And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) (21 page)

“Sick, you say?”

Kuneprius nodded. “Very ill. Poor tike’s cheeks have gone ashen with it.”

As he spoke, he struggled to maintain an appropriate expression while his nerves tugged at the corners of his mouth and begged him to dance back and forth, one foot to the other. He resisted, remaining still and keeping the Small God hidden behind him.

“Don’t want no sick kid vomiting all over m’room.”

“Oh no, not to worry. It’s not that sort of sickness.”

The barkeep leaned away, crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What sort of sickness is it, then?”

Kuneprius drew a sharp breath between his lips, his brain freezing at the question. What illness poses no danger of vomit?

“He’s homesick,” he blurted before his better judgement intervened. The only thing to do was to expand and hope for the best. “And weary. And he’s hurt his leg.”

The barkeep’s eyes narrowed. “Not really sick then, is he?”

“I guess not,” Kuneprius replied and dipped his hand into the pocket of his breeches. He produced a silver coin and laid it on the bar. “Is this enough for food and lodging? We’ll keep to our room and bother no one.”

The barkeep lowered his arms, his demeanor shifting with the glint of lantern light shining on the coin. He scooped it up and held it in front of his face, rotating it between his fingers to see both sides.

“More’n enough. Take a table and I’ll bring you a couple of plates and tankards of ale.”

He turned away from the bar, reaching for the aforementioned goblets, but Kuneprius interrupted.

“No, no. We don’t want to be a bother and we’d prefer to take food in our room, if it’s all right by you, kind sir.”

The barkeep faced them, flicked the coin up in the air with his thumb and caught it. “I think this might be enough for me to bend the rule regardin’ food in the rooms. Yours’ll be up the stairs, last door to the left.”

“Thank you.”

Kuneprius crossed the room to the staircase, ushering the Small God ahead of him to keep himself between Thorn and their host.

“I’ll have the plates ready when you want ‘em,” the barkeep called after them. “Be you needin’ anything else?”

Kuneprius paused at the bottom of the stairs, peered back over his shoulder. “Is it too much to ask a bowl and a pitcher of clean water? We haven’t had opportunity to wash in several days.”

“I’ll have it for you with your food, if you’d like.”

“Yes, fine.”

Kuneprius prompted Thorn on and mounted the steps behind him, relief flooding his chest. Things had gone more smoothly than expected.

They paused at the top of the stairs to ensure no one in the hall might see Thorn’s pale flesh and unusual appearance. To his relief, it lay empty. He hurried the gray man ahead of him, soles of his bare, gray feet dragging on the wooden floor. Not until they crossed the threshold into the room did Kuneprius realize he’d been holding his breath the entire way.

He closed the door behind them and sighed the air out of his lungs.

The chamber was exactly what he’d expected from a country inn: a single bed, a table, a chamber pot and not much else. It was fine with him, he’d become used to just such accommodations after living in Murtikara for all those turns of the seasons. The problem was, with but one bed, they’d either have to sleep cozy or he’d have to take the floor.

“This will do, won’t it, Thorn? Be nice to have a good night’s sleep.”

The Small God stood in place, swaying somewhat, but otherwise giving no sign he’d heard his roommate speak. Kuneprius pursed his lips. The farther they took him from his home, the worse his condition. If it continued, would he even make it to their destination?

“Can’t worry about it now,” he murmured aloud as he set his hands on the Small God’s bare shoulders.

The faintest sensation of energy emanated from the cool, gray flesh. Thorn turned his head with the intensity and effort of a man moving a heavy object, directing his gaze toward his companion at the touch. A haze clouded his formerly clear and joyful eyes.

“Come,” Kuneprius said, exerting light pressure to move him. “Let’s get you into bed to rest.”

They crossed the room and he pulled back the tattered blankets covering the thin mattress. A poor excuse for a bed, it turned out.

Better than sleeping on damp ground.

It took an effort to guide Thorn under the blankets. The Small God’s arms and legs flopped loosely and he acted as though he didn’t understand the concept of a bed. When he finally settled, Kuneprius tucked the covers in around him and stood.

“Now to see if our food is ready. You’d like food, yes?”

Thorn let his head tilt toward him on what passed for a pillow and put great effort into forming his lips into a smile. He didn’t achieve what he’d intended and his face ended up contorted in an uncomfortable grimace. Kuneprius’ heart ached at the sight.

“I’ll be right back. You stay here and wait—”

A knock interrupted his words, startling him. Thorn didn’t appear to notice.

“Yes?” Kuneprius called, hoping he wouldn’t need to open the door.

“I got you your water,” the barkeep’s voice replied through the wooden slab. “You want I should bring it in for ya?”

“No, no. That’s fine.”

He hurried across the room, lifted the latch, and opened the portal a crack. The barkeep stood in front of him, a pitcher in one hand, bowl in the other. He held them up for Kuneprius to see he’d done what he said, his lips tilted in the lopsided smile of a man well-paid for a simple job.

“Where do you want ‘em?”

“I’ll take them.”

He peered back over his shoulder at the Small God in the bed. The blankets covered his bare chest, but his ashen face and wide nose faced the door. Kuneprius swallowed hard and opened it wider, placing his foot to prevent the gap from widening too far. He held his hands out to receive what the barkeep had brought.

The man rotated the empty bowl sideways to fit it through the crack; it got stuck between door and jamb. For a moment, Kuneprius did nothing as the barkeep waited for him to widen the opening and allow him to complete his task.

Kuneprius considered telling him he’d changed his mind and they didn’t need the washing supplies, but the thought brought tension to his muscles and limbs. The possibility of yet another day passing without scrubbing away at his sins made his hands shake and his mouth go dry, especially with the opportunity so close.

He shifted his foot back the width of two fingers and the bowl slid through. He took it and immediately switched it to his other hand to more easily receive the pitcher, too. As the barkeep rotated the handle toward him, he tilted his head to see past the edge of door and into the room. Kuneprius leaned, keeping his body between him and the bed, blocking the barkeep’s view, he hoped. As soon as the pitcher made it through, he closed the door to only a crack. If doing so in any way offended the man, his expression didn’t show it.

“Your meals be ready, too. Should I bring them, too?”

Kuneprius’ heart jumped in his chest and he shook his head too hard. Water slopped over the lip of the pitcher and onto his boot.

“No, no. I’ll be right down to collect them.”

“As you like. They’ll be awaitin’ ya at the bar.”

He stepped back and Kuneprius resisted the urge to slam the door shut.

“Thank you,” he said instead, donning a smile he worried might appear false. “I’ll be along shortly.”

The barkeep nodded but didn’t leave, forcing Kuneprius to close the door in his face. The latch clicked into place and he let out a sigh before crossing the room to the small table set against the wall opposite the bed. He placed the bowl on the flat surface and it rocked back and forth on uneven legs. Kuneprius frowned, grasped the edge and tested its stability. Satisfied it would be sturdy enough, he tilted the pitcher until a stream of water splashed into the bottom of the bowl. Just the sound of the cool liquid pattering against the earthenware vessel untied a knot inside him that had been tightening for days.

Despite the relief, he stayed his hand and stopped the flow. As much as he desired to fill the bowl and plunge his face into the water, he couldn’t take the chance. If too much time passed before he claimed their meals, he’d find the barkeep knocking again, and a plate of food would necessitate opening the door enough for him to see in.

With a sigh, Kuneprius set the pitcher on the table beside the bowl. He’d waited this long, he could survive a little more time to feed the Small God. His belly growled, reminding him Thorn wasn’t the only one in need of feeding.

He went to the door and lifted the latch but hesitated before opening it, overcome with the creeping suspicion he’d find the barkeep waiting in the hall to try for a peek into the room. Kuneprius bit hard on his back teeth and pulled a deep breath in through his nose, then opened the door a crack, moving his eye close.

The space beyond stood empty.

“Be right back,” he called over his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

With each step along the hall, and then down the stairs, his belly growled and grumbled. In his concern and worry, he’d forgotten how long it had been since he’d eaten a good meal. For more days than he cared to consider, he’d sustained himself on whatever berries and edible plants he found. None of it satisfied his stomach.

Kuneprius reached the bottom of the stairway and paused. Far more people sat around the tavern than when they arrived; two or three at every table. Conversations competed to be heard, cutlery clattered against plates, flagons thumped on table tops.

Two women wearing aprons moved amongst the tables, one a slender woman of plain appearance who appeared of similar age to the barkeep, the other a girl who didn’t look to have seen the seasons turn more than twelve or thirteen times. Despite her diminutive size, she carried a tray full of ales with the confidence of someone practiced at such a function.

The barkeep’s wife and daughter, no doubt.

Kuneprius knew he might be wrong in his assumption, but it mattered not. The elder of the two passed close by, so he stepped off the last stair, headed for the bar where the barkeep had told him he’d find their meals.

“Busy tonight,” he commented to the woman.

“Like this most nights,” she said in a tone suggesting she had other, more important things to do than talk to him. She glanced at him as they reached the bar. “You the one with the sick boy?”

“I’m afraid I am.”

She brushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear. It popped right back out before she lowered her hand.

“I don’t got no medicine. Sheela was sick herself not so long ago and we used it up.” She nodded toward the younger girl on the other side of the room doling out ales to a table of laughing men. “But if there be anything you need, let me know.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Two plates appeared on the bar in front of him, and the barkeep waited, his expression expectant. Steam rose from the chunks of meat sharing the pewter surface with roasted potatoes and a piece of cornbread—a better meal than he’d hoped for and his belly gurgled in anticipation. If the tavern hadn’t been so busy, the barkeep surely would have heard.

“It looks delicious,” Kuneprius said, offering what he presumed he’d been awaiting. The man nodded and smiled his lopsided smile.

“Best meal you’re gonna get in these parts.” He nodded toward the stairs. “I think your boy’ll enjoy it, too. Looks like he needs a good meal.”

Saliva flooded Kuneprius’ mouth as he stared at the food, his ravaged gut distracting him enough it took a few heartbeats for him to realize what the barkeep said.

Your boy’ll enjoy it. Looks like he needs a good meal.

Kuneprius raised his head to find the fellow looking past him and dread filled him. He snatched the two plates off the bar and spun around. Thorn stood at the top of the stairs, swaying as he gazed blankly at the crowded room.

“He don’t look good,” the woman who may have been the barkeep’s wife said. “Kinda…pasty.”

“It’s…he’s fine. Just needs food.”

Kuneprius hurried away, weaving between tables and past the tavern’s patrons. The closer he got to the stairway, the greater the number of patrons who directed their gazes to the Small God.

“Tho…” Kuneprius stopped himself. What man named his son Thorn? “I told you to stay in bed. You’re too sick to be with these people.”

He hoped his proclamation of the ‘boy’s’ sickness might deter the room’s attention, but it created the opposite effect. More heads turned. Someone gasped upon seeing Thorn, but then Kuneprius reached the stairway, rushed up them as fast as he could make his legs move without spilling precious food from the plates. He halted at the top step, near to eye level with the Small God.

“I told you to stay in the room,” he said through clenched teeth.

Thorn raised his gaze toward Kuneprius, but his eyes caught on the meals in his hands. He licked his lips.

“Come on,” Kuneprius said, stepping up and forcing his companion along the hall in front of him. He thought to look back and see just how many of the tavern’s patrons had noticed the small man at the top of the stairs, but he resisted; his heart needed no more reason to hammer its way out of his chest.

***

Kuneprius hated wasting water but, in his haste to get out of the tavern and return Thorn to the room, he’d neglected to take the cutlery provided by the barkeep. After getting himself out of bed and traipsing down the hall, the Small God had been too weak to feed himself, so Kuneprius helped him.

It reminded him of Vesisdenperos in his youth and he’d wondered how the golem occupied his time while they were at the inn.

Hopefully doing nothing.

He poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, set the jug aside and dipped his fingertips in, found the liquid cool to the touch. It both comforted him and increased his anxiety; he longed to yank his hands out and plunge his face into the water in their stead, but the greasiness of the meat’s juices that had run between his fingers prevented him.

He needed to wash his hands before he could think about washing his sins.