Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
The school that they visited the next day was newly built, and quite nice, as schools went.
Stone, not wood, with a big fireplace, actual tables for the children to sit at, and a threadbare rug on the floor by the hearth.
It even had its own outhouse. The man running it was elderly and spry, and apparently had an endless supply of patience, because no matter how many times he had to ask the children to do something, his cheerful tone never faltered.
Gabriel had slept for approximately fifteen minutes the night before, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open while he was given a short tour.
The children, who had obviously been washed and combed first thing in the morning and had already ruined said efforts by climbing up chimneys and rolling in the mud or whatever it was children did these days, mostly seemed suspicious of the king’s visit.
And rightly so, thought Gabriel, still reeling from the angry crowd the night before.
Who was he to come down from his lofty castle and tell people living hand to mouth what their priorities should be?
Gabriel would hate himself too, if he were any of these people.
He did hate himself today, and the lack of sleep was certainly not helping.
“This is where we keep the books,” the teacher said, showing them a small cabinet with three volumes, the pages already very bent. “We had more, but, ah … unfortunately, somebody seems to have taken them home to use as kindling.”
“We’ll have more sent,” said Gwen.
“This is Gilbert.” The teacher snagged a passing child like you might hook a fish, and presented him to Gabriel. “He’s the best at addition, aren’t you, Gilbert?”
“Hello, and I’m supposed to say ‘Your Majesty.’ And bow.” He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve and did not bow.
“A pleasure to meet you, Gilbert,” said Gabriel, with the wariness of children he’d never been able to hide.
“Where’s your arm?” said Gilbert, in a light, conversational tone. The teacher immediately started making apologetic sounds.
“No, it’s all right. Um, they had to cut it off. It was crushed. By a very big horse.”
“Estrild’s got no hand, but she was born like that. Maybe your hands are together in heaven. And my uncle’s leg came off in a farming accident. Do you want to see the privy? My friend David did something so bad in there.”
“No, thank you,” Gabriel said weakly.
The boy shrugged. “Oh well.”
He sprinted away to join his friends. The teacher, for once, seemed at a loss for words.
They continued their tour, and then on their way out, Gilbert returned, dragging a small blond girl in tow. “This is Essy. Show him your hand, Es.”
Estrild pulled back her sleeve to show the place where her wrist ended, and then looked back at Gabriel, clearly expecting him to offer the same in return.
He probably should have; it would have been nice and perhaps heartwarming, the two of them sharing this moment, bonding over what life had dealt them.
But he didn’t want to. He was tired and irritable, he’d been experiencing a hot, itchy tightness in his scar that had kept him up half the night while worrying had kept him up the other, and he didn’t know this child. He didn’t know any children. He made a point of it.
“Do you like … school?” he said instead, and Estrild let her sleeve fall back down and shrugged.
“I like reading,” she said. “I can do all of the books now. Someone took half of them, so I’ve read the last three ten times. One of them is boring but the other two are all right. I want a book about King Arthur, that was the best one that got stolen, and I want one about insects.”
“Insects?”
“Yes, because I collect insects, and I put them in a box until they die, which sometimes takes a long time, and after they’ve died, I line them up on my shelf.
But I don’t know all the names. I just give them names, like people names, but I want to know the real ones.
I know about lice and nits and earwigs. And worms, but I don’t want to keep worms, because they shrivel up and they look bad on the shelf. ”
This speech, surprising as it was, was probably the most interesting conversation Gabriel had been party to in days.
“Did you know there’s a type of worm called a slow-worm? It isn’t actually a worm at all, it’s a lizard without legs.”
Estrild squinted up at him as if he were very stupid. “Well then, it can’t go on my shelf, can it? If it’s a lizard.”
“No, I suppose not. We have a butterfly specimen at Camelot from the other side of the world. It’s iridescent—shiny—and bright, bright blue, like topaz. Or. Er. The sky.”
“Can I have it?” Estrild said, straight down to business.
“Probably not,” said Gabriel. “But I can send you a new book, with insects in. It’s about herbal medicine too, but you can skip those bits if you’re not interested.”
“I’ll skip those bits,” Estrild agreed. Her eyes narrowed. “Will you send it tomorrow?”
“The next time we send word to Camelot, I’ll put in the request. It might take a few weeks to arrive.
” Estrild looked discouraged, like a few weeks might as well be a decade.
“But I have some books with me. Perhaps you’d like one of those.
There aren’t any about insects, but there is one about surgery that we have another copy of at the castle. The pictures are horrible.”
“Yes, please, I’ll have the one with the horrible pictures, please,” Estrild said in a rush, before he could rescind the offer.
“Good,” said Gabriel. “I’ll have someone run it over before we leave.”
He resisted the urge to shake her hand to seal the deal.
Gwen and Sir Hurst were waiting with the teacher, and when he went to meet them, his sister smiled encouragingly and said, “That was good!”
“Was it?” said Gabriel. “I lost two books.”
“Ah,” said the teacher. “Yes. Estrild drives a hard bargain. I should have warned you, Majesty, my apologies.”
It had all gone rather well. After the school tour, a few local tradespeople came to present their wares, and ask Gabriel questions about trade restrictions that might hinder them, and Gabriel was all too happy to discuss it with them.
He didn’t even need Gwen to step in and take over.
When Sir Hurst said that it was time for them to leave, Gabriel didn’t feel his usual instant and overwhelming relief. He’d almost lost track of time.
A rare and precious good mood, the feeling of a job well done, buoyed him all the way back to the baron’s house. He was actually humming under his breath as he entered his room, peeling off his jacket, readying himself for a well-earned nap, when he approached his bed and stopped in his tracks.
Arthur was lying there, blanket draped half over him, head on Gabriel’s pillow.
He looked deceptively angelic when he slept, soft dark lashes fluttering over his cheekbones, his lips slightly parted.
Gabriel had watched him sometimes when his own sleep evaded him, feeling like he was stealing something precious, hoarding it for later.
Arthur stirred, and Gabriel’s breathing stalled. What was the etiquette here? Sneak away? But it was his room—so where to sneak to? Arthur’s room? Surely not.
“Gabriel?” It was too late; Arthur was gazing at him from under those long lashes, hazy and confused. “What are you … Why are you in my room?”
“Um. It’s my room actually.”
“Your…?” Arthur seemed to jolt to full consciousness; he sat up abruptly, pushing the blanket down to his thighs. “Shit. Sorry. I needed to lie down, they were cleaning mine, they said you’d be out for hours and they’d do yours after, or I swear I wouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right.”
Arthur swung his legs around, went to stand, then staggered—and Gabriel caught him with his good arm without thinking, easing him back down, repeating “Whoa, whoa” as if he were hushing a frightened horse.
“Damn it. I was having such a nice nap,” Arthur said, heavy with regret. “I think my body thought I was in a cave, like a bear.”
“Go back to sleep if you want.”
“In your bed?”
It wouldn’t be the first time, Gabriel thought, and from the expression that passed across Arthur’s face, he was thinking the same. He realized too late that he still had his arm around Arthur’s back, and let go as if his skin were scalding.
“You should rest, you’ve been ill.”
Arthur smoothed his hair back, letting his hand run all the way down until he was pulling the length of it away from his neck, then let go.
“Mmm. Getting better, but yes. Inconveniently timed. I should have asked to be slung over the back of the supply wagon instead of having to ride on bloody horseback, but it didn’t feel very knightly of me. ”
“You can ride in the wagon if you like.”
“With the cheese,” Arthur said. “And the biscuits. Actually, on second thought, maybe I should.” They were too close for conversation really, a distance apart that made everything feel too intimate, but neither of them moved away. “How was your school thing?”
“Oh, it was … good actually.” It felt strange to be able to say that, but it was true.
“So the children didn’t eat you?”
Gabriel gave him a weak smile. “Not this time. In fact … it was nice. I got to speak to some people about things I’m actually interested in, and I was almost—”
“Good at it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.”
Arthur lifted a brow. “I would. You’ve always been great at talking about all sorts of clever things. Things that make me feel ill on principle. Statistics, and geography. Mathematics. Ugh.”
Was this true, too? It didn’t feel true. But Arthur had no reason to lie.
“Thank you,” Gabriel said tentatively.
Arthur nodded. “Oh, and I meant to thank you too, actually. For offering to get cut in half by the Green Knight in my place. It was very stupid of you. But stupid in my favor, which I approve of.”
“I wasn’t really … thinking.”