misunderstandings and other words Jesse didn’t understand.

It didn’t take long for him to find Chris’ room. Chris sat right next to the glass, his back against the wall, and Jesse spotted him easily. Chris looked startled when Jesse plopped down on the other side of the glass, but unlike most of the science people, Chris brightened up when Jesse appeared. “Hello, Jesse,” he said warmly.

“Hi, Chris,” Jesse answered. “Is- everything okay?”

Chris sighed, and his hand moved to hover over his stomach like it was hurting him. “So you’ve seen the way the atmosphere has changed in this place.”

“Well, yeah. Dad’s been super upset, and everyone else is acting sad too.”

“I am not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you,” Chris said. “But- I have lost something, something very important to me and to everyone here. Your father especially. I- we don’t know if I can get it back, and if I cannot get it back, then there is no way forward. This…project is over. And no one knows what happens next.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “Especially not me.”

Jesse mulled that over for a bit. “And you can’t fix it?”

Chris laughed a little. “No, Jesse. I cannot fix it. That is part of the problem.”

“Oh.” Jesse fumbled for something else to say. “Did you figure out math?”

Chris smiled. “Not entirely, yet. You will have to show me more concepts. But I have been experimenting with the numbers. It is a very good way to pass the time.”

Jesse scooted closer to the glass wall. “I can show you fractions! I’m not very good at them but they’re kinda fun.”

“Fractions?”

“It’s when you have a piece of a number instead of the whole number. Like…our teacher keeps explaining it using pizza and it makes me hungry. But whatever. If you have a pizza, that’s one, right? And if you eat a slice of the pizza, you have seven slices left, and it’s seven-eighths. If you eat two slices of the pizza…”

“Six-eighths.”

“Yeah! But you can’t call it that for some reason, it has to be three-fourths. I don’t know why you can’t say six-eighths, you just can’t and it’s stupid.”

Chris’ eyes were shining. “Tell me more,” he said.

So Jesse did. Chris listened intently to every word, and asked a lot of questions- really smart questions that Jesse had to think about before he answered, if he could answer them at all. Chris didn’t make him feel bad when he couldn’t answer, either, just pointed out that there were things they both needed to learn.

“This is the first time I’ve ever had fun with math,” Jesse remarked. “You’re really good at it, aren’t you?”

Chris’ face turned pink. “It- it makes sense to me,” he said. “I can read the numbers like you read your alphabet.”

“Our alphabet?” Jesse asked curiously. “Do you have a different one where you come from?”

Chris nodded. “I’ve tried to figure out yours, but letters don’t work the same way for me as numbers do. I’m much better with spoken languages.”

“You’re really good at English,” Jesse said.

Chris smiled faintly. “I have had a long time to practice.”

“Where did you live before you came here?” Jesse asked. “Was it really far away?”

Chris sighed, running his hands through his golden-brown hair. “Farther away than you can imagine, Jesse Shaw.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Very much.”

“Maybe if you asked my dad, he would send you back for vacation,” Jesse suggested eagerly. “Even though he never takes vacations. But he might let you, if you tell him how much you miss it!”

Chris smiled a thin, sad kind of smile. “I don’t believe so. But it’s a nice thought.”

“What’s it like where you’re from?” Jesse asked. “Is it nice?”

Chris sighed. “I do not know how much I am allowed to tell you, but I will tell you that it is beautiful. I still hear the sounds of the sea in my dreams.”

“You lived by the ocean!” Jesse said excitedly. “I love the ocean! Did you go swimming a lot? Did you see sharks and turtles and- and- Chris?”

Chris had sat up very straight. His face had turned white, and his hand strayed to his stomach again.

“Chris?” Jesse asked, hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

Chris nodded, but Jesse could see the strain on his face. “I will be all right,” he said faintly. “It’s only-“

With a gasp of pain, Chris slumped to the floor, clutching his stomach.

Jesse stood stunned, terrified and confused in equal parts. What do I do?!

Chris twisted his head around to meet Jesse’s eyes. “Get your father, Jesse,” he gasped. “Now.”

Jesse needed nothing else. “Dad!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Dad! Help!”

Chris groaned, curling in on himself. His face had turned from white to gray, and beads of sweat lined his forehead. Jesse slammed his hands against the glass, wishing he could break it, wishing he could help somehow.

And then Dr. Shaw was there, ripping a walkie-talkie out of his pocket and bellowing orders into it. “Jesse, what happened?” he demanded.

“I don’t know, Dad! He’s not okay!”

“Chris?” Dr. Shaw put a hand on the glass just like Jesse had.

Chris’s blue eyes opened wide, and he threw a glance up at them, his eyes moving from Dr. Shaw to Jesse. He pushed himself up on one elbow, gasping. “Jesse,” he breathed.

Jesse swallowed hard. “Y-yeah?”

Chris dragged in another breath, his shaking hands moving to the edge of his shirt. “Don’t look.”

“What?” Jesse whirled around to Dr. Shaw. “Dad, what-“

He turned back just in time to see Chris tear something out of his stomach, his back arching and a hoarse scream ripping itself out of his mouth. Blood sprayed the glass wall. Dr. Shaw grabbed Jesse and turned him around, pressing his son’s face into his chest. Jesse clung to him, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Dad,” he sobbed. “Dad, what’s happening?”

Dr. Shaw didn’t give him an answer. Jesse got the feeling that he had none.

Finally Dr. Shaw let him go, still holding tight to Jesse’s hand. Jesse squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look. But he couldn’t help himself, and he opened them again, gripping Dr. Shaw’s hand.

Chris lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, breathing hard. His lips moved, but Jesse couldn’t hear what he was saying. His hands were covered in blood. Jesse felt sick.

Dr. Shaw raised a fist and banged it against the glass. Chris looked at him, startled, like he’d forgotten they were there.

Chris sat up slowly, getting on his feet carefully, one hand still on his stomach.

“What happened?” Dr. Shaw demanded. “What happened, Chris?”

Chris seemed confused, his brow furrowing as he looked around like he was trying to figure out where he was.

“Answer me!” Dr. Shaw’s voice cracked as he spoke- with anger or worry, Jesse couldn’t tell.

Chris blinked, seeming to realize that they were standing there. “It’s back,” he said quietly, and then whispered a few words in a language that Jesse couldn’t understand. He pulled his shirt up again, and Jesse grabbed for his father’s hand, not wanting to see where Chris had ripped something out-

There was a wound, but it was a small one. Jesse frowned. He was ten, but he knew that Chris should have been a lot more hurt than that. The injury looked barely worse than something Jesse might get on the playground at school.

And…and it was getting better.

It was healing. Jesse was watching it heal. The edges of the wound were sealing themselves up, slowly, but quickly enough that Jesse could see it happening.

Oh my gosh, Chris has superpowers, Jesse thought blankly. He’d always thought that if he ever met a superhero in real life, he’d be full of questions. But all he could do was stare.

“It was healing around the stitches,” Chris said. “I think it was…interfering. I had to get them out.” He frowned, tilting his head. “Doctor? Is everything all right?”

Dr. Shaw didn’t answer. He just turned and looked at Jesse.

Jesse, who was hearing and seeing everything.