white as the trampled ice underfoot. His mouth was ajar, his face set in a frown. A domino mask dangled from its string around his neck. His belly heaved a little and he twitched, half choking. The rejected liquor rose in his mouth like a dark foul pool, a bit trickling down his cheek. He coughed weakly and drew in a wet, raspy breath. Then he was still again. He already stank of vomit and his trouser cuffs were spattered from an earlier mishap.
I didn’t want to touch him. But I’d heard of men choking to death on their own puke after drinking too much. I didn’t dislike him so much that I wanted him to die of his own stupidity. So I crouched down and rolled him onto his side. At my touch, he sucked in a sudden breath. He was scarcely on his side before he vomited violently, the spew flying out of his mouth onto the frozen crust of dirty snow that he sprawled on. He heaved twice, and then rolled onto his back again. His eyes didn’t open. I was suddenly struck by how pale he was. Pulling off my glove, I touched his face. His skin was cold and clammy, not flushed with drink. Again, at my touch, he pulled in a slow breath.
“Caulder! Caulder? Wake up. You can’t pass out here. You’ll be trampled or freeze to death.” People were barely stepping around us, uncaring and unmindful of the boy stretched out on the ground. One woman in a fox mask tittered as she went past. No one stopped or stared or offered help. I shook him. “Caulder. Get up! I can’t stay here with you. Get up and on your feet.”
He dragged in another breath and his eyelids fluttered. I seized him by his collar and dragged him to a sitting position. “Wake up!” I yelled at him.
His eyes opened halfway and then closed again. “I did it,” he said faintly. “I did it. I drank it all! I’m a man. Get me a woman.” His words ran together, and his voice was little more than a mutter. The color had not come back to his face. “I don’t feel good,” he abruptly announced. “I’m sick.”
“You’re drunk. You should go home. Get up and go home, Caulder.”
He put both his hands over his mouth and then dropped them to cover his belly. “I’m sick,” he groaned, and his eyes sagged shut again. If I had not been holding him upright, he would have fallen back onto the ground. I shook him. His head wobbled back and forth. For the first time, a man stopped and looked down at us. “Best take him home, son, and let him sleep it off there. Shouldn’t have let the lad drink so much.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied reflexively, with no intention of taking Caulder anywhere. But neither could I just stand up and walk away from him. I’d drag him somewhere out of the way and leave him where he wouldn’t get stepped on or freeze to death. For it was getting colder as the night grew deeper.
I seized his wrists and stood up, dragging him with me. He lolled like a rag doll. I put one of my arms round his waist and held his other arm across my shoulder. It was awkward, for I was substantially taller than he was. “Walk, Caulder!” I yelled in his ear, and he muttered some response. I dragged him along with me as I cut across the big square toward the cabstands. Sometimes he muttered, and his legs moved as if he were taking giant strides, but his words made no sense.
The Great Square proved its size to me that long night. We were jostled forward sometimes and sometimes blocked by standing crowds who could not or would not give way to us. We were forced to go around one roped-off area where couples were dancing. The music of the instruments seemed at odds with the cavorting of the masked people, and some of them looked more tormented than festive as they leaped and spun and flung their arms about.
Caulder threw up once without warning at all, a gushing spew that very narrowly missed a fine lady’s skirts. I held him as he heaved and spouted like a bad pump, grateful only that the lady’s escort hurried her away instead of challenging me. When he was finished, I dragged him away from his mess. I sat him down on the edge of one of the frozen fountains; I wished in vain for water. I took my damp handkerchief from my pocket and wiped his chin and running nose as best I could, and then threw it away. “Caulder! Caulder, open your eyes. You’ve got to get up and walk. I can’t drag you all the way home.”
But in reply he only shook. His face was pale, and his skin remained clammy. I got up and walked away from him, leaving him sprawled in a half-sitting heap like an abandoned pile of laundry. To this day, I do not know what made me turn around and go back for him. His situation was none of my making and I owed him nothing. I felt only animosity toward the tattling, tagalong brat, and yet I could not leave him there to face the cold awakening he deserved. I went back.
I gave up trying to walk him. I lifted him across my shoulders as if he were a wounded man and carried him through the crowd. It was a better solution, for more people saw us coming and got out of the way. When I finally reached the cabstand, there was a long queue. The streets were still choked with pedestrians and so the wait was tripled as cabs struggled to reach the curb to disgorge the passengers they had and to take on new ones.
When finally it reached our turn, the cabbie demanded his money up front before he would even open a door for us. I stood there, turning my pockets out for what little money I had left and cursing myself for my free spending earlier in the evening. I heartily wished I had kept the money I’d given the fat man. “Caulder! Have you any money?” I asked, shaking him. Another couple thrust in front of us, flashing a gold piece, and our cabbie immediately jumped down and opened the door for them with a bow. Despite my angry protests, he remounted the box and began trying to force his team out into the crowded street.
Fate intervened then or I do not know what would have become of us. Another carriage pulled into the spot left open by our departing cab. The driver jumped down and opened the door to let a fine couple out. The man wore a tall silk hat and escorted a woman in an embroidered gown topped by a shimmering fur cape. She murmured something in dismay and he said, “I am sorry, Cecile, but this is as close as the cab can bring us. We shall have to walk to General Scoren’s house from here.” It was only when he spoke that I recognized Dr. Amicas from the Academy infirmary. He looked much different than he had the night he had tended Gord. I think my Academy overcoat drew his eye, for as he passed he looked at me and then, as his eyes fell on Caulder, he exclaimed in disgust, “Oh, for the mercy of the good god! Who let that silly whelp run loose on a night like this?”
He didn’t expect an answer and I gave him none. I stood, holding Caulder upright beside me, and half hoped he would not recognize me, for I did not wish to be connected to Caulder’s misfortune. His wife’s face was full of dismay at the delay. Dr. Amicas spoke to me harshly. “Get him home as soon as you can. And put your own coat round him, you great fool! He’s far colder than he should be! How much did he drink? More than a bottle, I’ll wager, and I’ve seen more than one young cadet die of too much to drink in too little time.”
His words shocked and frightened me, and I blurted out, “I’ve no money for a carriage, Dr. Amicas. Will you help us?”
I thought he would strike me, he looked so angry. Then he reached into his pocket with one hand as he grabbed the sleeve of his departing driver’s coat with the other. “Here, cabman, take these two young idiots back to the King’s Cavalla Academy. I want you to take them right to Colonel Stiet’s door, do you hear me? Nowhere else, no matter what they say.” He pushed the money into the man’s hand and then the doctor turned on me.
“Colonel Stiet won’t be home tonight, Cadet, and you can thank your lucky stars for that. But don’t you dare leave that boy on the doorstep! You see that one of Stiet’s servingmen takes him up to his bed, and I want two pints of hot broth down him before they let him sleep. You hear me? Two pints of good beef broth! No doubt I’ll have to deal with both of you tomorrow. Now get along!”
The cabdriver had opened the door for us, reluctantly, for it was a fine conveyance and Caulder still reeked of liquor and puke. I tried to thank the doctor but he waved me off in disgust and hurried away with his lady. It took both the driver and me to heave Caulder into the carriage. Once inside, he lay on the floor like a drowned rat. I perched on one of the seats; the driver slammed the door and mounted his box. And there we sat for what seemed like a very long time before he could force his team out into the steady flow of carriages, carts, and foot traffic. We moved at a walk through the city streets near the Great Square, and more than once I heard drivers exchanging curses and threats with one another.
The farther we got from the square, the darker the night became and the more the traffic thinned. Eventually the driver moved his team up to a fine trot and we rattled along through the streets. Light from the streetlamps flitted through the carriage intermittently. Every so often I would give Caulder a nudge with my foot. The groan that resulted comforted me that he was still alive. We were almost to the Academy drive when I heard him cough and then ask sourly, “Where are we? Are we there yet?”
“Almost home,” I told him comfortingly.
“Home? I don’t want to go home.” He struggled to sit up and finally managed it. He rubbed at his face and then his eyes. “I thought we were going to a whorehouse. That was the bet, remember? You bet me that I couldn’t drink the whole bottle, and if I could, you were taking me to the best whorehouse in town.”
“I didn’t bet you anything, Caulder.”
