[Mkguild] "Burning Time" pt. 5

[Nathan Pfaunmiller]

Part 5

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“Blast it, wake up, man!”



            Lois started slightly as he woke up, and he raised an eyebrow in
question to the speaker.



            “Are you done yet?” he mumbled.



            “Done?!?” the raccoon healer yelled indignantly.  “With you
sitting like that, if I even started you’d probably pull the stitching
before I finished closing the wound!”  The healer was absolutely outraged,
and it showed in the sporadic twitching of his whiskers.



            Lois sighed and settled into a better position so that the
doctor could tend to his wound.



            He was now sitting in the infirmary, waiting for Coe to finish
his work.  They had simply bandaged his wound for transport since it wasn’t
life threatening, and Lois had been able to walk under his own power all the
way there.  He hadn’t been asleep because the walk had exhausted him;
rather, he had fallen asleep while trying to shut out the doctor’s livid
ramblings about how many times he had to tell stupid warriors not to spar
with sharp blades.  Lois had heard similar lectures before, and he wasn’t
about the listen to another one.  Unfortunately, his skills at shutting out
those ramblings were just a bit too well-tuned, and so he had managed to
fall asleep despite the doctor talking loudly behind him.



            The raccoon had apparently realized that his patient wasn’t
interested in his ramblings, as he now worked with only the occasional word
to himself.  Lois could feel the needle being worked through his skin dully;
the area had been numbed carefully by the doctor, so it left only a feeling
of pressure as the needle worked in and out.  Sometimes he felt more
pressure than others.



            “Good grief, man!” Coe grunted.  “Your skin is like leather!”



            Lois snorted humorlessly.  “When you’ve faced the lash as many
times as I have, you’re lucky if you live long enough to hear someone say
that,” he commented.  Lashings were not entirely at fault for the calluses,
of course, but enough of the wounds had been caused by them that the doctor
continued on without showing any suspicion.



            “There’s a lifetime’s worth of scarring back here, and you still
have a good bit of life in front of you if appearances mean anything,” Coe
commented.  “As a doctor, my personal suggestion would be for you to avoid
anyone with a whip in the future.”



            The humor of the statement wasn’t lost on Lois, but he didn’t
laugh at it.  He simply sat quietly while the doctor struggled to sew the
wound without bending his needle.



            “There,” Coe announced after working for fifteen minutes.  “I’ve
closed the wound now.  I would appreciate it if you would do your utmost not
to tear out the stitching, though.  No sparring for at least another
week.  Also,
running at full speed would have the potential to tear the stitching as
well.  Mostly, just take it easy for about the next week.”



            “In a week, I’ll be Cursed,” Lois noted.



            “Hmm, you’re right,” the healer pondered.  “Are you planning on
staying through the Curse, or were you thinking of leaving before it takes
you?”



            “I’ll be taking the Curse,” Lois responded.  Those were words he
really hadn’t pondered until now, but he considered them for a moment now.  In
a week, he could be like the man that stood before him, equal parts man and
beast.  He might also be given the form of a child, or even perhaps be
changed into a woman.  Whatever the fate that met him, one thing was for
sure.  He would never be the same again.



            “Come back in four days,” the healer said finally.  “I’ll check
on the wound then.  With luck, it will be healed to the point where it can
hold together without aid.”



            “I’m interested to know what would happen if I was Cursed with
the stitches still in,” Lois said.  Coe just shrugged.



            “The Curse has the noted effect of healing most wounds,” he
said.  “Likely, the wound beneath the stitches would be completely healed.  If
patterns held, it would likely lack even a scar to show its prior presence.
As for the stitches themselves, I do not believe I have had to deal with
that question before.  I imagine several possibilities, though.  Likely, if
you changed size much one way or the other, the stitching would come undone
on its own.  If not, it might either be sealed under a new layer of skin, at
which point it would be best just to leave it alone, or the Curse might
somehow get rid of the stitching for you.  Regardless, I don’t suppose they
will be a health hazard at all.”



            “Comforting,” Lois said tersely.  Then he looked up at the
raccoon and smiled.  “Thank you for your help, doctor.  I will try to keep
from having to make these visits too often, but it is hard to make any
promises when you fight for a living.”



            Coe muttered something under his breath.  Lois couldn’t be
completely cure, but he thought it started with the phrase, “If I had a
garret for every patient who told me that…”



            Alex had taken it upon himself to wait until his opponent had
been tended to by the healer in the main lobby of the infirmary.  He stood
as Lois emerged, still pulling his coat around his shoulders.  “Well, how do
you feel?” Alex asked.



            “Remarkable,” Lois responded with a slight bite of sarcasm.  “Your
blade didn’t strike anything I needed too terribly much, thankfully.”



            The lynx chuckled quietly, but quickly turned more serious.  “I’m
sorry about the accident, by the way.  You’re right; it takes more skill to
know how to miss in that situation than it does to strike.”



            Lois waved Alex off.  “I don’t need sympathy, just rest,” he
commented.  “Besides, I had set you up for a fall by getting in so close to
you.  I could not have done much better in quarters that tight.”



            Alex snorted as he followed Lois from the healer’s.  He caught a
brief glimpse of the ripped and stained shirt where his blade had struck and
shook his head.  “Regardless of whether you could have done better than I
did in those tight quarters, I should have been more careful simply because
we were so close.”



            “False,” Lois responded tersely, looking back at the lynx with a
grim smile.  “A sparring match is a simulation of battle.  If you are
careful in close quarters during a sparring match, you may hesitate on the
battlefield, and that is the fastest way to end up in the mortuary.”



            Alex nodded, but said nothing more until Lois stopped at a
junction of hallways.  “Well,” Lois said, “I could use a rest, but I have
not really eaten anything yet today, so I think that should take precedence..
Care to join me?”



            Alex laughed humorlessly.  “If I was in your shoes, I’d think I
would want to avoid the man who had just nearly killed me,” he commented.



            “Nonsense, you’re a remarkably interesting opponent, and your
skills do you credit.  I will not hold one slip of the blade against you if
you won’t hold the results of our first match against me.”



            Alex smiled.  “Very well, then.  Do you have any ideas of where
you want to eat?  As a patrolman I can use the Keep’s kitchens for the price
of my services to Metamor, but I sense no taint of the Curse on you, so I
don’t believe you have similar privileges.”



            “Mage?” Lois queried without answering Alex’s question.



            “Hardly,” Alex laughed.  “Being able to use the Sight is a handy
skill to have when battling Nasoj, though.  Anyway, what will it be?”  Alex
could see that Lois was slightly off ease, so he tried to look as
unthreatening as possible.  He figured it was unlikely that him image
intimidated the other man, but he wasn’t going to take a chance of having
him walk off rather than keep his company.



            “I believe the Mule’s kitchens will serve me just fine for the
time being,” Lois commented.  “I could use something good to drink as well,
and I haven’t had the time to stock up on anything yet.”



            Alex nodded.  “The Mule it is, then.  I believe I’ll be paying
for this meal, on account of your injury.”



            Lois gave him a half-serious glare.  “I thought we had agreed
that we were both going to forget our respective moments of humiliation.  That
precludes any favors one way or the other.  You pay for your meal, and I
shall pay for mine.”



            The arrangement sufficiently pleased both of them, and they were
soon enjoying a bowl of stew and a drink over a quiet conversation.  Lois
asked Alex about his role in the Keep’s patrols, and Alex asked a little bit
about Lois’ background.  The latter gave some vague ideas of where he had
come from, but made it quite obvious that he didn’t want very much prying
into the subject.  Alex, however, was far more inclined to give information
about his own life, and so they spent most of their time talking over the
various adventures that the lynx had gone through over his years of service..



            As soon as the meal was over, Lois dismissed himself so he could
go rest his injury.  In reality, although he wouldn’t admit it, he was also
physically exhausted by the morning.  It disturbed him; before he had left
his assassin’s trade for the life of a glorified security guard, he had been
able to keep chases going with the local authorities for days without ever
being found.  He had been a master of sneaking winks of sleep in between
chases, true, but it was never because he was absolutely exhausted.  He had
done it to avoid exhaustion during extended escapes, but never had he
actually reached that point.



            It almost scared him to think what it could mean.  He had so far
managed to avoid the pains of getting older as time went by.  Even now,
while approaching forty years of age, the only pains he felt generally came
from pulling muscles or breaking bones.  He had apparently not been able to
keep as fit as he would have liked, though.  At least, he hoped that was the
reason…



*                      *                      *                      *



<i>November 28, 707 CR</i>



            After his run-in with Alex’s blade, Lois decided to take it slow
for a few days while his wound healed.  He had planned to wait until he
could go back to see the Healer about his injury.  This plan pretty well
held out, aside from a few calm visits to the Mule for a meal.  Occasionally
someone decided to take it upon themselves to try to make conversation with
him, but he turned them away.  At the moment, he wasn’t entirely sure of his
skills with Keepers.  He was used to being able to read facial expressions
to tell what the other person was thinking, but nothing that the
animal-morphed Keepers did even looked like anything he was used to.



            In the afternoon of his third day of rest, however, Lois’ rest
was interrupted by a knock on the door of his room.  He opened the door to
see a young man standing outside, eyes bright and body bursting with visible
energy.  He looked like some sort of dog, and Lois had enough experience in
the field to recognize the pattern and appearance of a coyote.  The boy was
remarkably well controlled, even though his constant energy showed, and he
flicked a scroll case out from within his cloak with a flourish, not even
minding the scarred face and icy stare of the man in front of him.



            “You’ve been sent a summons, sir!” the coyote said, looking up
with a dutiful smile as he held out the scroll case.  When the lad didn’t
immediately take off when he was handed the scroll case, Lois returned his
smile.



            “I can read, lad,” he said as he opened the case and let the
scroll slide down into his hand.  He was careful not the bend the parchment
as he slid it out, and he noted the seal on the scroll with an upward twitch
of his eyebrow.  It was the Stallion seal of the Duke of Metamor.



            “Indeed, sir,” the coyote said, bouncing on his tip toes.
“However,
I am under orders to stay here until you respond to the summons, and carry
the response back to the Duke.”



            “Written?” Lois asked.  He was carefully prying the wax of the
seal off of one side of the paper.  A few rifts appeared on the back side of
the wax, but the front stayed mostly intact when the seal came loose from
the paper and allowed Lois to read its contents.



            “Not necessary, I can take whatever response you have by
memory.”  The coyote’s delivery was fast, yet at the same time entirely
intelligible.  No wonder he had been assigned to post of messenger, Lois
mused.



            The note itself looked like it had been copied down from a
standard message for the same purpose, with only his name written at a
different size and in different lettering than the rest of the message.  Its
statement was still clear enough, though.  The Duke wished to see him at the
earliest opportunity.  The suggested time was later that evening, after
regular audience hours if Lois wasn’t mistaken.  Regardless, he couldn’t
think of anything that would prevent him from going to the audience at that
time, so he nodded and looked back down at the coyote.



            “Tell the Duke that I will be able to meet him in audience at
the requested time,” Lois announced.  He rolled the scroll up offhandedly
and held it out towards the coyote.  “Will you need this back?”



            The coyote shook his head.  “Hardly, sir, I only need to case it
came in for my later messages.”  Lois nodded and handed the decorative case
back to the boy, who nodded and took it.  “Thank you very much,” he said,
and took off at a run across the balcony that led down to the main room of
the inn.



            Lois returned to his room, thinking quietly.  He finished
peeling the seal from the scroll carefully and quickly inspected the
imprinted surface for any significant cracks.  A few insignificant fishers
went through the symbol, but the imprint marks were undisturbed.  They would
do fine if he ever needed the symbol later.



            He walked over to the chest that he kept in one corner of his
room.  Instead of opening the top, however, he flipped it over.  He made a
careful count and then pressed the third rivets on each side of the bottom
of the box.  Rather than stay put as they should, however, the rivets
slipped into the box with a click.  Lois released the buttons and reached
carefully for what seemed to be part of a decorative carved pattern in the
bottom of the chest.  Hardly visible was a raised section with a small hole
hollowed out of the center.  Lois carefully placed fingers on either side of
the hole and pushed the raised section in.



            At the same time, two things happened.  The bottom of the chest
suddenly popped open and bounced for a little bit, half opened already by
the quantity of stuff contained in the secret compartment.  The second thing
that happened was that a small blade, about the width of a pin, came out
through the hole in the center of the button.  If anyone pressed the button
without knowing that the blade was there, he would have been given a
significant dose of a paralytic that would have left them unable to leave
for several hours.  In that time, the likelihood was that Lois would come
back and find the would-be intruder incapacitated.



            As it was Lois’ chest, however, he had long since learned to
avoid that little trap while opening his chest’s secret compartment.



            Inside the small compartment that had just opened was a heap of
black material.  Lois carefully took it out and set it aside.  He had not
used that set of clothing in years, and it would be a good bit longer until
he did again if he had anything to say about it.



            He wasn’t after his clothing, however.  Instead, he reached in
and pulled out a small wooden case.  It had no markings on the outside, and
was no larger than Lois’ hand from pinky to thumb.  It was also short and
stood only about two inches off of its resting place.



            Lois slid his hand across the top until his hand found the knick
that was placed there just so he could grip it.  He held onto it and pulled
back, sliding the lid out of the grooves that secured it to the rest of the
container.  Inside was a circular patch of red wax, with a symbol pressed
into it.  The assassin stepped  towards the table that sat beside his chest,
pulling the old wax seal out and poking a hole in it with a finger as he
went.  He draped it over a candle that sat on the desk, allowing the wick to
poke through.



            “I won’t need this anymore,” he mumbled, and lit the wick of the
candle.  He watched it until he could see that the symbol had melted off of
the seal and returned to his chest.  He placed the Stallion seal into the
wooden box carefully and slid the lid back into the grooves, covering the
seal so that it would not suffer any damage while it was being stored.  He
had paid a good bit to have the box charmed so that it wouldn’t let heat in,
so he didn’t have to worry about whether or not the seal would melt while in
storage.



            Lois carefully placed the box upside-down in the secret
compartment and replaced the clothing he had set to the side a moment
before.  He then pressed the bottom of the chest back down until he heard it
click, and the button popped back up to cover the blade, while both false
rivets resumed their positions in the middle of their real counterparts,
nothing showing what they really were.



            After flipping the chest back into its proper position, Lois
dusted off his hands and checked on the progress of the melting seal.  It
had melted to his satisfaction; it was hardly even distinguishable between
the half-solid rivulets of wax that coated the candle’s surface.


            With this done, Lois decided he would go have something to eat.
He had a few hours before he had to attend his audience with the Duke, and
he wanted to make sure that he did so with a full stomach.


!DSPAM:4c5a3982273661804284693!
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