Robin Hobb - Shaman's Crossing

I scarcely heard it. I was still mulling over what she had suggested. “Just ignore it? That seems… dishonest.”

“No, you dolt. Dishonest is a spoiled child lying about you and having you dishonourably discharged from the Academy.” She stood suddenly and then shocked me by leaning down to kiss me on the brow. “That is quite enough for one day. Think about what I’ve said, and then sleep on it. And for once, do what is sensible.”

She did not give me a chance to agree with her. She walked to the window, drew the curtains to put the room into darkness, and left me there. I didn’t sleep. I thought it over. I calculated my odds like a gambler. Sergeant Rufet had known, but he was dead. The doctor knew, but as he had not mentioned it, perhaps he had forgotten my words to him. Colonel Stiet knew, of course, as did Caulder. But would they linger at the Academy or would they swiftly depart and allow Colonel Rebin to move into the living quarters? I tempted myself with the notion that perhaps the colonel had been too distracted to note my discharge down into the daily log of the Academy. Perhaps with all that had happened, he would forget the incident of his son’s drunkenness.

Or perhaps not. I decided sternly that it was a foolish thing to hope for. I also decided I would be equally foolish not to attempt to ignore the discharge. What more, after all, could Colonel Stiet do to me than what he had already done? And so as the days passed and I grew stronger, I kept Epiny’s counsel and did not speak of the discharge to anyone.

Perhaps the slim hope I felt speeded my recovery. A day came when I could rise from my bed without assistance. The doctor began to allow me regular food instead of the bland soups I’d been subsisting on. My appetite returned with a vengeance, and to my nurse’s delight, I ate heartily every meal and put on flesh. I had lost muscle during my wasting illness, and of course that would have to be rebuilt by strenuous exercise. I was not yet up to it, but after another week had passed, I was able not only to stroll through my uncle’s gardens with Purissa but also to ride sedately with Epiny in the park. I did not even much mind that she assigned me her docile mare and rode Sirlofty.

My uncle’s home was not a happy place in those days. I did not take my meals with the family, but ate alone in my rooms, glad that I had the excuse of my continuing convalescence. My uncle said little of the misery that Epiny had caused her family, but she spoke of it frankly with me, and at greater length than I enjoyed. I was sorry to have been the indirect cause of my uncle’s tribulations, and yet in a quiet corner of my soul, I rejoiced that at least Spink would have the joy of a wife who doted on him. I feared his life would offer him little else in the way of consolation.

The wedding was small and so subdued as to feel almost dreary. Spink’s older brother had made the journey to witness the ceremony, and also, as Epiny so crudely put it, “to pay for the bride”. I am sure his family had offered what it could but it was not a substantial amount and of influence they had even less to barter. I went and stood up with Spink’s brother and listened to the priest say the words that bound them to one another. Epiny’s dress was simple as was the lace veil she wore, and yet it still looked extravagant next to Spink in his even more ill-fitting uniform. Worse, I suspected it would be the last use he would ever have for it. It was the first time I’d seen him since the infirmary. He looked as if a good gust of wind could carry him off. His eyes were still shadowed and his cheeks sunken, yet he spoke clearly when he thanked Epiny’s parents for giving her, and still managed to look happier than I’d ever seen him before. So did Epiny, and despite my misgivings, I envied them both.

I had very little time alone with Spink. He wearied easily and Epiny was determined both to baby him and to have him to herself as much as possible. When I found one quiet moment, I gave him my personal good wishes, and then suddenly found myself saying, “It’s strange. Things matter so much, and then suddenly they don’t matter at all. On the day of our examinations, I agonized that you and Gord had found a way to cheat. It seemed of such great importance to me then, a life-or-death matter. Well, now I know what a life-or-death matter is. Does everything seem different to you since we came so close to dying?”

He gave me a soul-baring look. “Since we died and came back, you mean? Yes, my friend. Everything seems different to me. And things that bothered me a great deal then don’t matter to me at all anymore.” He gave a small snort of laughter. “But I will confess the truth to you. Yes. I did cheat. But Gord had nothing to do with it. I wrote “6x8 = 46” on the inside of my wrist.”

“But six times eight is forty-eight!” I exclaimed.

For a long instant, Spink just gaped at me. Then he burst into a hearty laugh, and that brought Epiny sweeping up to us to demand how I had managed to win that response from him. Very shortly after that, they left on their wedding trip, which was only to last two days before they journeyed east again with Spink’s brother. The little gathering dissolved almost as soon as the bride and groom departed, and I was happy to seek my room under the pretence of being wearied by all the excitement. My uncle excused me easily, and actually looked as if he wished he could go with me. He appeared bedraggled in that harried way of men whose wives are intensely unhappy with them. My aunt was dressed in a severe dress in a grey so dark it was almost black. She had not spoken one word to me and I was able to bow silently over her hand and escape.

In my bedchamber, I sat and stared out of the window until the day faded to night. Then, my decision made, I took paper and pen and wrote a careful but blunt letter to Carsina. I addressed the envelope plainly to her, care of her father. The next day I arose early, dressed meticulously in my uniform and left my uncle’s house.

The first thing I did was to post my letter. Then, having faced that particular demon, I rode Sirlofty to the Academy where I called at Colonel Stiet’s residence, desperately hoping to find that he and his family had already moved out.

But they were still there, and so I forced myself to do what I had promised myself I would do if I ever had the opportunity. I would confront Caulder with his foul lie. I presented the note he had sent me to the servant who answered the door. The man expressed polite surprise and told me that he would first have to seek permission from the boy’s mother. She had given orders that he was not to be allowed to do anything that might excite him in any way. His health was still far too delicate.

And so I was kept waiting for some little time in a finely appointed parlour. I looked at the expensive prints on the walls but did not sit in any of the grandly upholstered chairs. I recalled bitterly that in my cadet days under the colonel, I had never been judged worthy to be invited here. I would not sit on his fine cushions now.

I had expected that Caulder’s mother might come in to see who was visiting her boy. But it was the servant who came back, with the simple request from his mother that I not weary Caulder nor stay too long. I assured the man that I had no intention of making a lengthy visit, and then followed him upstairs to a sunny sitting room.

Caulder was already there. He was sitting on a lounge with a counterpane over his legs. He looked even worse than Spink. His arms were bony, so that his wrists and elbows looked unnaturally large. A table with a pitcher of water, a glass, and the other accoutrements of a sick room stood handy to him. His knees made mountains beneath the coverlet, and he had perched several lead soldiers on top of them. Yet he was not playing with them, but only staring at them fixedly. The servant knocked gently on the frame of the open door. Caulder started, and two soldiers fell to the floor with a clatter. “Beg pardon, young sir. You have a guest,” the man told him, crossing the room to gather up the toy soldiers and hand them back to Caulder. The boy took them absently and did not speak a word to me until the man left the room.