“It’s no problem,” the man replied. “No one in Dunfield takes the time to help anymore. Except for Doc Mia. She’ll help. But I don’t see no reason to leave a man to die of plague rat bite. It’s not humane, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Solomon said, hoping the man would go fetch the doctor any time now.
“All right now. Off I go.” The old man scrambled to his feet. “Say now, you’ve still got that pack grasped tight. That’s good. Old Sam won’t try to take it from you but be careful out here. And that sword on your belt. Folk around here will try to sell it right out from under you, if they can. But I’ll hurry. It’ll be all right.”
He stood gazing down at Solomon for a few more moments, then nodded as if coming to an internal decision and scurried away.
Solomon felt his eyes growing heavy again as he watched Old Sam, if that was the man’s name, recede down the street. It was cooler out here than it had been under the building, but he was still devilishly hot. He let his chin fall to his chest and closed his eyes.
The tugging woke him again, but even in his sleep he didn’t let go of his pack. There wasn’t much in it. Clothes, some money, a flint and steel, a sharpening stone for his sword. Things that he probably wouldn’t need, but you never knew.
“Give it over!” The voice was rough and accompanied by a kick to Solomon’s ribs. He bent forward, pulling the pack closer to him, and looked up.
Three men stood around him, two with their backs to him watching the street and one, the largest one, pulling at his pack. For Dunfield, the man attempting to rob him might have been considered strong, but against Solomon he was nothing. Even in a weakened state the man’s strength wasn’t enough to free the pack from Solomon’s grasp.
The man grimaced, let the pack go and stepped back a pace. Then, without warning, he stomped forward, bringing his heavy boot down hard on Solomon’s fingers that were curled around the strap. There was a loud crack and pain flared through this hand now, too.
The pain of the broken fingers did what the man’s pulling couldn’t. With a hoarse cry, Solomon let go of the pack and the man bent over and snatched it away.
“That’s one,” he snarled. “Now, are you going to give me that sword, or do I need to break more bones to take it? It’s all the same to me, friend.”
Solomon slowly reached over with his red and swollen hand and put it over the hilt of the sword at his belt. He tried to get his fingers to grasp it. If he could pull it from its sheath, even sitting down he could defend himself against the likes of these three.
His fingers wouldn’t obey him and he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him when the skin on the back of his hand split open as he tried to close his fist.
“Give it up, stranger. You don’t need it no more. The plague rats got you good.”
“Go to hell,” Solomon croaked.
The man in front of him laughed and after a moment the other two joined in.
“Have it your way,” he said.
The first blow caught him in the leg. A savage kick from the man holding his pack and Solomon tried to scream. His eyes opened wide, his mouth gaped and a high-pitched mewling whine escaped him.
The next boot took him in the side of his head, then square in the mouth. The blows kept coming, even after he felt someone unbuckle his belt and lift the sword from him.
He tried to curl up into himself and take the blows on his back and arms, but his weakened body wouldn’t even do that. Finally, they stopped and walked away, laughing and singing the lyrics of some bawdy song. He watched them go through his rapidly closing eye, trying to memorize them.
When he was better…if he got better, he’d find them again.
They were barely out of sight and his eye was almost swelled completely shut when he heard Old Sam’s voice.
“Oh, geesh. Someone’s been at you after all. I’m sorry, friend. I truly am. I don’t know what this place has become. I got the doc. I did, and she’s coming. Gathering a few things together, things that could help with plague rat bites, maybe. But you need more than that to be all right.”
Solomon barely felt the old man pat his shoulder gently.
“You just lie there, now. Stay still. You’ll be all right. Doc Mia will fix you up. You’ll see.”
Solomon hoped the old man was right. And he hoped this Doc Mia, whoever she was, would hurry.
Chapter 30
If anyone was still in a position to notice, Jocasta was sure they would have seen the dispassion on her face. Even the sight of all these old fools gagging, choking, and vomiting did nothing. She watched them die, studying the way their faces contorted, the sudden stiffness of their limbs. It was ... interesting, at most.
The wine was a good idea. All Folk loved their wine and didn’t suspect anything was wrong when Jocasta brought it to the council meeting. A thank-you for giving her a chance to take up her cousin’s mantle and try to steer House Whispering Pines into the future. She was sorry that their views diverged so widely, but there was a part of her that was happy. It would be nice to be on her ship again.
Even Childress bought it. He smiled at her graciously, even raising his cup to her before drinking. None of them seemed to notice when she lowered her own
