Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Ifind a stack of blankets in an old trunk at the foot of the bed and cover the body with a long, worn length of linen.
I should probably drag it outside, but someone is bound to notice.
I’ve no idea where I’d put it, anyhow. So…
covering up the problem it is. Once his accusing, vacant stare is covered up, I turn to Kalos.
“You want to explain yourself?”
He pets Dingle’s head, stroking the goat’s brow just above his horn buds. “About what?”
I gesture at the dead man. “I thought you couldn’t use your powers while you were in the mortal realm. I thought that was the point?”
Kalos’s expression grows thoughtful. “I’m not supposed to, no. But I reached out, and I was able to pull…something.” He shrugs. “Not much, though.”
“When you do, it makes me sick.” I rub my tickling nose. “I’m afraid of what’s going to happen if you pull too hard.”
He just shrugs again.
Okay, I’m not getting anywhere with him. I try something different. “We’re trying to keep a low profile, and going around slaughtering people isn’t the way to proceed.”
He gives me an affronted look. “You seriously cannot feel bad that this cretin is dead? He was going to steal all of our funds. He was going to eat the goat!”
“I wouldn’t let him,” I say defensively.
“Do you think he was going to stop there? He was just going to keep demanding to see what we’d pay. Now we get to keep it all and Dingle is safe.” He scratches the goat’s chin affectionately. “I’ve grown rather fond of this one.”
“I’m glad about that, but…still! It’s wrong to kill someone because they’re trying to rip us off.”
Kalos doesn’t seem bothered by this. His expression tells me he doesn’t care about this dead man in the slightest. “People die in Anticipations. People die around gods. You’re just going to have to get used to it. Your job is to serve me, is it not?”
I hate that this is sounding so practical. “I… guess so?”
“As long as I’m happy, what does it matter?”
It matters. People matter, even if they’re shitty, manipulative fishermen.
I’m trying to stay mad at the situation, but I’m getting awfully distracted by the fact that Kalos is downright chatty at the moment.
It’s like the more fatigued and worn-down I become, the cheerier he becomes. “And are you happy right now?”
He shrugs. “I’m not even certain I know what happiness looks like.”
What a morose thing to say. “You could try smiling. See if you like it.”
The god gives me a look of vague reproach and bares his teeth in the most constipated-looking smile I’ve ever seen.
I burst into laughter.
Kalos straightens, an expression of surprise on his face as he studies me. He scratches at the goat’s horn buds thoughtfully. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh, Elvie.”
“Elsie.” Jesus. How long have we been together and he still doesn’t know my name?
It reminds me just how little I matter to him, and my good mood sours.
“And that’s because there’s not a lot to laugh about.
We’re still on the run from an army that wants you dead, and now we’ve killed the first person we’ve met outside of your temple.
This is not how we should be handling things, Kalos. ”
He sighs as if I exhaust him and says nothing else.
I glance down at the body again, hands on my hips. “Okay, well, we’re here. Let’s make the best of a bad situation. We’ll lock the doors and hope no one comes to visit today. In the meantime, we might as well clean up, see what supplies we can take from here, and figure out where to go next.”
I pick up the bowl of fish stew and help myself to another round, because I’m going to need my strength.
After I finish barring the door and eating, I’m so drained and heavy with food that I curl up on the fisherman’s bed and take a nap despite my misgivings.
I sleep until dusk, eat the last of the disgusting fish stew, and go picking through the dead man’s pantry.
He doesn’t have much. There are a couple jars of something suspicious, some dried fish, and a bag of what looks like a thick flour or cornmeal.
There’s a bit of questionable looking butter and a few eggs atop the table, so I get to work frying up corn cakes to take with us tomorrow.
It sounds easier than it is, because I have to find matches to make a fire in the hearth, and that takes far too long.
Once all the cakes are cooked up (and I’ve eaten my share), I sneak behind the house in the darkness and find a water well.
It takes me a few tries to figure out how to haul the bucket up, but I manage to get several bucketfuls warming in a large pot by the fire.
I’m going to have a warm bath of some kind, I decide, and wash my clothes.
I look over at Kalos, who hasn’t moved from his spot on his bucket-stool. Dingle has wandered away, chewing on a blanket in the corner, but Kalos hasn’t done anything. He sits there and picks at his fingernails, a bored expression on his face.
He’s Apathy, I remind myself. He’s not going to be the soul of helpfulness.
Even so, I don’t like that he just…sits there. It feels wrong. Not because I’m doing all the work, but because there’s something rather sad about his situation. “I’m warming water,” I tell him brightly.
“Good for you.” His tone is bored.
“We’re both going to wash up, and I’m going to study the map again. Much as I’d love to sleep in a bed again tonight, I think it’s best if we head out under the cover of darkness before someone comes looking for our friend.” I wiggle a finger at the blanket-covered dead man.
“Mm.”
I find a small tub—very small, so our fisherman must not have been a big bathing fan—and fill it with hot water and a bucket of the cold water and leave it close to the hearth.
There’s a clothesline crossing the interior of the tiny cottage and I hang a blanket over it to add a semblance of privacy.
I’d managed to find a gnarly, grayish cake of soap, but it lathers when I give it a test rub, and I quickly undress and get to work scrubbing my body.
Nothing feels better than getting clean.
God, nothing. I quickly give myself a once-over to get the worst of the grime off, and rinse in a cold bucket of water.
Then I squeeze into the tub, folding myself into a pretzel just to get as much of the water covering me as possible.
Some of it slops onto the warped floorboards, but I don’t care.
Bathing feels so good. I didn’t realize how much I was beat down by all the mud I was carrying around. I feel like a new person.
Once I’ve scrubbed every inch of myself twice, I climb out of the tub, wrap myself in one of the old blankets, and get to work on my hair.
Bent over the water, I wet and scrub, wet and scrub.
By the time I’m done, my hair feels like a knotted tangle, but a clean one.
The tub water is a questionable brown, reminding me just how gross I was.
I wrap my only clean piece of clothing—a dress—around my wet hair and make a turban.
“You’re going to have to dump the water and get fresh for your bath,” I call out from my side of the blanket.
“But you’ll feel so much better when you’re done, trust me. ”
There’s silence on the other end of the curtain.
I peek over.
Kalos gazes at me, muddy and pale, a look of distaste on his face. “You expect me to draw my own bath?”
“Yeah?”
“And to dump your water?”
“Well, you definitely don’t want to use it. It’s pretty gross.” I glance over at it again to make sure I’m not wrong, and Dingle has his nose in it. “No, Dingle! Not for drinking!”
Kalos speaks again, his words slow as if he’s choosing them carefully. “You…are not going to bathe me?”
I stare at him in shock. He really wants that.
But then I remember…Apathy.
He’s literally never had to take care of himself before, I wager.
Even before we started this journey, he sat in the dark and let cobwebs grow on him rather than do…
anything. I need to be patient. I need to remember that he can’t help how he is, and he probably hates being Apathy more than anyone.
I put a cheery smile on my face. “You’re going to wash yourself and I’ll walk you through it, if that helps. ”
He stares at me and sighs like a dramatic child. “Must I?”
“Yes. Those are the rules.”
“Who put you in charge? I am the god here.”
I gesture at him. “Great. Super. Does that mean you want to be in charge, then?”
“Well…no.”
“Then I’ll do it.” I indicate he should stand up. “Come by the fire and get the tub. You’re going to want to dump it outside and we’ll put fresh water in it.”
He gives me a reluctant look and gets to his feet slowly. Kalos moves to stand next to the tub and I head for the door, opening it so he can carry it out into the darkness and pour it into the muddy earth nearby.
“That’s far too much work,” he says, and tips it over, spilling filthy water all over the cottage’s floor.
I bite back my scream of frustration, because what did I expect?
Why do I care if the floor is nasty? There’s literally a dead man under a blanket a few feet away.
I take a few deep breaths to calm myself and try again.
“Okay, well, now that the tub is clear of the dirty water, you can fill it again.”
“Or you could do it for me.”
“I could, but I won’t. If you want to get clean, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”
“What if I don’t want to get clean? I truly don’t care.” He tosses his muddy hair as if to defy me.
I cross my arms over my blanket-towel and eye him.
While he’s Apathy, true, there’s something about this declaration that doesn’t sit perfectly well with me.
How do I make him bathe? He’s a god—I can’t force him.
After a moment, I suggest, “If you don’t bathe, you’re going to stand out when we make it to the next town, and we’ll be caught for sure. Do you want to stay alive?”
“I don’t care.”