Dad stood, then looked down. “What have you done to my boots? The laces are gone. And where is my swordbelt? Thellops is a crafty devil. We must be prepared this time.”
“I have your swordbelt. It's downstairs.” I took his arm and eased him back onto the bed. “Sit down for a minute. Tell me how you're feeling. You took a few blows to the head. Do you remember anything from the Pattern?”
“The Pattern is fine. I drew it, after all.”
“After that…”
He blinked and his eyes grew distant. “Tired. Hungry.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Where am I?”
“At an inn,” I said reassuringly. He was repeating himself… and not thinking too clearly. Then I glanced at the door. What was taking Old Doc Hand so long? Maybe he could help.
Dad frowned. “I… already asked that, didn't I?”
“Yes,” Aber said, folding his arms. “Try to focus, Dad. What about Thellops?”
“Thellops?” He looked at me. “Did I kill him, Locke?”
“I'm Oberon, not Locke. I don't know if you killed him. Were you fighting?”
“Yes…”
“Then we'll find out soon enough.”
Dad leaped to his feet. “He got away!” Pulling free from my grasp, he paced like a caged animal.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “No more games, my boy. We don't have time for nonsense. We have to find Thellops before…” He frowned. “It may be too late now. We will see, we will see…”
I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn't see the stairs, but now I heard a man's heavy footsteps coming slowly up them.
“The Pattern!” he said suddenly. His eyes suddenly widened. “You tried to kill me.”
“No, Dad.” Quickly, I told him what had happened. I wasn't sure how much of it he understood, but he listened, shaking his head now and then. I glossed over our fight—no need to rub his nose in it.
“Sorry, my boy,” he said. “I… was confused.”
“You're better now,” I said reassuringly.
“Yes.”
Just then a short, white-haired man dressed all in black, from a round flat hat to his narrow pointy-toed shoes, came clumping into the room. He carried a small black bag in one hand and a cane in the other.
“Someone sent for me?” He smiled in a kindly way and nodded to each of us.
“Yes. You must be Doc Hand,” I said.
“Ayeh. Are you the patient?” he asked. His watery blue eyes peered up into my face.
“No, our father,” I said, turning to indicate Dad. “Lord Dworkin.”
“Lord?” Doc Hand raised bushy eyebrows. “It's not often the noble-born call on me.”
“Get out,” Dad said brusquely, motioning toward the door. “I need you like I need a hole in the head. Less, in fact.”
Doc Hand chuckled and set his bag on the bed. “Now, now, your Lordship, let me be the judge of that. Seizures, is it?”
“Oberon—” Dad began in a warning tone.
“He seems to be doing a lot better,” I said almost apologetically to the doctor.
“I
“Nonsense.” Doc Hand leaned forward and peered at Dad's eyes. “You are certainly
Dad glared at all of us. I tried to look firm but menacing. A concussion explained a lot.
“Oh, very well,” Dad finally snapped. He perched on the edge of the bed. “Get on with it!”
I looked at the doctor with new admiration. This was the first time I had ever seen anyone intimidate Dad. Aber seemed equally impressed.
“Hmm,” said the doctor. He skinned back each of Dad's eyelids in turn, peering deep inside. Then he felt Dad's skull for bumps. Finally he stepped back.
“Seizures?” said the doctor. “I see no sign of them. You are quite the brawler, though. I see scars from dozens of swordfights over the years. But who gave you that concussion, eh? There was no fight. Something hit you from behind… a sap, maybe?”
“I… do not remember,” Dad said.
“I'm not surprised.” Doc Hand looked at Aber and me. “Lads? Any idea?”
“We weren't there,” I said.
Before I could stop him, he reached out, grabbed my right hand, and turned it over. I still had two fresh
The doctor tsk-tsked. “You've been fighting, laddie. Beating up your Da, or defending him—that's the question, ayeh?”
“You have a good eye,” I said, pulling my hand back. I didn't enjoy being under the old man's exacting gaze. “But my father is the one who needs you, not me.”
“Oh, I treat all who need healing.” He chuckled. “You're next, laddie.”
I sighed. What did I expect, when I had deliberately sought a Shadow with a doctor capable of treating Dad?
“Ayeh,” said Doc Hand, grinning. He rummaged around in his black bag, pulling out needle and thread. “You need a few stitches, laddie. Your Da needs a week of bed rest. And maybe a good hot meal and a stiff drink. Not much more I can do today.”
“I told you so,” Dad grumbled.
Doc Hand carefully threaded his needle, then looked at me expectantly. Gritting my teeth, I stuck out my arm and let him stitch my cuts back together.
Once the doctor left, Aber laughed and couldn't seem to stop. I glared. Finally he managed to regain control of himself.
“You should have seen your face,” he told me.
“It's not funny,” I said. “I hate catgut stitches. The damn things always pull at me.”
“Sorry,” he said. “But… I've never seen you look so annoyed! You got it worse than Dad!”
“Feh,” I said.
“Don't pick on poor Oberon,” said Blaise. I hadn't noticed her arrival. She leaned against the doorway, looking radiant. A few drinks had done wonders to restore her self-confidence. “He meant well.”
“Enough,” said our father, climbing out of bed and looking around. “Where is my sword?”
“You heard Doc Hand,” I said. “You're due for a week of bed rest.
“I cannot rest,” he said, “until we have Freda back. I remember now. Thellops has her—and you and I are going to get her back!”
Chapter 11
“Your sword is downstairs,” I said. I didn't know much about Thellops, but already I hated him. What could he be doing with my sister?
I turned to my brother. “Aber? Would you mind getting his sword?” Considering how fast time ran in the Courts of Chaos, we needed to move quickly. Hours here might mean days or weeks of torture for Freda. “I had Jamas put it behind the bar for safekeeping.”
