Gregory House - The Cardinal's Angels

“Mistress Black, forgive my harsh words. It was the pain speaking. I thank you for tending to my wounds as I suspect you did for the rest of our company.” He tried a prone attempt at a half bow, but a meaningful glare and a shaken finger from the recipient of his grudging apology stopped the action. Oh well, good, he’d live with that limited acceptance. It hurt enough as it was. As it was, his mouth felt like a weasel had used it as a privy.

“God’s blood, can someone get me a firkin of double and where the hell are we?”

“Certainly Ned. I get one from the Inn!” Rob strode across the improvised surgery which usually served as a smithy, towards the door when his sister’s outstretched hand abruptly stopped him.

“No! No doubles just a small beer. Any potent drink after the laudanum will set him dreaming again.”

Ned would have cursed, but his common sense stopped him, though he was pleased to see Rob look towards him for approval afore he moved off. Perhaps his previous push for leadership had made some mileage. In the meantime he needed to find out how they came here, wherever here was. “So Mistress Black, you got to finally use your laudanum physick on the wounded. Did you find it efficacious?”

So not the best question, but at least he was trying to be gracious in suffering. Mistress Black paused for a moment and arched one of her eyebrows again. “I think it worked well enough Master Bedwell. It kept you in the land of dreams all night while we got here and as I worked on you.”

Ned clamped his lips shut so as not to scream. All night! What about their mission? What about Skelton and Don Sebastian? Were where their pursuers? Instead of those panicked questions he let out a steady breath and tried his level best to keep it friendly. “What‘s been going on since yesterday?” He hoped that question didn’t quaver with the anxiety that he felt speeding up his heart.

Mistress Black returned a steady stare for a moment or two before replying. “Well, we had to salvage all the injured before we headed off. A few poor souls were beyond help. One of Gryne’s Men dealt with them and I had to clean and bandage that fellow you pushed into the privy and we…”

Ned was listening and he was being polite but as his brain matched the words to images, he lost control. “You did what? Are you diseased in your wits or just lost them? What foolishness possessed you to save our pursuers?”

Mistress Black’s eyes narrowed in a very familiar way and her hand explored the option of walloping, and then to his surprise patted him on the head. Somehow that was worse than her anger. “There, there Ned. Paracelsus says that laudanum can sometimes dull the wits, not that yours needs much. As for Skelton, of course I cleaned and stitched up his injuries. Most appreciative he was too unlike some I could name. We also found that very handsome Spaniard, Don Juan Sebastian, staggering around in the thicket, then sorted out his injuries as well.”

Ned could have claimed it was the new physick she’d given him that distorted his hearing so badly. But as he reviewed their last conversation no matter which way he rearranged the words and matched them to her blandly assured tone, it couldn’t be construed any other way. Ned cautiously shook his head. He had to know. “Ahh Mistress Black, you know these two men were out to seize us and to commit murder if necessary?”

She snorted and gave him a look usually bestowed on a pile of gutter refuse. “Of course Master Bedwell.”

“And you saved their lives?”

“Well whether they live or die is up to the grace of God. All I did was ensure their wounds have a chance to heal.” Ned had to admit he was still confused even more so than usual when talking with Mistress Black.

“Why?”

“Because, Master Bedwell, I know enough about Court politics to realise that opponents today may turn out to be the allies of tomorrow. Despite that, even sinners such as they should have the benefit of God’s mercy. If you still fear pursuit I wouldn’t worry. Both men were so dosed with Paracelsus’ drug that they’ll be unable to resume the chase for days.” Ned opened his mouth to speak, thought for a moment then closed it and shook his head. While it was easier to believe that she bandaged his injuries, her ease at the cony-catcher’s trade was less easy to take in. Having to admit that a mere girl consistently out manoeuvred him was hurtful to any man’s pride. Now once more Mistress Black had proved to be a very cunning exploiter of modern politics. Ned inclined his head in a nod of acceptance. Despite her frequent rancour he would grudgingly admit he was glad Rob’s sister had occasionally slipped into the lead. But…just not publicly.

Rob eventually returned with a lidded firkin and Ned cautiously took it in his right hand. His friend helped support him as he swallowed at least a quarter. Damn that was good-no more weasel privy taste.

Rob eased the firkin down as Ned took a breath. “Your sister has told me of the aftermath of the ambush but what happened? I can recall very little.”

Actually he remembered quite a bit, mostly pain and trees, though his thinking was feeling less muzzy. Occasionally he still had to shake off strange memories of grasping branches clutching at his doublet or tripping up his feet. However despite those shadows Ned still felt the need to plan their next stage afore Mistress Black returned to her wilful habits. So catching up on the recent past was a good start.

“What happened after I drew the Spaniard off?” He thought it best to get his excuse in first. Being thought a coward didn’t sit well.

Rob scratched an ear since he was still kneeling and looked up at his sister. He must have obtained assent as he gave a guilty nod before launching into the tale of the Grafton Ambush. “Bravely done Ned!” The clap on the shoulder was only a light tap but Ned still grimaced with the pain and spots danced in his vision for a moment or two.

Rob looked ashamed at his lapse and paused with a questioning glance upwards before resumed the tale. “Ahh after you’d entered the woods with the Spaniard in hot pursuit, that other lot we left back at the Inn slammed into the Spaniard’s gang led by some large bearded maniac yelling for the Spanish louse. Meg called that he had the satchel and was in the woods and the fellow pounded off ignoring all the rest.” Rob waved his hand in front of his nose meaningfully. “By God he reeked as he rushed past. Smelt worse than the Fleete ditch.”

Ned let out a suppressed whimper and a glare. During the tale Mistress Black, having discarded smithing, returned to her pretension of barber surgeoning, and was now packing the area of his wound with some sort of astringent herb poultice. By the saints, it stung! Then she roughly pushed his arm up and began to bind a cloth bandage tightly around his chest and shoulder.

Holding on to his manners and forbearance Ned gave a tight smile of thanks. How he was going to move if they got attacked was a question he thought best not to ask. Feeling like a swaddled infant Ned waved his friend to continue with his as yet uninjured hand. “Then what happened-how did you win out?”

Rob Black dropped his head and looked rather embarrassed, muttering some deprecating comment about the ‘providence of the lord’.

Mistress Black, however, was not so reticent. She gave her brother a fierce glower, then just to emphasis her evident disapproval, gave Ned’s dressing a last securing tug that had him gritting his teeth in discomfort. Then she stood up, and facing her brother with hands defiantly on hips, continued the tale. “What Robert hasn’t said is that once Skelton disappeared into the wood, the new ruffians were reluctant without his leadership. They did look worse for wear-probably most were drunk.”