by A. F. Dery
More oddly still, he was often missing his shirt. Sometimes he wore it, sometimes he didn’t, and she could make no sense of how he decided when to don it. It appeared to be a quirk that had no relationship with the temperature of the room or time of day, though as far as she could tell, it was always dark outside.
I wonder how long he’s been alone here. Going by the unkempt condition of both the room she was in and the man who lived there, it had to have been a while. Does he prefer being alone? Why is he here all by himself?
She had no idea what he did or where he went when she was asleep, which was often. For all she knew, he just sat there, but since the meat and medicine kept coming, she assumed he had to leave at some point to prepare both of those things.
The wolf, on the other hand, came and went with far more frequency. He usually came in and out whenever she was awake and Hadrian was there, and she assumed he probably did the same thing when she was sleeping. He would lay dozing by the fire, or sit in the corner as he had when she’d first noticed him, by all appearances watching the two people in the room. He made no threatening overtures of any kind, and if Hadrian was to be believed, the wolf was the one who was bringing back fresh meat at regular intervals.
“He must be someone’s pet,” she said at last to Hadrian. He actually jumped a little in his chair when she spoke, and she realized it had been some time since either of them had last said anything. The silence, strangely enough, wasn’t an uncomfortable one. He no doubt was accustomed to it, living alone as he did, and Grace was not used to speaking or being spoken to, despite living with many people.
She was starting by this time to be awake more and more often, perhaps related to the fact that Hadrian was bringing the medicine less frequently, whether due to dwindling supply or because he judged her to be improving, she couldn’t say. Despite the longer stretches between doses, she felt much improved. The coughing was definitely better, and she was no longer feverish.
“I know he’s not a dog,” she continued after an awkward pause in which Hadrian said nothing. “But someone must have tamed him and taught him to bring back his prey, don’t you think?”
“I suppose it’s possible. It certainly doesn’t act like a feral creature,” Hadrian said grudgingly. “Is it in here now?”
“Yes, by the fire,” Grace told him. The wolf appeared to be sleeping.
“I think we’re safe with it for now,” he said in a distant way, almost as if he were speaking to himself again.
“You think he could turn on us?” Grace looked back at the wolf with mild alarm, her eyes going wide. He seemed harmless enough.
“I think we don’t really understand what’s going on, so there’s no way of knowing,” Hadrian replied.
They lapsed back into silence for a while, then Hadrian stood and made his way over to her bedside.
There had been an old man in her village who had gone blind towards the end of his life. Grace used to take him bread once a week, when she was a child, as all his neighbors did on different days. She clearly remembered that he moved as easily and naturally about his home as if he still had the use of his eyes; one who didn’t know he was blind would not have been able to tell, in Grace’s opinion, if they only saw him in his home.
It was not like that for Hadrian. He moved with obvious difficulty, and though he never made a sound when he did it, she knew for a fact that he often tripped and walked into things. He acted as though he only barely knew where anything was, when by the appearance of the room, he had to have lived here quite awhile. He himself had said he’d been here for five winters. Like so much about her present situation, it made little sense to her. She began to wonder just how long it had been since he’d lost his sight.
Hadrian’s hand grazed her forehead. She was accustomed to it now and would move to make sure he reached his target.
“You are doing much better,” he said. “I think the danger has passed. You should be able to get up and move about soon. We’ll let the medicine wear off completely and see how you fare.”
“I’d like that,” Grace said sincerely. The bed was not comfortable, the blankets were moth eaten and smelled of sweat that wasn’t hers. Though hers wasn’t smelling so wonderful these days either. She was painfully aware that she was wearing what was clearly a shirt belonging to Hadrian, and nothing else, and that using a chamber pot in a bed was a hit or miss experience even when your only assistance wasn’t a blind man. She looked forward more than she could say to cleaning up.
“I’d like it too, you’re less likely to break your neck on those stairs than I am, once you’re well,” Hadrian said dryly.
“I haven’t seen anything else in here, where do the stairs go?”
“Oh,” his glassy eyes widened. “You probably don’t know, do you? We’re in a tower. This room is one of several along the top- they go in a sort of ring, you see- and there’s a staircase going to the ground floor. There is another ring of rooms there, but the only one I use down there is the kitchen.” Suddenly he paused. “You know, now that I think about it, it’s probably best if you don’t go down there. I’m not really sure…well, the kitchen, it might not be the safest place. If you did go down, I should go with you. Just, you’ll have to stand well out of my way in case I need to hit something.”
Grace stared at him incredulously. “What could you possibly need to hit in the kitchen?”
“Mice. Or rats. I actually don’t know which it is. I can hear them, of course, but I’ve never learned the difference between them, or touched one directly, thankfully,” he told her serenely. “Of course, I don’t know for sure there’s nothing else nesting in there, particularly now that winter has begun. There’s a door that leads out of there to what was supposed to be a garden- all overgrown now, of course, and snowed under besides. But it never latched too well, and when it gets cold…well.” He said no more, leaving the possibilities to her imagination.
“I could fix the latch for you,” Grace said after a moment of contemplation. “Depending on what’s in there…well, I’ve never killed anything bigger or more vicious than a sheep. So that could be a problem. Maybe the wolf could?”
“Think we ought to ask him?” Hadrian actually smiled, and she was a little shocked at how such a simple gesture changed his face. He was still pale, gaunt, and sloppily bearded, but there was such a warmth there now, a gentleness. She only just stopped herself from reaching out to touch his cheek, then was aghast at herself for even being tempted to do such a thing to a strange man, her face warming rapidly.
“I will,” she volunteered before she could be seized by any more strange impulses. “Once I can go downstairs.”
“I have to say, you’re taking this rather well. I thought you’d be…upset. These are poor accommodations even by farm girl standards.” Hadrian fumbled with the hem of his (notably present) shirt.
“It takes a little more than rats in the kitchen to upset me,” Grace told him, smiling herself. But the smile quickly faded when she thought of what it did take. A warlord holding up a hand, a wolf howling in the snow…
She felt a hand clumsily grip her shoulder and she looked up quickly. Hadrian was frowning, obviously trying to focus his eyes on her without success.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. As if mysteriously able to read her astonished expression, he added, “You’re crying again.”
Grace brought her hands to her face and found it wet. She swiped an arm over her eyes impatiently. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking of what does upset me. It’s stupid.”
“You’re still recovering, that’s all,” Hadrian said reassuringly, awkwardly taking his hand away. He turned his face away and shuffled back some distance from the bed, looking, she thought, somewhat embarrassed.
She watched him a moment, grateful when she realized he wasn’t going to press her any further than that. She cleared her throat.
“When will I be able to get up?” she asked.
“Tomorrow morning, if your fever doesn’t return.
You’ll have to take it slowly at first, mind. It will do no good to rush it and end up right back where you started.” Hadrian appeared to be returning to his chair.
“H-how long…have I been-”
Hadrian paused in mid stride, visibly tensing. “Almost three weeks, as near as I can tell,” he said curtly. “Maybe closer to a month.” Something in his expression had turned to stone.
Grace frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it had been so long…”
“Compared to the rest of winter, it wasn’t long. Stop being sorry. Perhaps you should try to take a nap,” Hadrian walked past the chair and left the room, clumsily pulling the door closed behind him.
Grace stared after him, biting her lip. “What did I say?” she wondered aloud after a moment.
The sleeping wolf offered no advice. She laid back against the pillow, sighing to herself. I’ll make all this up to him. I can help him, at least until the weather clears enough for me to go home. If there’s any home left to go to.
She closed her eyes and tried futilely to sleep.
Hadrian felt like his head was spinning. In just a few hours, his “guest” would be up and about for the first time since she’d arrived. She seemed to be taking the things he had told her about their circumstances in stride, but he couldn’t explain why he felt like she’d knifed him in the chest when she’d asked how long she’d been there. It had been a perfectly reasonable question.
“Understandably, she’s in a hurry to leave, to get back to her life,” he muttered to himself as he entered his workroom. “Whatever has been upsetting her, she’ll want to sort it out, I’m sure.” He did not even allow himself to speculate on what that might be. He felt sorry for her- clearly she knew some kind of burden- but he knew from his own experience that there might well be no guessing at what it could be, so why bother.
Already it pricked painfully at him, the thought that of course, she would go back. She couldn’t very well stay here. It was ridiculous that he’d feel anything but relief at the thought. And he had something to do, something important, that he could not do in good conscience while she remained. He would not add that to her burden.
But Hadrian had grown used to her being there. Just three short weeks or so out of a winter that typically isolated him completely from the rest of the world for four months out of the year, and already, he was used to her presence, almost counting on it. He felt sickened by his own frailty. He had been sure in the beginning, once he’d gotten over the initial fear that she would die in his care, that having someone else around would quickly grow tiresome and frustrating, to say the least; he was accustomed to being alone now, and he was a man easily irritated under the best of circumstances.
But Grace hadn’t managed to tire or frustrate him, beyond that first conversation about her supposed “indebtedness.” She seemed just fine saying and hearing nothing for days at a time, made no complaints or unreasonable demands, and simply shut up when she had nothing left to say. She didn’t acknowledge his…quirks…though he was sure she had noticed them by now. She was easy to be around, easier than anyone had any right to be when it came to someone like him. She seemed neither afraid nor suspicious, or if she was, he could not tell. Perhaps the simple act of not throwing her back out in the snow had won her trust. And perhaps most bizarrely of all, she demonstrated concern about him. He’d been shocked when she’d worried over eating his food, and even more shocked when she worried about whether he was eating his food. Why it would even occur to her to worry about such a thing was beyond him. Surely she had some sense of self preservation. Even animals had that.
She had said nothing more of owing anything after the first time, though the worry still niggled at him that she might be imagining all sorts of rubbish she wasn’t sharing.
No, he was able to lay that worry aside and just be present, with another person, who didn’t make him want to chew his own ears off, were such a thing physically possible. It was disturbing how readily he took to this situation, how comforting he found it now just sitting in the same room with her, listening to her breathe. It felt wrong somehow, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from being around her unnecessarily, and her lack of objection seemed to make it more palatable somehow.
But once she is moving around again, no longer confined to a bed…how often will she tolerate you then? A small voice tormented him in the back of his head. She seemed comfortable enough with her own company, she’d hardly need his. Hell, he hardly needed hers, and yet…
“This is stupid,” he muttered. He was being ridiculous. If the wolf wandered off and didn’t come back, they’d likely starve to death before mid-winter, and here he was, fretting that Grace would lock herself away in another room, leaving him alone again…something he would be, and should be, just fine with. He was used to it. He preferred it. He deserved it.
He kept telling himself things in a similar vein until he dozed off. He never slept long, just as he never ate much. Day and night, it was all the same to him. He’d told her that she could get up the following morning, but he had no idea when that would be. It just sounded better to say that than “in a few hours.” Since he’d lost most of his sight, he could only tell the passage of time by unreliable things- how long it took a fire to burn out, how long it took the meat to cook so that it was no longer raw when he bit it, how long before he felt thirst, or was forced to drink, and so on.
When he woke, he went to get her something to eat, uneasily aware that it was just an excuse to check on her without losing face: see, I have a legitimate and necessary reason to be here after leaving so abruptly the last time. It’s not because I want to be here, you understand. I would be an irresponsible host to leave you to starve while there is still food.
The wolf had brought him another offering, a rather small boar by the feel of it, and its preparation took sufficient time that he felt wholly justified in returning by the time he managed to do so.
He entered the room as he always did, silently, pretending for all he was worth that he hadn’t snapped at her the last time he’d been there. He went to her bedside and offered her the plate of food wordlessly.
After a moment she accepted it from him, also saying nothing. The silence stretched on. He heard her chewing and swallowing after a short while. He knew he should go back to his chair until she’d finished, but for some reason, he couldn’t seem to force himself to move away, even though it felt awkward to just stand there while she ate, looking at literally nothing.
He heard her set the plate down on the bedside table and started to reach for it when he felt her hand fasten on his arm. He stiffened, fighting the impulse to jerk away.
“I don’t know how I managed to anger you, and I won’t risk worsening matters by making guesses, but whatever it was I did, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He opened his mouth at once to protest, but she hurriedly added, “I know you said to stop being sorry, or maybe you just meant to stop apologizing, but either way…I needed to say it, even if you don’t need to hear it.”
Though she was no longer fevered, her fingers still felt very warm, he thought absently. Or maybe he was just cold.
“You’ve helped me, and I want to help you now,” her words tumbled out rapidly now, perhaps encouraged by his failure to pull away. “You said I won’t be able to leave until spring anyway, so it’s not like I won’t have time. And I like to keep busy. I hope to get back on my feet and heroically clear the kitchen of rats.”
He would have stared at her incredulously had he been capable of it. Instead he had to satisfy himself with tipping his head to the side and pouring his incredulity into his voice. “Heroically slay them, will you?”
“It will be a mighty battle,” she said simply. There wasn’t a single trace of humor in her voice, and he was straining to hear some.
“What do you think you’re going to slay them with?” he wanted to know. He had an odd, almost dizzy feeling, a sort of remote knowledge that the fever may have irreparably damaged her brain and it w
as perhaps not well done of him to engage her in this way, yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. He just had to know how this feat of heroism was going to play out, stranded farm girl versus untold number of rats.
“I don’t suppose you have a pole-ax?” she asked hopefully.
“A…pole- you mean, you’ve codged animals with a pole-ax before?”
“I thought I told you my father keeps sheep?”
“Rats are rather unlike sheep, don’t you think? And what if they’re mice?” His voice was rising against his will.
He could almost hear the shrug in her voice. “Rats have heads, I guess they might be quicker than sheep but I suspect I’ll have a good number to practice on. Does that mean you do have a pole-ax?”
“Absolutely not, what would I ever do with a pole-ax?”
“I don’t know what you do,” Grace pointed out. “I’ve been assuming you’re some sort of hermit, but really, I have no idea.”
“A hermit?” Hadrian nearly spluttered. He couldn’t remember the last time he had prayed. He wasn’t entirely certain he had ever prayed, now that he thought about it.
“You’re not then?” she sounded surprised. “Why else would you be living in a tower alone like this?”
Hadrian felt like he’d been doused with ice water. Stonily, he removed her hand from his arm with his free hand and took the largest step backward that he dared. “That is none of your concern,” he said coldly. His voice was firm, but he could feel his hands trembling at his sides. “My business is my own, and I will remind you that I did not invite you here.”
“I-I didn’t mean to intrude,” Grace said in a small voice. “I didn’t exactly ask to be invited. Or brought.”
He stood very silently, trying to calm himself. She doesn’t know anything, she’s innocent. I can’t blame her for saying innocent things. It’s only natural she would be curious. I have to tell her something or she might be tempted to go looking for her own answers one day. There’s no reason she has to know.
