Phoenix and Ashes

And as he looked into Turner's concerned face, he decided that pride was a great deal less important than pain.

'Milord, may I—' Turner began, diffidently.

'Oh yes, you certainly may,' Reggie sighed, and allowed Turner to help him back to his rooms. The valet was a lot more help than a mere cane.

'Milord, if you don't mind my saying so, you've overdone.' Turner regarded him sternly. 'Now, it's not my place, and I'm no doctor, but—'

'Please, old man, if you don't mind playing nurse, I've no objection to behaving like a patient,' he replied.

'Then, I believe that hot water is in order.' Turner nodded briskly, and took him straight into the bathroom, almost carrying him—which Reggie was not at all averse to. 'Have you actually eaten anything today, milord? Since breaking your fast, I mean.'

'Ah—' he blinked, and thought. 'A sausage and toast at luncheon. A jam-bun and lots and lots of tea.'

'I thought so. The pain takes the appetite, doesn't it?' Turner helped him out of his clothing and into the hot bath; he sank into it with a hiss for the heat, and a sigh of relief as the heat took the edge off the pain of his leg. 'You stay there for a bit, and let me deal with this, milord.'

Reggie was only too happy to do just that. Once he was in the hot water, he realized that it wasn't just his knee that hurt—the rest of his wounds and broken bones were aching; the knee was just so bad it had overwhelmed the rest.

He remained in the steaming water until it had started to cool, when Turner appeared and helped him out again, and then into bed with a hot compress wrapped around the knee. There was already a tray with hot soup and some assorted sandwich quarters waiting.

And when he saw the familiar bottle on the tray along with his food he did not object. Instead, he looked at Turner with a raised eyebrow. 'Was it your idea or Mater's to get this refilled?'

'Mine, milord. I thought you were likely to need it, and I also thought you would not wish to worry your mother.' Turner's face was a study in the unreadable.

'I don't pay you enough. We'll have to attend to that in the morning,' he replied.

Turner smiled faintly. 'I believe, milord, you won't need me any more tonight. Goodnight, milord.'

'Good night, Turner.'

He took his dose first, then dutifully ate everything on the tray. It meant that his reading was cut drastically short once the narcotic set in.

But considering how he had felt before he took the stuff, that was a very small price to pay.

I hope someone warned Eleanor, was his last thought as he drifted off to sleep. I don't want her to think she was abandoned. . . .

16

May 1, 1917

Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire

ALISON WOKE LATE, WITH THE sun streaming in the window of her room in the Crown and Cushion, feeling entirely contented with her life. As it had happened, she had not had to do anything about Locke at all. The Old Gods didn't like machinery; by the time he had arrived at the Hoar Stones with the motor, the last vestige of Loki had long since departed his erstwhile host, and Warrick Locke was back to being his old obsequious self.

Nevertheless, she felt as if he ought to be rewarded in some small way. So on the drive back last night, she had said, quite casually, 'Warrick, don't you think it would be useful for us to have something at our disposal that is a bit faster than this? More powerful? It probably isn't going to be the last time we'll have to traipse out into the countryside. It might be a good thing to have something fast enough to take us to our destination and back to Broom in the same night.'