by P. S. Power
She glanced around then, and noted the armor laid on his table.
“You make ready for battle?”
He nodded.
“I’m trying to learn how to make my own armor. It’s incredibly expensive, for some reason. I have some linen for the gambeson coming, I think. Princess Peri asked what I desired, as payment for my work this morning. I’m probably over-charging her.”
His mother shook her head then.
“I think not. I’m surprised she didn’t offer herself in the bargain. I know that I did, with Master Franken. There is no cure for the red fever, Anders. Half with it simply die. If you can save them, then that alone is... Well, I imagine that will keep you very busy, if you are willing to give aid to others, using your skills.”
He snorted. Then felt his face warm, blushing.
“I think she did. Hint that she was on offer. I told her that she was most comely, but that I couldn’t risk her husband thrashing me.” He shrugged. “I can only hope she didn’t take offense at it. She is very pretty.” It was hard to explain to his own mother that he was, in some ways, afraid of that kind of thing.
Worried over failure, rather than anything truly terrorizing, but it was enough to cause him to be hesitant where even Anders, the boy inside of him, would not have been.
There was a smile then and a wave at him.
“That is a good enough reason, truly. I’m certain she won’t take offense at it, if you spoke as you did just now. It might be best for you not to seek there, for some time. You are, I think, a bit too involved with the highest here, suddenly. Not that you have a choice, but going carefully is important.”
That, he knew, was a real enough thing. He simply didn't see how he could do anything except what he was, currently.
Chapter three
Mathia was still doing well when Anders went in to check on her. At least as far as her brain not swelling and her fever staying down to a reasonable temperature. Her breathing was still labored and her skin splotchy and red. That last part was going to have to stay, since he hadn’t worked out how to correct for that portion of things at all.
Twisting his face, due to the lack, he spoke softly.
“Broha-ludu-fen ot ban.” The words were nearly whispered, but they took focus in the magical portion of things. They were new phrases, after all. Broha was very specific, since it was meant to simply reduce swelling of the tissues of the lungs.
Ludu was his new word for lungs, though that included the entire breathing system. Not the nose, specifically, but the girl wasn’t suffering in that fashion, so it wasn’t needed at the moment. He could feel the energy moving, as a soft tingle. Nothing seemed to happen for nearly half a moment, then the young woman in front of him, one who was several years Anders’ senior, gasped.
It sounded clear. Helpfully she sucked in several deep breaths then, each one clearing more than the last. After ten of these, she giggled.
“Oh, my! That is so much nicer. It didn’t even taste too strongly of week-old stockings.” There was a smile then, for the herb woman, Mistress Colm.
Rather than seem upset by the castigation, the lady laughed herself.
“The flavor means it’s working, Princess Mathia. Everyone knows that.” She spoke in good humor though, and moved in to listen to the girl’s chest, pressing her ear against her. “That, is nearly perfect breathing. How long will this effect last?” She glanced at him, looking down a few inches to do so.
“A week. I’m tied to you, Mathia, for that time, running three spells, constantly. So, if I die in that time frame, don’t turn down the breathing potion. Stocking flavored or not. Really, Mistress Colm, do you have any invigorating tonics that she can safely have? Like I mentioned earlier, you’re still sick. Anything we can do to build you up will be to the good.” He mainly addressed the girl in the bed, who dimpled at him rather sweetly.
“I know. Mother was practically scolding me earlier for standing and walking around the room. This lying in bed for days is making my back and limbs ache.” She frowned a bit then, as if it were a real problem.
It wasn’t, compared to dying. Even a fever delirium was worse than stiff limbs.
“That should be fine. The point is to stop the spread of the illness, if possible. Walking gently, in your chambers here, won’t be an issue. Don’t push too hard, though. Stretch as you will and sitting at a desk or doing some reading or writing should be allowable.”
Mistress Colm hmphed at him and crossed her arms.
“After I told her that she needed to stay abed for best health? Are you trying to make me look like I don’t know what I’m doing, Master Brolly?” She didn’t seem to be legitimately upset, even if the words could mean that.
“Not at all. In general, that’s the best plan. Still, once the major risks have been removed, we probably won’t be able to demand a total lack of action. Not and make it stick. So, I’m offering a few things to pass the time that won’t tax her too much. That’s clever of me, don’t you think?” He glanced at the Princess then and dared a wink. The kind that, he hoped, spoke of him being playful, rather than attempting to woo her.
The girl giggled again, and covered her mouth with a hand. There was no cough from it, however, which was a good sign. She was still going to need to be watched.
“Ah. Good then. I can read a bit. I’ve no one to write to, at present. Though I suppose I could send a letter to Aunt Matilde? She and I haven’t spoken in ages. That’s poor form on my portion, being that she’s my favorite.” There was a conspiratorial look around then, as if there were watchers in the walls. There weren’t, naturally, the things being of heavy stone. “Don’t mention that to my other aunts, of course.”
He simply nodded. After all, that could cause problems. Plus, he didn’t know any of those, no doubt esteemed, ladies. At least he didn’t think he did. That there were connections that Anders the boy had never made that way was obvious. It came, he had to think, from a combination of factors. One of which being that his own mother was too used to being a spy, it seemed.
At least he knew now who she was working for. For some reason, before that day, he’d assumed she was doing so for the King. That her own father had her off, having relations with both men and women in order to gain him bits of information made him slightly angry for a moment.
Oddly, it was the old historian inside that bristled at the idea. Anders the boy wasn’t pleased with the idea, but understood it as being what was needed. Then, the child hadn’t lived in a normal situation for his entire life. Farad had grown up on a farm, before moving on to becoming a monastic historian. A keeper of time’s story.
An occupation that didn’t seem to exist any longer. At least not in the land that he’d found himself upon awakening, after his death.
“I’m certain that both myself and Mistress Colm will keep your confidence on the matter. Now, since I don’t know any card games, I should be off. I have to try and make some cloth armor. At least if I can get the materials to work with.”
The Princess nodded.
“I didn’t know you could sew. We should get together and do some embroidery, sometime.” She didn’t so much as let a lip curl upward at the words, even if it implied he was a bit girly in his manners or customs.
Anders the boy bristled on that one, as if she were saying he was a girl.
Farad simply laughed. It was a bit menacing, really.
“I can darn stockings and place patches that way. Nothing too fine. I have to use magic for the greater feats of sewing, I fear. It’s faster, but I still have to do it correctly or else it will be a mess.”
There was a nod of understanding then, from both women. The herb woman moved back though, withdrawing, so that they could speak. It was what ladies did when a suitor came to visit. The girl was his cousin however, so he wasn’t going to press in there, himself.
She nodded.
“I could do some needle work in bed? Or is that too strenuous?” She seemed to mean it, so he answered hones
tly.
“That’s fine. Just don’t stab yourself too often.”
The words were taken as a jest, even if he wasn’t certain as to why. Still, he smiled about it and using first courtly, he bowed himself out of the room. Walking backward, bent over. In the hallway he nearly ran into Princess Peri, who seemed happier than she had been earlier in the day.
“Is she well?”
Part of him wanted to start out with the fact that the girl was still sick, but instead he nodded.
“Her breathing is being eased, as well as the fever and swelling of the brain. She’s still covered in rash. At least her face is. She can get up to sit or read, or do some needle work. Other simple tasks that don’t make her breathe too hard or leave her rooms. She should have Mistress Colm with her, if she can stay regularly. I can come and visit her, but the truth is I’m rather boring, I fear.”
That last, the part about visiting, was much outside what he would have ever thought to do. They weren’t friends, Mathia and himself, so he needed to go carefully that way. It would be too simple for things to be taken the wrong way.
“Really, we should get some others to come and visit, if they’re safe from the red fever. She has to be feeling almost well, at the moment, which means that boredom will set in.”
The woman looked down at him and frowned a bit.
“I have no one for that task. Do you, Master Brolly?”
“Not even one, off the top of my head. Still, someone will be around. I mean the servants come down with such things, from time to time.” That probably wouldn’t make for a proper companion for the young woman though. Still, a servant who could come and go might be welcome.
Peri nodded then.
“They do. I know that some ten of them are down with this latest occurrence of the disease. We’ll probably lose half of them, which is a shame. Two of them are children.” She seemed upset by the idea.
She also didn’t even hint that he, personally, should see to doing anything about it.
He nodded.
“I understand. I...” He felt annoyed at the moment, which seemed to show on his face, then he worked out what was needed. “I’ll see to them. Thank you.”
It was going to take away from his time and energy, doing spells for eleven people like that. Still, he wasn’t going to let them die, if he could help it.
The woman gave him a grave look then and teared up. Crying for some reason.
“That is... They cannot afford to pay you.” She stood straighter then. “I’ll do it, then.”
There was a big inhalation then, as if she were setting for a hard task.
Anders just smiled at her and waved his hand a bit.
“I shouldn’t need that much linen. I still like that idea, though. We can tell them that you’re making sure they’re taken care of. I... Well, soonest done, no? Can you find someone to lead me to them?”
He could ask around, but the words simply came out, since it might be important for him to hurry along. Leaving people to suffer wasn’t a good thing. He hadn’t even heard that anyone was feeling poorly. Then, he wouldn’t. Most of the servants didn’t really speak to him, unless he talked to them first. The one he was closest to was Daren Willet. The man hadn’t stopped to gossip with him at all. Ever, now that he thought about it. Like many there, he had an entire life that Anders wasn’t aware of.
The Princess, the future Queen, straightened herself.
“Right. We need to invade the help’s quarters. Come then, Master Brolly. We’ll go directly.”
Not that the woman didn’t have to do her own asking as to where the people feeling poorly were. The big difference was, Anders felt certain, that if he asked to be taken to the ill people, someone would have politely demurred and claimed not to know of such a person in their ranks.
With a helpful noble woman in tow, the very first cleaning maid they saw led them to the correct place at once. All of the ill had been put in adjoining rooms, so that a few bodies could care for them, leaving more people to do their daily tasks. It was the matronly Wedra who roughly curtsied at them, when they were left at the correct section of rooms.
“Your pardon, Princess, what may a body do for you this day?”
The woman, seeming decently regal, which she hadn’t bothered doing with him earlier, stood a bit straighter.
“Master Brolly has aided Princess Mathia, who has fallen in the night to the red fever. She is all but healed now. Needing rest, but no longer gasping and on fire as she was. I’ve begged our man here to see to those servants who have fallen, as well. He’s agreed, being of kind heart. Would you take us to them? Rather, take him? I don’t want to catch this fever, not having had it before.”
The older woman looked concerned.
“Anders is going to heal them? I...” She glanced away, then looked back at him. He was small, though larger than any serving boy his age would have been by nearly seven inches. His clothing suddenly seemed rich, compared to what it was.
There were also rumors of him using magic. A thing that the lady had seen for herself, at least once in the last weeks.
So he nodded.
“It’s all right Wedra. I know, it’s magic, but it’s also me doing it. One of your own people.”
The words worked well enough, if not perfectly. She nodded though. Then, not saying a word, she led him to the nearest room. Four adult men were inside of it. All of them familiar. Known to him by name, in fact. He moved to Old George first.
“Sowln- ere ot neg- fen ot ban.” He moved his hand around the other man’s head, touching the bald skin and gray hair there gently. Then without waiting, he handled the fever.
“Ferven- ere ot neg- fen ot ban.”
This time he added the breathing portion as well, then, not waiting, moved to Greg, who was in the next bed. By the time the first men started to rouse, a minute later, he was through all of them.
Old George tried to stand.
“This...” He coughed once, then sucked in a full breath of air. Spitting a large amount into a cloth he grabbed from the bedside. Then, a bit disgustingly, he needed to do that for another few rounds, then he smiled.
“I feel... Nearly well again. This is...” Two of the other men did similar things, clearly having been further along in their illness than Mathia was.
The last man, who was Jeld, one of the servants who regularly saw to the low hall, looked at him.
“Magic?” He seemed worried over it. Before he could speak, Wedra did it for him. She sounded slightly scolding about it. As if he was being ridiculous.
“Certainly, it’s magic! It’s just young Anders here, though. One of us. Now, what instructions do you have for these lay abouts, Anders?” From her tone she seemed to expect him to order them straight to work.
“Rest. Drink water. As much as you can hold. Eat if you can, but if not, don’t let that concern you. A few more days without food will do no harm. You might still be able to make others sick. If you came down with the first symptoms in the last seven days, then you don’t leave this room, until that time passes. After that... Well, you’ll still need to heal. What I did should prevent death from coming and leave you feeling well, but the healing isn’t finished. Return to your normal efforts slowly, after that. If you try to leave before the first week of illness is up, then Wedra will tell me and I’ll tell Master Belford, who will come and beat you with his stick.” The man didn’t really do things like that, but everyone there went slightly wide eyed at the idea. Mainly, he didn't doubt, because it was different than what they were used to hearing.
That being, get to work and don’t complain, most likely.
They repeated the same thing for the rest of the ill, with similar instructions for all. Then, feeling a bit out of breath, Anders waved to Wedra and left. Heading back to his own room. The entire time he was just a bit out of sorts. It was, he understood, from pushing as hard as he was. Holding one girl to health was a slight drain. He’d just increased that load by ten, which was starting
to weigh on him.
It wasn’t a thing he couldn’t handle, as long as he measured the rest of what he did carefully enough. Which meant, annoyingly, that it was going to take much longer to make the armor he had planned. A thing that was a shame, since right there, on the floor of his room, was a stack of heavy linen sheets. The piled was tied at the top with thick brown twine and the pale tan bundle must have been nearly to his waist and as long as he was tall. Half that wide. In short, enough for him to make fifteen, possibly twenty, full sized gambesons.
Knowing he needed to go carefully, he spent the rest of the afternoon designing the spell he needed, then, slowly, measuring his pace, he brought the first of his cloth armor pieces into being. It took twice, or possibly three times as much work as he would have figured, even knowing roughly what to do. That was mainly in tailoring the thing to actually fit him.
He put it on, then designed a heavy cloth belt, which he made to seem like leather. There was no metal to it, since he wasn’t up to that kind of work as of yet. Both being too hard and simply not having the needed magical words to hold the concepts he needed to express for it. Instead he made three bands, loops of leather, and worked the belt through them carefully, so that it folded over itself and would catch enough to stay tightened. There was no fire in his hearth, so the heavy clothing was only a bit warm, instead of causing him to half melt.
He made it a nice blue color, which was dark, but rich, and then made a few more, very careful, alterations to the cut. That portion was harder for him, since he had to make up three new phrases to make it actually work. Then, rather carefully, he made a good copy of what Sir Humphrey had lent him to examine. Then he spent time examining the mail, and coming up with words for that as well.
Depak Sona had suggested he make the rings solid, which he had examples of there. In the center of each riveted and hammered link, there was a single one made of rounded, solid, steel. He thought he understood the basic idea. The rivets, while strong, were weaker than if the rings were whole. That would be much harder to do with a forge and anvil than with magic. At least in theory. It was tempting to run and get some metal to work with, that night, but he held off, opting for the late meal instead. He wore the gambeson, which was comfortable enough, even if it had thirty-four layers of linen in it. It was heavy, but the belt, which he’d thought of as decorative, actually put some of the weight on his hips. Not that he couldn’t have worn it anyway, given it only weighed about seven or eight pounds.
