Chapter Six
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The old human woman’s green eyes were on me when I turned back. “Yar collection here is most impressive. More than I could use in years, but what I can’t use personally, I’m sure I can find buyers for.”
“I want all of this.” The orc’s voice was gratin’, threatenin’, but I assumed it wasn’t intended to be. Just her kind’s way. Never had more than a glance at an orc before.
By the marks on the crocks, I could see she’d selected all the soothin’, calmin’ herbs, most of which are very aromatic. Why was she interested in those particular spices, only?
The human’s smile flashed. Her light-colored eyes drew me into her. “Are ya lookin’ for currency, or to barter?”
“I— I—” My face warmed. “A neighbor’s place burned to the ground a few days ago, in the middle of the night. She lost everythin’. Doesn’t have as much as a smock to wear. She needs—everythin’.”
The woman’s eyes shot to the bandages wrappin’ my hands, and she stepped forward. “Let me see them,” she demanded. “Was she injured as well?”
I pulled my free hand behind my back, maybe without thinkin’, but her grimace, narrowed eyes, forced me to let it fall back to my side. My mama could smack me with the same glance.
“Janding,” she called over her shoulder. “Would ya please spread the word through the Hamlet that a neighbor is in need? We need clothin’ for an ogre hen—”
“Human. She’s human,” I blurted. “A tiny thin’, a head shorter than ya, with much less meat on her.”
The woman smiled, drawin’ even more blood to my face. I wished to turn and run to Ike, to be around another bull. Hens are scary thin’s. Especially human ones, despite their daintiness.
“Less meat,” she said, cockin’ her head. “I’m not what ya’d call thick in the hips.” She smiled. “We help our neighbors, too. We won’t make ya empty yar coffers.”
She held my hand in her own and unwrapped the bindin’ carefully. I hadn’t even felt her take my hand—she’s thin, and slight of hand. My eyes fixed upon hers, as though she used her own majic to control me, but my quiet staff didn’t warn of any use of the ethereal.
She turned my palm up. “Oh, my. We need to freshen the poultice, but it seems to be healin’ nicely. Follow me. Ya didn’t say if she was hurt.”
She was already walkin’ out the door left ajar by the fleein’ artist-orc—followin’ the woman’s direction to play the town crier. I bent down quickly to pick up the pouch of nuggets the orc hen had thrown at Ike, and hurried after the human.
Ike and the troll no longer stood on the boardwalk, but my eyes were drawn skyward by the sight of another dragon, a dramatic-lookin’ yellow bull, which spiraled to a landin’ near the other two. As it snuggled the others with its muzzle, the artist-orc climbed upon its back. A moment later the yellow leapt into the air. With no more than a double beat of its wings, it rose a hundred feet and glided the remainin’ distance across the black-mirror surface of the Lake.
“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?” the old woman said.
I couldn’t answer immediately as a trumpetin’ from the dragons filled the air. The golden queen layin’ on the lawn below stretched fluidly, her head flowin’ back and forth as she sang. The gray dragon warbled in harmony with her, his neck extendin’ to her, movin’ in concert with the queen’s.
Another trumpet sounded far to the left, another from the right. I pressed my hands against my ears. “How many dragons live here?” I shouted.
The woman tilted her head back and laughed. Without answerin’ she waved for me to follow her. The din quieted several moments later after four dragons, half of them ridden, launched into the sky, headin’ in different directions.
“Ya’d think they lived for this.”
“For what?” I asked.
“To serve our kind,” she answered. “What’s yar neighbor’s name?”
“Delia.”
“Ya use the same poultice on her?”
I nodded, but answered out loud when I realized the woman’s eyes followed the path of the golden queen.
“Will ya share the measure with me? It obviously kept infection at bay.”
“Happy to.”
She chatted, leavin’ me required to only nod occasionally, which I was more comfortable doin’. The ominous gatherin’ on the Inn’s veranda had dissolved. In its place were several humans and an odd ogre and troll or two lined up, playin’ checkers, or conversin’ quietly. Each nodded and smiled at the human woman. That moment I recalled her name. Gladys. The Hamlet’s healer. A matriarch of the community—a title I believe she shared with the ancient troll hen that Ike looked so—amiable would be a good word—looked so amiable with.
I followed Gladys through the Inn’s lobby where she retrieved an apothecary’s case behind a low counter. She continued through a dinin’ room where Ike sat at a table leanin’ over a mug of some steamin’ brew. The gangly goblin the crowd swarmed around earlier sat across from the young Hamlet leader. My staff tingled in my hand, but the sensation rang similar to what I felt for Ike and the troll hen.
Gladys disappeared through a set of heavy double-doors and I hurried to catch up. I found myself in the Inn’s kitchen. It was hot, though windows and doors at the far end of the long room set wide open. A half-dozen humans rushed about, and almost as many ogre and troll hens.
Gladys used a kettle on one of the six stove tops to fill a large basin, which she carried to a table in front of the pair of windows. She pointed for me to sit. “Unwrap the other hand. When the water cools enough to stand it, soak them both.”
“They’ll blister,” I complained, but sat, awkwardly slidin’ my staff between me and the table, leanin’ it against my shoulder.
She eyed me strangely, as though squintin’ into the sun. “The salt I’ll use will pull it away.”
I grimaced, but sat patiently, willin’ to learn. The human prepared a fresh poultice, startin’ with contents she was familiar. She worked her face as though she guessed at the additional items my concoction contained, and queried me when her imagination waned. She argued over the benefit of a couple, but was convinced by my answers.
“It’s odd we didn’t hear of the fire,” she said. “Word travels fast through our little community. Odder I’ve never heard of this Delia. Good friends, are ya?”
“Not really. She prefers her own company. I had never spoken to her before—” I froze.
“Before ya took her to yar cabin?”
I nodded.
“No one here will worry she’s stayin’ with ya—if ya’re concerned about that. If she’s lost her home, where else would she go?”
I swallowed hard. Thought of some way to change the topic. I reached out and dunked my fingers into the basin before thinkin’ how hot it would be. Jerked them back, before tentatively testin’ the temperature again. It wasn’t that hot, I decided. Slowly eased my hands in, but had to take them out within seconds. The water stung the burns like a hot andiron.
“Have yar nearby neighbors planned a cabin raisin’ yet?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Can’t say we have neighbors. We’re quite a ways into the hills.”
I glared at the basin, comparin’ it in my mind to an evil stinkin’ spirit. Had no intention of placin’ my hands back into that hot water. Re-burnin’ my hands made no sense.
“It’s just to get yar hands as clean as we can get them,” she said, handin’ me a bar of soap.”
I took in a slow breath and let it out slower.
She chatted as she dribbled hot water onto the dry contents meant for the poultice. She set the bowl on the warmin’ tier of a nearby stove and slowly stirred the mixture. “Ya be sure to tell Delia that if she doesn’t get her new cabin finished by first freeze, she’s welcome to stay here with me and Bick until the thaw.”
Bick. Must be her mate. She shared an uncommonly generous offer. Too generous perhaps, if she knew Delia is a witch. My mind split between the idea of Delia bein’ out of my life again, and the reaction those in the Hamlet would have to learn she was connected to the ethereal—how they would react to my own use of the ethereal.
“Somethin’ troubles ya,” she said.
My cheek twitched. Could Gladys read minds?
“It’s fine,” she said, pattin’ my forearm. “Ya keep yar own council. When ya get to know me, ya’ll learn anythin’ ya tell me will stay between us.” She handed me a towel to dry my hands. A moment later a slight grin crimped her cheeks, as though she had another thought.
I studied her face as she carefully wiped my hands. The sincerity, truth of her words echoed in my mind. She scooped half of the contents of her bowl into one of my palms and spread it over my burns with the backside of the spoon. I considered remarkin’ how I use oil to keep my poultice moist, but dismissed the thought.
She wrapped my hand with a long clean bandage strip and treated the other. “Ya relax here a bit. I’ll be back. I have a few thin’s I think Delia would like.”
The woman walked out the near door. She followed a well-tread trail that crossed the grassy clearin’ between the Inn and the imposing granite estate lungin’ from the tree line.
Good people. Subtle in their nosiness.
~
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