“Good morning,” Kal said as she descended the stairs. “I’m loving the pigtails on you, Clarity.”
“Can I have tea with my breakfast?” his niece asked, hopping down from his lap.
“Yes. I’ll put the kettle on,” Kal said.
“With three spoons of sugar,” Clarity negotiated.
“One.”
“Two?”
Merit smiled as the domestic sounds of his female starting their day washed over him.
Chapter Thirteen
Kalini
Organizing the kits took longer that morning than usual. Dare came downstairs with his hair still mussed. Clarity couldn’t seem to focus, and Kal had to keep prompting her to eat. She’d sit there, spoon in midair, with a blank expression. Dare didn’t eat much, either. He mixed in cream and fruit, pushed around the porridge in the bowl but only ate a few bites. Kal suspected that the milk went off, but she sniffed the carton. Still good.
After walking the kits to school, she stopped at the general store and farmer’s market. She got a week’s worth of groceries and fresh milk, just in case. Tal had more sensitive noses and taste buds than her. Maybe the milk had turned, but she couldn’t tell just yet.
On the walk back to the house, she spotted the mechanic and young guard from the Watchtower.
“Let me carry that for you,” the mechanic said.
“No really, don’t bother,” Kal started to say before the man took the bags out of her arms and handed them directly to the fresh-faced guard.
“I’m Ulmer, by the way. I don’t think the boss introduced us. And that’s Birn,” Ulmer said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, her ingrained politeness taking over.
“The boss was pretty worked up the other day,” Ulmer said in a casual tone. “You all right?”
Kal frowned. Why did the people who worked with Merit act like he was a violent psychopath? Sure, when he came back after the big storm, he had been worked up and couldn’t control his claws as carefully as he normally did, but that wasn’t any of their business. “Did Sigald put you up to this? Because I’m going to have words with that busybody.”
“Oh no, now you’ve made the boss’s mate upset. He’ll have our horns,” Birn said, voice pinched with worry.
“Sorry,” Ulmer said, quick to apologize. “We like the boss, and we like you. We really like how happy he’s been since you got here, which is why we don’t want to see him mess things up.”
His words mollified her indignation. “Just make him come home when his shift is over. He works too much.”
“The only thing that keeps the boss from working all day and night is the fact that he needs to sleep and eat,” Ulmer said. He glanced at Kal. “And you. We’ll send him home.”
“Thank you, Ulmer. And thank you, Birn, for your help.” They set the bags on the front steps before departing.
After putting the groceries away, she ran a load of laundry and hoovered the floors. Back on Earth, she never cleaned. Automatic robots did it for her. A panel opened in the wall, and a bot came out to do the floors. With a press of a button, the cleansing room would be sealed, and steam cleaned. At the end of the cycle, it sparkled.
She found cleaning by hand to be, well, oddly satisfying. She definitely didn’t want to do the washing every day or spend hours on her knees scouring the kitchen floors, but she felt gratified to see a clean room at the end of her labors. It also helped that Dare liked to help her cook and Clarity did the washing up without being prompted. They were good kits. Kids. Whatever.
Chores done, she sat down with Merit’s spreadsheets. They were, to put it politely, a hot mess.
She checked and double checked just to make sure she knew what she was looking at. How any operation could function with such shoddy record keeping, she had no idea. Well, some idea. Those types of outfits just didn’t survive long in a business environment. She had entries for supply requests, deliveries, and use. Some equipment was issued directly to the individual, some to the Watchtower as a whole to be used as needed. None of the columns tallied with each other. The number of supplies used did not agree with what had been ordered and definitely not with what had been sent.
More alarming was how certain items were frequently requested.
She flagged those items to discuss with Merit later and wondered if he actually paid someone a salary to make such a mess of the inventory. Maybe he did it himself, which would explain a few things. He excelled in certain areas, but clearly, paperwork wasn’t one of them. Not to worry. She thrived filling out forms and completing spreadsheets. It appealed to the part of her brain that craved order.
She’d also need to take a look at the ordering process. Did they even have a standard operating procedure or was it all haphazard? Judging by the mess, haphazard.
A call came from the school at noon. Dare and Clarity were ill. Kal brought them home and sent them to bed. Flush from a fever, they shivered.
“Can I have a blanket?” Dare asked. He curled up on his side, clutching the sheet.
Kal pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. Her instinct urged her to give him a fever-reducing medicine, much like a pill she would take if she were ill, but she didn’t know if her Earth pills would be safe. She needed to rummage through the cabinets and see if Merit kept anything in stock. He must. He had the pain-relieving ointment, so he must have a bottle of something. Of course, she’d been to be able to recognize the label. Until then, she knew that cool damp cloth was safe.
One problem at a time.
“Not right now, sweetie. Do you want a drink?”
He shook his head.
“I want a drink,” Clarity said from across the room. She had kicked the bed sheet to the floor. Kal picked up the sheet on her way out. When she returned with another damp cloth and a glass of water, Clarity had fallen into a fitful sleep.
While they slept, Kal searched through all the cabinets in the kitchen and cleansing rooms, pulling any bottle that looked promising. She tried to search the kits’ symptoms and safe medication, hoping to match labels with a photo, but the network connection positively crawled. She briefly thought about running to the general store but didn’t want to leave the kits alone. She’d have to wait until Merit came home and that could be hours yet. She sent him a brief message and asked him to come home as soon as possible.
She waited, fingers drumming the table.
She made tea for herself. The kits woke, coughing heavily, and sinuses full of mucus. She made them tea with lemon and honey because that’s what her mum did when she felt ill. As their stomachs did not hurt, she felt confident giving them fluids and crackers. Uninterested in food, she had to cajole them to eat a few bites, just to keep their strength up.
They sat in the front room, wrapped in their sheets and cradling cups of tea, as a film played. They didn’t really watch, instead simply sitting there in a haze, being miserable together on the sofa.
Using a thermometer, she checked their temperatures. She had enough of the Tal alphabet to read the numbers, and the digits seemed high. With a sinking feeling, Kal realized that she had no idea what would be considered a fever for a Tal. Merit always felt warm to her, but it was also summer, and everyone felt warm. She considered asking Dare to read the pill bottle labels and tell her which one acted as a fever reducer, but she had no idea what to do about dosage.
She needed professional help.
Kal called the medical clinic at the Watchtower. “Sorry to be a bother,” she started.
“For the boss? Yes. You? Never,” the male who answered said brightly. “How can I help?”
Kal described the kits symptoms, the bottles she found and sent accompanying photos of the labels.
“We’ll send a doctor around soon,” the male said.
“Oh, please don’t go to any bother. Just tell me what’s safe to give them and the amounts.”
“No can do. The boss will kill me if he finds out we didn’t make a house c
all.”
“Please don’t go out of your way. You must be swamped,” Kal said, mortified at creating a fuss.
“We are. Honestly, it’ll be nice to get a bit of fresh air and take a break. I’ll send the doctor around.”
“Thank you,” she said, realizing that she couldn’t talk the male out of a house call.
Within an hour, a knock sounded at the door.
“Belith! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t let you in. The kits are ill. They may be contagious,” she said, blocking the door.
“I expect they are,” Belith said, pushing past Kal. “Half the school and their families are ill.” She set a bag down and crouched on the floor near Dare to take his temperature. Kal finally noticed the Belith wore a white coat.
“Are you a nurse?”
“Doctor, actually.” She frowned at the readout on the thermometer.
“They both have fevers, but I don’t know what’s considered too high,” Kal said. “It’s too high, isn’t it?”
Belith ignored her. “Now, take a deep breath for me,” she told Dare, listening to his chest.
Kal had a dozen questions but kept her mouth shut as Belith worked. She picked up discarded tissues and took the empty mugs into the kitchen to be washed. She had no clue that Belith was a doctor, but the woman had never spoken about her life before. Kal had assumed it had been generally unsatisfying, like her own life on Earth had been. Some friend she turned out to be, not even asking basic questions.
Fifteen minutes later, both kits were back in bed. They were too tired to protest.
Belith sat her bag down on the kitchen table with a sigh.
“Tea?” Kal asked, kettle already on.
“Please.” She took out a bottle of ruby red syrup from the bag. “First, Merit wanted me to inform you that he is on his way home. He was at the mine, and the communicators do not work well underground.”
“Thank you.” That knowledge helped to ease a fair bit of her tension. Merit had not been ignoring her or dead on the ground–because those were the two options her mind supplied–but out of range for her phone.
“The good news is that the kits have a common virus. They are otherwise healthy, and their bodies will clear it in a few days. I gave them a fever reducer and one spoonful of this,” Belith shook the bottle of red syrup, “will help them sleep. The bad news is that they will be congested, produce mucus, cough, and generally be miserable for two or three days.”
“Sounds like a common cold.” She could handle a cold.
“The fever should break by morning. Rest. Fluids. Try to make them eat a little, but they will not want to eat.” She picked through the collection of pill bottles on the table.
“I’ve been learning to read Tal, but all those are in Corravian,” Kal admitted.
“This is a fever reducer,” Belith said, pushing forward a bottle with a purple label. “Two pills for adults, every six hours. One for the kits. This one is a decongestant. One every twelve hours. Nothing else here will help.” She explained what each medication did. Kal grabbed a marker and wrote on the bottles.
With that done, Kal served the tea and a small plate of biscuits and finger sandwiches. Her mum would be proud.
“So, you’re a doctor,” Kal said.
“I am,” Belith said with authority. She nibbled at the biscuit and made a face as if it were too sweet before reaching for a finger sandwich. “I was hired on at the Watchtower’s medical clinic. Until Sigald puts a child in me, I’d rather work.”
Kal grinned at Belith’s bluntness. “Trying to get knocked up?”
“Every chance I get. My mate has a beautiful cock.”
Kal smirked and stared down into her mug.
“Don’t be shy. I’m sure Merit’s is very nice, too.”
Kal coughed, choking on her tea. “So, if you’re a doctor, why did you—” Kal stopped herself from finishing that thought. “Sorry to pry. It’s none of my business.”
“Marry a male I’ve never met before?” Belith dismissed Kal’s worry with a wave. “My parents are bothersome. I am a grown female, and they insist on controlling every aspect of my life, that is why.”
“But being a mail-order bride is a bit extreme to get away from meddling parents.” She’d love it if her parents were still around to meddle. Would give anything for that, in fact.
“From a young age, I decided that I would leave. At first, I joined the military to escape.”
“Wait, you were a soldier?” Kal set down her mug. Belith had layers—surprising layers.
“A medic. That is where I learned my trade,” Belith said. “But the military was not for me. When my tour ended, I thought that moving to a distant city and setting up my practice there would keep my parents at bay, but no. I will always be their little girl.”
Kal had a hard time imagining Belith as a little girl. “How old are you?”
Belith checked a device. “Forty-two in your human years.”
“Wow, you’re older than me by a decade,” Kal said without thinking.
“Meaning?”
Kal almost stumbled out a bland “you look great” but recognized that as disingenuous and insulting to Belith’s Fremmian sensibilities. “Meaning I’m ashamed of myself for never learning about you. You’re my only friend here, and I know nothing. I’m a heel.”
“You’re only human,” Belith said, a smirk tugging at her lips.
“How long have you been waiting to say that?”
“Days! And I got to say it before Sigald! He will be very jealous.” She raised her hands in triumph and pride shone on her face.
“Don’t act so smug. I’m sure your parents would love to come and visit, especially if they knew they had a grandbaby on the way,” Kal said.
“I am not with child,” Belith said.
“I’m not above lying,” Kal replied.
“You play unfairly.”
“Dirty cricket, as my dad would say.”
Merit arrived home, looking pale and waxy. In a heartbeat, Belith forced two pills down his throat and put him on the sofa. “Stupid male. Rest now.”
“I can’t. There’s too much to do,” he said, already covered with a throw blanket.
“Rest, or I will give you something to make you sleep.”
His ears went flat. “Isn’t that against your oath?”
“Sparing my stubborn boss from a prolonged illness? Yes, my insubordination is scandalous. My medical license will be revoked if the elders learn of this,” Belith replied, ignoring his concerns completely. “This one will also need two or three days to recover, but he will insist he is better in the morning when he is not, thus extending his ills by a week or more,” she told Kal.
“Keep him in bed, even if he’s a baby about it. Understood.”
“I’m right here,” Merit muttered.
A thought struck Kal. “Why am I not ill? I’ve spent more time with the kits and had more exposure.”
“The same reason why I’m not ill. We received inoculations before we arrived,” Belith answered. “Thank you for the respite. The clinic is understaffed, and I should return.”
Kal would hardly call making a home visit a “respite,” but she didn’t argue.
Merit was already off the sofa the moment the door closed behind Belith.
“Oh no. You heard the doctor. You have to rest,” Kal fussed.
“She’s not my doctor. She’s my employee.” He swayed on his feet, exhausted and ill.
The next few days would feel like an eternity.
Merit
“You shouldn’t be up,” Kal said from the kitchen, the moment his foot touched the top step.
Merit frowned. How did she know?
“I know everything, mister,” she said.
He felt fine. Not amazing but fine. Okay, that was not entirely truthful. He felt adequate, which was good enough for him, a grown male, to get out of his own bed if he felt like it.
His mistake had been sharing his feelings of adequateness with his m
ate. He vowed never to withhold information or mislead her, and foolishly thought to demonstrate his willingness to uphold this vow by honestly reporting on the tolerable state of his health. She, of course, insisted that he had to remain in bed and rest.
Rest. As if he didn’t have a dozen problems requiring his attention.
“And stop sulking,” she said.
“I am not sulking. I am bored.” The first two days he slept as the virus wreaked havoc in his body. Now, on the third day, he no longer had a fever, had more than enough sleep to stay awake for days, but lacked the ability to concentrate. The kits were happy to watch a program or film, even if they’d seen it a dozen times. The bright lights and harsh sounds hurt his head, so he fled to the bedroom. He lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling as the sun moved across the room, before he’d had enough.
Kal stood at the foot of the steps, arms folded and holding a wooden spoon. “Then come keep me company.”
“You are making the chicken soup?”
“It’s good when you’re ill. A bona fide Earth remedy,” she said.
He followed her into the kitchen, sitting immediately at the table. He refused to admit that his lungs hurt from simply walking down steps.
A pot bubbled away on the cooking surface, filling the kitchen with a rich, fatty, and salty aroma. He could not verify the effectiveness of the remedy, but the soup held the honor of being one of the few things he could taste. Tal taste receptors were tied to the olfactory senses. If he could not smell, he could not taste and currently he had a head full of snot.
“You want a bowl?” Kal did not wait for his answer but immediately pulled out a dish from the cabinet.
“A small one,” he admitted. He took a spoonful, letting the salt sit on his tongue. “It’s good.”
“Dare liked it, too, but I just think he was happy to be able to taste.”
“He likes whatever you make,” he said. Dare had shown interest in cooking before, but Amity had difficulty sharing the kitchen. Kal was far more patient and let the kit help with simple tasks. “He doesn’t get in the way, does he?”
Have Tail, Will Travel Page 16
