They crowded round, some helping others stay upright. Hecht noted several bandaged wounds, none as dire as his own.
“Ain’t this some shit?” Kait Rhuk demanded. “Ain’t this some I ain’t never seen the like of it before shit? The man was stone-cold dead. I was sure.”
Someone out of sight snarled, “About goddamn time your ass got here, padre!”
A healing brother entered Hecht’s field of view. He was old, certainly past sixty. He owned a round, ruddy face with a white furze of beard. A natural tonsure occupied the top of his head. He looked like a man who always had a smile in store. Though just one man, he gathered over Piper Hecht. He laid healing hands on while auditing the history of the incident. He became disturbed. He jumped away as though burned when told that his patient had died and returned to life.
Several men said they thought they remembered spirits moving among them while they were… Well, they could not explain what they were, other than able to do nothing. Most had no recollection of having been in that state.
The priest said, “My talents would be better applied somewhere else. Anywhere else. The dead who get up can only be creatures of the Night. Of that side of the Night ruled by demons, the undead, and the Adversary.”
Clej Sedlakova took station in the doorway. He had only one arm but lacked no skill with a blade. “Not this way, Brother. Turn around. Treat the man.”
Remarks from the others made it clear there was no other option. And once he finished with Hecht they would generously let him deal with the lesser injuries they had sustained themselves.
Hecht had fallen asleep. He wakened again when he felt the healing brother’s hands. The priest’s touch was almost sensual. It left good feelings, new energy, a sense of well-being. In minutes Hecht felt strong enough to sit up. And to speak. He rasped, “Talk to me, gentlemen. What happened? What did you do about it?”
He got frightened looks and silence in response.
He was strong enough to think. “Damn! You superstitious dolts! Look at me! I’m not dead. Obviously. I was never dead. What the hell is the matter with you? You’ll get people who don’t know any better thinking that I rose from the grave. You’ll get us all thrown into a pit of burning oil. Think! Don’t be superstitious morons. You! Priest! What happens when we die?”
The healing brother mumbled some confused Brothen Chaldarean dogma.
“None of which happened. No bright lights. No darkness. No angels, no demons, no voices. No black ferryman with his hand out. No nothing but a huge headache. I was unconscious. And in shock.” Sucking energy off the priest, he was becoming manic.
He saw flickers of a will to believe.
Hecht definitely preferred his current situation to the one that had obtained a short while earlier. But his resurrection was sure to complicate life.
Titus Consent, shivering, said, “We did get the assassins.”
“What? Plural?”
“A pair. Lovers, I think. We haven’t done anything with them. Except lock them up.”
“Separately, I hope. I’ll want to see them when I’m stronger. Priest. Do your sorcery on this wound. Who took the arrow out?”
“That would be me, boss,” Hagan Brokke said. Brokke was one of the men with lesser wounds.
“Thank you. You kept the arrow?”
“It’s in pieces. But yes.”
“Good. I want the arrowhead. For a memento. For God’s sake, priest! I won’t break. I just survived an arrow that went right… Oh! That hurt. The prisoners have anything to say?”
“Not yet,” Titus replied. “They will.”
“No torture. Just keep them alone, in the dark. Let their imaginations wear them down. Ah! Back off, Clej. He’s doing his job.”
A subaltern came to the door. Sedlakova let him in. He made his report. And saw his commander being treated.
“Good on you, Clej,” when the boy left. “That should kill the craziest rumors. What did he say?”
“They want to know, downstairs, what to tell the people who keep turning up wanting news. He says the Empress and the Princess Apparent have been especially insistent.”
“Keep a log if you’re not already. Knowing who is concerned might be useful. How much longer, Brother?”
“Only a few minutes, sir. Then I’ll need to get you bandaged and to get your left arm immobilized.”
“Anything for pain? I’m starting to feel it.”
“I recommend inactivity. If you sit still and don’t put any strain on it the discomfort should be tolerable. If you don’t, enjoy the result.”
Hecht drew breath for an angry answer. Pain shot along the path the arrow had taken.
“Let nature do its work. Yours will get done without you. If you don’t take my advice you’ll suffer. And keep tearing it in there so it never heals right. And you end up losing use of the arm.”
“It will heal, though?”
“If you let it. I’ve given it the chance.” The healing brother bandaged Hecht slowly, letting everyone else see what needed doing and how it should be done. The dressing would have to be changed.
As he started to immobilize the arm, though, Hecht told him, “I need to get dressed first.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have to go out and show myself. To hearten some and dismay others.”
“Meaning you intend to ignore my advice already.”
“Just this once. It’s important.”
“Very well. And it will be important every time, won’t it? Fortunately, it isn’t Brother Rolf Hasty who has to pay the price. Though I’m sure he’ll hear a lot of whining about the arm not working right.” The healing brother refused to help Hecht dress.
Titus stepped in. “We’ll make sure it’s just this once, Brother.”
Hecht could not restrain a groan as Consent moved his arm to get a shirt on him. A fresh shirt. “You can cut it off when I get back out of it.”
Hagan Brokke presented the bloody scale shirt Hecht had worn when hit. He said, “You want this on, I’ll get it cleaned up.”
“I’ll do without. I couldn’t handle the weight. I’m beginning to get really sleepy, gentlemen.” He considered the mail shirt. “Didn’t slow the arrow down, did it?”
“Punched right through. The head was an armor piercer. For use at short range. Don’t see those used much by longbow archers.”
Minutes later Hecht was dressed and the healing brother had strapped his arm into place. Titus asked, “What now? Assemble the troops? It’s important. You told the healing brother.”
“Titus…” He found himself considering Piper Hecht with disdain. “No. I need a nap first. I have to face it. I won’t be able to stay awake. Have somebody trustworthy babysit me. All of you, get back to work. We’ve only got six months…”
He slept fourteen hours. Fitfully, if Titus was to be believed.
“Do I talk in my sleep?”
“No. You’re good about not doing that.” In a tone that set Hecht to wondering if Consent might not have tried to interrogate him.
“Where do we stand? The world didn’t end while I was snoring, did it?”
“It seems to have gotten on without you.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?”
“And it’s turned back normal since word that you survived got out.” Titus remained uneasy about that. “The Empress and Princess Apparent want in-the-flesh proof. They’re afraid the rest of us are covering up so we won’t lose our jobs. The Imperial treasury, by the way, handed over our start-up money.”
“I’ll see Katrin as soon as I’m able. A short visit. Unless she wants to come see me here. Where I still won’t last. I’ve been awake how long? And I’m ready to sleep again.”
Might his people be drugging him for his own good?
