Carry On

by Celia Lake

  She nodded and gave the little half-smile of acknowledgement that one did. False modesty wasn’t attractive, but neither was pointing out that it was awfully hard work. “I do appreciate you managing this on my morning off.” There was a cup of tea in front of her, rather suddenly and efficiently, just an edge off black. And a chocolate digestive biscuit.

  “Thank you, Roger. Let me know if we get too close to my next appointment, please.” Roger withdrew, taking the tea cart with him, and once the door was closed, Dixon leaned forward. “How would you prefer to be addressed, first? And then, what is it that Roland wanted to know?”

  “Nurse Morris is fine, sir, thank you.” Elen took a deep breath. “You understand, sir, that I can’t talk about Major Gospatrick’s medical concerns or personal matters, but his note outlined his hopes, I believe.” She didn’t just believe, she knew, she’d read it after Roland wrote it.

  “That he had a particular experience, I came to mind, and he would like my analytical mind applied to the problem.” Dixon’s eyes were a rather intense green. “And that he was giving you permission to speak freely about those matters, as your judgement permitted.”

  That, she had not seen, he must have added a postscript. “Sir.” Elen gathered herself again. “He made it clear you are not at all fond of the Temple of Healing, and for good reason. Anyone who’s had a chronic condition poked and prodded over, well it’s about two out of three that sensible people respond that way.”

  “What do the less sensible do?”

  “Go in for hypochondria, usually. Every little twinge must be some new crisis, for some of them. And yet, many of them do know there’s something wrong with them, something not working as intended.” His own amusement and the way he was utterly focused on her were rather like some sort of truth potion, if they existed outside the realms of adventure novels. She found herself saying rather a lot more than she’d expected.

  It made him laugh. “I can see why Roland likes you. So, then, tell me, what are the circumstances that made him think of me? No, first, how is he doing, that you can share. And can I arrange anything besides this conversation that might be a help? I’m sure his family have all the basic comforts sorted, but anything I can do without actually visiting him, I’m glad to.”

  Elen rather thought his family hadn’t seen to much at all. Other than a few books there were few personal effects in Roland’s room. Something of her thoughts must have been visible, because there was a snort. “Or, no. they did the other thing, where they’re cordially ignoring him until he’s better.” He threw it out as if he were testing a theory.

  “They’ve not visited. He had a short letter or two before my time as his nurse, but I’m not sure who from.”

  “And how long is that?”

  “Nearing two months.”

  “So you’ve had some time to evaluate his progress. Is he recovering? And what is he recovering from, then?” Dixon leaned forward, took a sip of his tea, and set the cup down.

  “To be honest, sir, that’s part of the problem. To answer your first question, he is beginning to make some progress. I was able to encourage a modification of his potions regimen that is helping, and he took the waters, under the temple. That’s part of what we wanted to talk to you about.”

  “The potions or the bath?” Now he was teasing, and she found herself responding to it, in a way she had no idea how to describe. There was something flattering in having this man’s full attention.

  “Both, sir. The bath is where he had a sudden image of your face, in particular.”

  “And that brought you here. Curious. Intriguing, in fact.” He leaned back a little, looking at Elen steadily. She took another sip of her tea, nibbled at the biscuit, then set both down. “And the potions?”

  That was the tricky part. “In brief, information about the cause of his condition has been very hard to come by. In the normal way of things, I would have had access to his file, regularly, and on request. In this case, I have not been permitted to see it at all, and I have not been permitted to ask questions about his treatment. His Healer has not only made no gesture toward consulting me, but I have never been in the same room. He normally sends his junior to check in, but even then I am usually sent out on some errand.”

  “Your previous experience at the Temple is otherwise?” The question was sharp, entirely keeping up.

  “I have not been posted there since my apprenticeship, but it is quite different both from that and my more recent service. I am in fact kept rather isolated. I live in a rooming house with other nurses, but my schedule is sufficiently different from theirs that I rarely get much chance to talk to them.” She hadn’t quite realised that particular part before. “It’s quite unusual for there to be a single nurse assigned to a patient for so many hours, with no relief. A senior healer on a different ward confirmed that’s odd, still, too.”

  “A morning off, how often?”

  “Every fortnight.” Elen glanced up at him, and was startled to see he was offended, visibly so.

  “You mean to say that in two months, you have worked every day, had a morning off every fortnight, no other time to yourself? How long are your hours?”

  “I arrive at nine, and I am there until half-seven, sometimes later. It is not difficult work. And some of it, I am tending to the shrines at the Temple.”

  Dixon tapped his fingers on the table, and she had the sudden certainty that for this man, this lack of control was a sign of deep anger or discomfort. “You are being treated like less than the merest skivvy. And I presume you have significant training?”

  “A full five years apprenticeship, and ten years since as a qualified nurse.”

  “And how long do others work?” He seemed fixated on that.

  “A more usual schedule would be an eight or ten hour shift, five or six days a week. A full day off, but not necessarily any particular day consistently. Nursing’s needed the week round.”

  “Quite.” Dixon waved his hand. “So, you are in an exceedingly unusual position, without the sort of information or support you would normally rely on. Your usual channels - your superior nurses, whoever - are unresponsive.”

  “Yes, sir. Two have helped, where they could, but they have limited...” Her voice trailed off and she swallowed, then took the risk. “I - um. In confidence, sir?”

  He waved a hand. “I am certainly not going to go telling apparent incompetents what you tell me. Go ahead.”

  “I was able to arrange, with some difficulty, a chance to look at R - Major Gospatrick’s file.” She hoped desperately he didn’t notice the slip, while being sure he had.

  Dixon leaned forward. “Oh, have you. What did you find out?”

  “Not as much as I hoped!” The frustration came out in her voice, and she had to look away.

  She heard a knock on the door, then, and Dixon quickly called out. “We’ll be a few more minutes, Roger. Push back as needed.” Once the door closed, Dixon returned his attention to her. “Tell me what you can, please.”

  “There’s very little documentation. No theories about what caused his symptoms, other than thinking it was related to his magic. Not nearly enough in the way of reports from people who’ve seen him. One of the people I talked to, one of the administrators, she was able to overrule the healer in charge. They agreed to a change in the dose that was causing Major Gospatrick the most problems.”

  “The healer’s name?”

  “Healer Ozymandias Cole.” Elen was glad enough to give it.

  “Huh. Interesting.” Dixon leaned back. “It would be helpful to me if you could put the word out, and find out what you know about him. Or if Roland can do so. What kind of person he is. I have a niggling idea I’ve heard the name recently, but I can’t pin it down.” Then, his attention shifting again, he said, “And what do you want me to do, precisely?”

  Elen managed to look up and meet his eyes. “The, well, vision of your face. I think Major Gospatrick decided you would know where to look, what to pay
attention to? He wasn’t entirely sure what you do, mind.” She offered the last like she’d make an offering to Sirona, hoping it pleased the ineffable power before her.

  It made him laugh, full-throated. “I amuse myself with patterns. Also sometimes dragons, gold, double-entry record keeping, embezzlement, and other such matters.” Then he tilted his head, peered at her, and said. “Morris. The Dolaucothi mines.”

  Elen blinked, startled. “My father, sir.”

  “You have something of the look of him, and your delightful mother. A good man, and a good manager. Unlike this Healer Cole, clearly. Even if there are things you aren’t being told, there must be better ways to handle it.” Dixon waved a hand. “Go see what you can hear, if you get a chance. Write me a note. I’ll do a little investigating myself, quietly. I’ll let you know. Every other Wednesday is your morning off?”

  “Usually, sir. Unless Major Gospatrick has a commitment that requires my presence. But those are usually in the afternoon now.”

  That got a nod. “Right. And I’ll be sending around a package for him, some things he might like.”

  “I shouldn’t, you must be very busy.” She suddenly realised they must have been here for quite a lot longer than she’d expected.

  “Roger will see you out, get the best way for me to send a private note round. Take care of yourself, Nurse Morris.” And then softer. “And keep taking care of Roland. I know you will.”

  There was an earnestness there she had no idea how to answer, so she merely nodded, and stood up. “Thank you. For listening.” Then the door opened, and Roger, whatever his last name was, was showing her out into the outer office. He asked her to wait while he cleared the tea cups and showed someone in, before the flurry of getting her particulars and walking her out took over.

  Chapter 26

  That afternoon, Roland’s room

  “How did it go?” Roland had been on tenterhooks, waiting. The time before lunch had never been so long, it felt like a century. Nearly as long as waiting to go into battle.

  Elen was wearing her uniform, her cap starched and pressed, looking utterly at ease with the day. She’d come in just before lunch, gotten everything settled, and then been pulled away to help with something on the ward. When she finally came back, Roland had finished his meal, and was feeling very much lacking in information.

  It did not help that in the last half hour, it had picked up raining, and there was no chance they’d make it outside.

  Elen settled in the chair, taking out her knitting. “No outside walk for you. We can do the hallway in a bit, they’re still moving things around, someone new is settling in down the hall. Had a bad time of it, I gather.”

  Roland cleared his throat, pointedly. “The visit?”

  Elen started her needles going. “Is it safe, do you think?”

  “It’s pouring out.” There was a crack of thunder to punctuate, and then the rain coming down harder. “No one’s going to come and bother us.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Those are dangerous words. Tempting the fates.”

  “The Fates weave the tapestry, so it’s not tempting them, either they were already tempted or they aren’t.” It wasn’t particularly good logic, but it made Elen smile.

  “All right. Keep an eye and ear out, all right? Otherwise, we’re talking about my cousin.”

  “Cousin Tristan?” Having a name would help.

  “That is more an Irish name, not a Welsh one, ta.”

  “You pick something then.” Roland settled back, pleased with the way she was responding. He’d been worried, once they arranged this, that Treeve wouldn’t listen to her, that it would be five minutes of polite nothings, and no help for them.

  “Tesni. It means warmth from the sun.” That was promising, Roland thought, though there was a sudden stab of some less pleasant emotion than promise, all of a sudden.

  “That will do. So, you had the meeting, as you planned? Did you have trouble finding it?”

  “Oh, no, the directions were good. And his assistant, his personal secretary? He let me in promptly on time. Do you know why there’s a Guard at the desk for the building?”

  “Everyone in the building has particular skills. The Guard is there to make sure they don’t get bothered unduly, and to keep out people who might get in the way. Or worse.” Treeve had talked about the precautions, a few times, over drinks in one of their clubs. There had been more than one kidnapping attempt, and more than one attempt to coerce one of the research staff. “It really was all right?”

  “It was. I got shown in, and offered tea. And a biscuit.”

  Roland grinned. “I did tell you he had a routine.” He’d gotten very familiar with Treeve’s need to have things arranged just so. The man was brilliant, capable of piecing together twenty different pieces of information into a singular whole in a few seconds. However, if you changed the time of his morning tea break, he was useless until lunch.

  “We talked a little about what I had permission to say. I hadn’t realised you’d added a postscript, you shouldn’t trust me like that, you really shouldn’t.” She stopped, gathered herself. “And I said that I understood why he’d not care to be back in the Temple of Healing.” She took a breath, the needles stopped clicking. “He’s very compelling, isn’t he?”

  Roland sucked in a breath. Something in how she said that, the fact she’d stopped knitting to say that. He’d never particularly felt jealous before, but he was now certain. There was a surge of something. Treeve was a good man, a clever man, a thoughtful man. Certainly all things Elen had every right to be interested in and by. He let his breath out, inhaled again, and said, in as measured a tone as he could manage, “What kind of compelling?”

  “Like he could get the truth out of you without a potion. Just by asking you a few questions. He was so focused, like there was nothing in the world but what I was telling him.”

  “And you told him what we’ve sorted out?”

  She nodded silently. Then, deliberately, the needles started up again. “He asked some other things, first. Why you wanted me to come talk to him. What my training was like. He was really offended at how many hours I work.”

  Roland felt that surge again, and something else, something that wanted to be protective. To be a barrier between Elen and everything that would get in the way of her work. She was sitting there, tidy and pressed and clean, and he could barely get out of bed without help.

  For the first time since before he’d been wounded, though, he felt other urges stir. More than stir. He couldn’t help a sharp inhale, and a quick glance down to see how obvious it was going to become. He could scarcely rearrange himself, not as they were. The blankets, he thought, might cover it in their folds.

  Nothing for it but to ask, “And you don’t think it’s too many?”

  Elen shrugged. “It’s less than I did at the Front. A half day off, and usually a ten hour shift, not twelve. It’s a bother to get things from the shops, but I don’t need to do that often.” She added, “He - um. Tesni, asked after your family, he assumed they’d been seeing to your comfort.”

  “Ah.” That wasn’t quite enough to deaden his response, but it was a near thing. “Not really their sort of thing. Apparently.”

  “He said he’d send some things round. I’m not sure what, I promise I didn’t ask him to or anything.”

  Roland waved his hand, then put it back, when that rearranged the blanket folds alarmingly. Her worry about overstepping was also more powerful than he’d realised. “He is a man of his own plans and projects. We can expect something interesting to show up in a day or two, I’m sure. What next?”

  “That’s when we got along to your case.” She glanced up, as if to make sure no one had appeared in the room without notice. “And your file. I told him what I’d found.”

  “Or not found, as the case may be.” Roland pointed that out.

  “Rather. And he listened.” She looked at Roland and her expression was softer. “He listened. It’s been
a while since anyone listened.” Before he could object, she added, “You have, since we started talking. And Healer Rhoe. But that’s not so many.”

  It did not make his body react less, that was for certain, and he shifted, cupping his hands in his lap. Which was utterly distracting in a new way. Thankfully, she didn’t look down, just went back to her knitting, if she’d admitted something new and damaging. It gave him a chance to gather his thoughts.

  “Is there a reason people don’t listen?”

  “Oh, dozens.” There was a sharpness there, not aimed at him, but instead something she was letting him see. “I’m Welsh. Of an ordinary sort of family. No powerful patron easing things. My parents didn’t think I should be a nurse. I don’t have the right connections. I focused on a strand of healing that is rarely showy, but the kind that is slow and patient. The kind people think anyone can do, that doesn’t take skill. And here, they’ve funnelled me off, assuming I can’t do much else.” She grimaced, and then rubbed her head.

  He said, promptly. “Headache?” He certainly knew what that felt like.

  “They’ve been much better, here. But, the weather.” She gestured vaguely outside.

  “Is better that you have fewer of them, or that they are not as bad, or that you can hide them better?”

  She looked up sharply at that, then there was a hint of a smile. “All three. Let me get a little tea. Would you like some?”

  He didn’t want her to leave, but if she needed the tea, he wasn’t going to stop her. “If you’re getting some for yourself.” It would at least give him a chance to rearrange the blankets better, and get his thoughts in line. She nodded, and disappeared out the door.

  Roland took a deep breath, trying to understand why his body had picked now, of all bloody awful times, to react like he had at Schola. It was embarrassing, and likely insulting to her, as well. She took her work, her vocation, seriously, and here he was, thinking about her body. Not just her body. He found her mind, her thoughts, attractive, more than her body, but he kept getting flashes of her movements.