John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“I’ll get that for you,” she said, sleepily. “What are you doing awake?”

“Haven’t I been sleeping enough?” he asked, pouring the water shakily. His hands were trembling so badly, he got some of it on the coverlet. He gave up the cup and jug to Rachel and leaned back, overcome with weariness.

“You nearly died, stupid,” she said, pouring the water and holding the cup to his lips.

He had enough control to take the cup and drink from it again. “I had sort of figured that out.”

“How long have you been awake?” she asked, putting her hand on his forehead, gently. But the touch didn’t elicit any pain.

“Not long,” he replied. “Where am I?”

“In Dad’s house. It was the only place Mom felt you’d get enough rest. I need to check something.”

“Okay,” he said as she pulled back the coverlet. Only then did he realize he was naked and snatched at the bedclothes.

“First of all, you weren’t that modest in the baths,” she said with a chuckle. “Second, I’ve seen it for the last three days.”

“Oh,” he said as she pulled back the covers again. She took what looked like a knitting needle and applied it to the end to his toes, painfully. “Ow!”

“Good,” she said, working her way up his body. She checked all the extremities and various other apparently random spots. By the time she finished he was trembling in fatigue. Which really ticked him off. She covered him back up and put something in a notebook with a nod of satisfaction.

“Do I pass, Doctor?” he asked querulously.

“So far,” she replied with a tired smile. “We were really worried about your responses. The second day some of your extremities were fairly numb. That’s a bad sign. But it all has recovered. Try not to take too many more blows to the head, okay?”

“I will,” he said. “What happened?”

“There’s no way to tell for sure, but Mom thinks you developed a bruise on either the lining of the skull or the brain itself. It’s called subdural cerebral hematoma. Just call it a brain bruise. Sometimes those can kill. In your case it looks like you just have a harder head than should be possible. No slurring of the voice, pain stimuli all good. The only thing left is to check your reflexes and I’ll let Mom handle that.”

“How is she?” Herzer asked. “She looked… awful out at the roundup. I heard she lost a patient.”

“And you would have made two for two,” Rachel said sadly. “Bob Towback. He fell into a couple of logs and they flailed his chest and abdomen. It… took a while for him to go and there wasn’t anything we could do. It hit Mom hard. Losing you would have hit her harder, I think.”

“I don’t know why,” Herzer said quietly. “No, that’s stupid. I understand.”

“I know you do,” Rachel replied, quietly.

“Where’s Shilan?” he asked, to change the subject.

“Sleeping,” Rachel said with a chuckle. “You’ll have to wait to regain your strength anyway, Romeo.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he said, lying. “I was just worried about her.”

“She was more worried about you,” Rachel said. “She’s been sitting in this chair most of the time. Mom sent her off to bed last night when it was pretty clear you were going to make it.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he said, suddenly. “Bad.”

“I’ll get a bedpan,” she said, getting up.

“How far is it to…” he paused.

“Dad actually has indoor plumbing,” Rachel said stepping out of the room. “But you’re not getting up.”

“The hell I’m not,” Herzer replied, irritably. He sat up and worked his legs out of the covers awkwardly. Nothing would go the way he wanted and he briefly was afraid the brain bruise or whatever had damaged his motor circuits. But after a moment, as the room seemed to revolve around him, he got them under control. Just disuse. That was all. Disuse.

He hung onto that mantra as he slid out of bed.

“Oh you idiot,” she said, grabbing him as he sagged. She had a strange and altogether unpleasant looking device in her hand which she tossed on the bed. “Damn, you’re heavy.”

“I can make it,” he said, gritting his teeth as the room started spinning again. “Where is it?”

“Just down the hall,” she said, getting her shoulder under his arm. “And go quiet. If you wake up Mother…”

“I’m already awake,” Dr. Daneh said from the door. “And you should be in bed.”

“I can make it to the jakes, Doctor,” Herzer said, straightening up then swaying and grabbing at Rachel.

“Idiot,” the doctor said, shaking her head. “But since I don’t want to be wrestling with you while you pee, I’ll help too.”

Between the three of them they managed to stagger to the bathroom and Herzer relieved himself in relative peace. He even snagged a towel off a rack and got it around his waist before he staggered out the door.

“Back to bed, you,” Dr. Daneh said, shaking her head. “The things people go through for privacy.”

By the time Herzer was back in bed he was willing to admit that maybe the strange device, a white porcelain… jug, sort of, with a tube that did not look large enough, might have been a better idea.

“Get some rest,” Dr. Daneh said, wiping a piece of hair out of her face. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“Why?” Herzer asked with a sigh as he lay back down.

“Fredar got raided,” the doctor said. “That’s what had me up. Some brigands looted it and burned most of the buildings. We’re going to be having more refugees. Edmund has moved up the plan on building a real defense force. And he wants you on it.”

“Good,” Herzer said. He could feel sleep pulling at him but he felt that it was time for a good line. “Time to get back on the horse.”

“Idiot” was the last thing he heard.

On the fifth day after his accident, Herzer rebelled.

For two days after his head cleared up, Dr. Daneh had refused to let him get up and move around more than to the bathroom. But the fifth day he could make it that far just fine and felt more or less recovered. Rather less than more if pressed, he was still dreadfully weak, but that wasn’t going to get better by lying in bed.

In the afternoon, after one of Daneh’s “nurses” had left with his lunch, he was alone and apparently unguarded. Getting up he retrieved his mended clothes from the cupboard and went to find out what the repetitive banging sound was from behind the house.

He could hear clattering from the kitchen so he stepped out a side door and snuck around to the shed at the rear. He had expected to find one of the smith apprentices, even hopefully someone from his apprentice class, but it was Master Talbot himself standing at the anvil, hammering out a piece of bar-steel with a furious expression on his face.

Herzer started to step back but as he did Edmund looked up and nodded, distantly.

“I didn’t think you were supposed to be out of bed,” Talbot said, setting down the hammer and slipping the steel back into the coals in the forge.

“I suppose I’m AWOL,” Herzer replied, stepping into the shed. It was less crowded than he expected, containing not much more than a table, some buckets, the forge and the anvil. There were a few tools but not many. After a moment he took in bare patches on the floor and some recent wood work and realized that much of its contents had recently been removed. Down to the town and the growing smithies he supposed.

Despite the relative cool of the afternoon, it was hot as… well as a forge inside. He could feel sweat beading on his brow immediately and Edmund was drenched.

The smith nodded in understanding and took a drink of water from a jug, handing it over to the boy. “Well, if you think you’re recovered enough, you can work the bellows,” he said, nodding to the apparatus. “Put on an apron, though, or you’ll get sparks all in your clothes.”