Gregory House - The Cardinal's Angels

All right, he was definitely awake now and the power the dreadful dream held over him fell away as if frightened by the morning light. Ned tried to push himself off the bed and woke up further when he found his left arm had been strapped to his body. What?

In a rush the images of the last week slammed into him leaving him breathless and panting. Could it only have been over a week since the incident at the Cardinal’s Cap ? It must be close to that. He slowly counted up the days or rather the nights, since those tended to be the most readily recalled. If all that was real then this must be the King’s manor at Grafton Regis.

With one hand Ned pushed back the bed curtains and looked around the room. It was quite small but with everything a man could need including a chamber pot. That he utilized immediately, also one handed, which proved to be his first obstacle and luckily was overcome was successfully.

Ned looked out the window and tried to estimate the time. Without the ringing of the city bells or the chime of St Paul’s clock it was a bit difficult. The sun was well enough up so it could have been the second hour. He made a slight effort to stretch his shoulder and whimpered. The wound had tightened up.

This dressing and bandage, though no doubt useful for the wound, made dressing impossible and in the ranking scheme of the court only in his more imaginative fantasies was Ned Bedwell going to be important or wealthy enough to rate a servant. So first problem for the day was how could he get his shirt and doublet on unassisted? The second problem that occurred to him was how to get some food. To be honest he’d expected to awake back at the tavern or even in a barn or maybe having to sharing a bed with three others at least.

Having a separate room screamed status and marked favour, and he didn’t mind the absence of snoring companions in the least. However having Rob in here may have made his struggle with the shirt a less painful and futile experience. The battle left Ned gasping with pain as he leant against the wall to recover. That was when he discovered a new disadvantage as the timber door swung open and smacked him into the wall. Shaking his head all he could be thankful for was at least it hit the good shoulder.

“Oww! By the saints, watch what you’re doing!”

Whether it was a plea or threat seemed to make no difference, as Mistress Black strode into the small chamber followed by three court servants carrying an array of clothes. Ned viewed their entrance with some trepidation. He didn’t care if they were the robes of the Grand Turk himself. All it meant was another struggle with shirts and such. He lost some of his smouldering discontent when a further servant arrived with a well-laden tray of provender and a jug of ale. It made negotiating the press in the room a bit difficult, but the smell of fresh bread had him salivating in anticipation. Now he thought about it, his stomach reminded him that it had been almost a day since he had last eaten.

Perhaps Mistress Black had missed her calling in life, for within moments she’d marshalled the confusion, arranged the clothes on a narrow coffer chest, the tray on the bed and ushered out the last of the bewildered servants. All this was accomplished without either running into Ned or tripping over any of the servants, a feat that impressed him considering the limited space in the room.

Ned was about to joyfully pounce on one of the loaves when Mistress Black’s commanding tone stopped his hand in mid grab. “Get your shirt off Ned!”

That had him flummoxed. Here he was, dying from hunger, and now she wanted to strip him to his breeches. Both his daemon and angel emerged from hiding to point out that she had finally called him Ned, thought instinctively he did look around for any hot pokers or other implements of pain. No, only that dangerously innocuous satchel she always carried.

“What for?” he asked suspiciously. After all the last two times she had got his shirt off had been distinctly painful experiences. Though she may have claimed necessity the agony was instantly recalled.

Mistress Black shook her head and frowned while unpacking unguents and bandages. “Well Ned, I could describe to you the progress, according to the learned physicians, from laudable pus to green pus to wound rot and a painful death or you could experience all that. Your choice!”

Well if only she’d explained matters to him in the first place. Ned removed the encumbering shirt very smartly with only a few winces and a barely suppressed whimper. Then the apprentice apothecary and sometimes practicing barber surgeon gave his wound a very close inspection then applied a further pungent salve from one of her many pots then rebandaged the wound. “By the way Ned, that was well done yesterday.”

The unexpected compliment had him confused. A favour from the glowering Mistress Black, that was unusual!

“What was?”

“Well the ambush for a start…and later.”

Ned could have sworn there was a grudging tone of compliment in that. “Rob and Roger did more in the fight.”

She dismissed that with a brief shrug. “Maybe, but they know how to fight, though if you want I can recommend a friend of Master Robinsons who could train you in the arts of defence. Next time you won’t wear a dagger in your shoulder.”

It was the sort of left-handed compliment he was beginning to expect from this very perceptive girl. Unused to compliments in general and this one in particular, he stammered out his worries. “The interview with Secretary Cromwell could have been better. I fear that we only escaped the direst fate by the opportune arrival of Lady Anne.”

Meg Black tugged the bandage tighter and gave a very quiet smile. This was perplexing. Didn’t she understand the danger?

“However I fear that we have swapped an immediate threat for a perilous bondage to Cromwell that’ll bring little recompense.”

The intriguing smile of Mistress Black grew wider. She looked not so much like the cat who got the cream, but one that had hit on a year’s supply and then some. “Not so opportune or entirely without recompense.”

“What? How can you say that? We have less than half of Smeaton’s gold left. We can get some money on the return of the horses and maybe a good price for that chestnut.”

That last inclusion hurt. He really liked that horse, but there had to be a fair division of their gains since they could kiss farewell to the rest of the Cardinal’s Angels. By the time they got back to the city the shipment would be on its way to wherever.

“Ahh Ned, I fear I have a confession to make.”

What was this? Ned looked at Rob’s sister as if she’d sprouted wings. What was she talking about? Confession, he thought. Lutherans didn’t make confession?

“The night of the ambush after I dosed you with Paracelsus’ laudanum I sent a message to my Lady Anne warning her of the letters and our need for help. So as you saw yesterday her arrival saved us.”

Ned dropped his head. Oh well and he’d thought it had all been down to his negotiation with Cromwell. A part of him felt disappointed while his daemon hinted that it displayed a very useful link and regard from Mistress Black.

Ned muzzled further thoughts as Meg continued. “It’s not so dark Ned.”

Once more an enigmatic smile lit up her face, making her eyes sparkle with barely suppressed mischief. Her cryptic replies were making him angry and once more he spoke without thinking. “I suppose you can magic up the gold just like the Faerie Queen.” This was a said with a bitterly sarcastic tone and he immediately regretted his haste.

That was until Meg Black gave her answer. “Well yes I can. I know exactly where it is.”

Ned couldn’t have been more surprised but he was getting used to the seeming limitless abilities of Mistress Black, so he made an attempt at nonchalance. He leaned against the window sill, and would have tried to cross his arms but for having one arm strapped across his chest which made it awkward. “All right Mistress Clever Clogs. Where?”