Chapter 1 #5
The branch—for such it had been, stripped of its leaves and twigs and bark though it was now—stood almost as tall as Hull would if he were upright.
Grytha took out a knife from the purse at her belt (commonplace enough, Ephraim supposed, having not the least idea what ladies might typically carry on their person) and a hatchet (which Ephraim did not think quite so commonplace, but then again, he supposed himself hardly an expert in that particular field).
With a few swift strokes she scored the branch around its narrower end.
With one chop of the hatchet she severed it.
Then a few twists of the knife drilled a hole in the smaller piece, into which she perpendicularly fit the longer piece, and within the span of a few minutes or perhaps less she had fashioned a crutch.
One which, to Ephraim’s further amazement, seemed as well-fitted to Hull’s body as if it had grown for the purpose.
Between Grytha and Ephraim (more her strength than his), Hull raised to perch on the edge of the desk, and from there the crutch allowed him to rise with only faint trembling.
Most of the blue had drained from his face, leaving cold grey in its wake.
Still he braved a smile for Ephraim. Ephraim strove to return it.
“To bed, then,” said Grytha. She turned to Ephraim with her heavy brows raised in enquiry. “Upstairs, I presume?”
“Upstairs,” Ephraim confirmed. Then hesitated as a familiar dread crept into his veins.
Hull had shared Ephraim’s bedchamber since Boxing Day.
Of course Ephraim could not admit to anyone that he and his clerk shared a bed, but if the bone-setter entered the garret now she could not fail to notice (though Ephraim did his able best against the dust and cobwebs) that no one had occupied it for months at the very least.
An instant after this fear had seized him, it abated as he recalled, belatedly, that the fae did not share mortal anathemata and saw nothing amiss with two men dwelling together as husbands in every sense.
And all the while his wounded Hull had waited with astounding patience, balanced bloodless upon his newfound crutch with trembling arms.
“Please,” Ephraim hastened to add, desperate to make up for lost time. “Follow me.”
He led the way up to their bedchamber without further ado.
The sun had well set before Ephraim left Hullvardr’s side for even a minute. He did not even spare a glance for his watch from the moment of Grytha’s arrival until quarter-to-six. Then he served it a severe grimace before returning to Hullvardr.
“I fear I cannot avoid dining with Dr Hitchingham,” he said.
His brow furrowed in consternation, and the look he cast upon Hullvardr was almost ashamed.
“It would arouse his suspicions greatly, and we cannot risk him taking matters into his own hands and knocking at our door to discover why we have abandoned him.”
Hullvardr agreed and said so.
This cheered Ephraim considerably, though the wrinkle of worry never quite left his brow.
“We must contrive a story to explain your absence. Under any other circumstance I would offer him at the very least a version of the truth, but if I were to tell him that you were laid up with a broken leg, his professional pride would insist upon him attempting to visit the patient himself, and that we cannot have.”
Again, Hullvardr agreed. He certainly couldn’t keep up a glamour in his wounded state.
Even if he could, the most cursory physical examination would reveal that appearances did not match his actual anatomy.
While Hullvardr found Dr Hitchingham amusing enough and was glad Ephraim had found a friend in a world which had otherwise proved so unwelcoming to him, he did not wish to open the whole of the fae realms to the physician.
“Perhaps,” Ephraim continued, “I may say that you’ve gone on holiday to visit your family.
Or!” he added in a burst of inspiration.
“Perhaps you are visiting a friend wounded in a fashion similar to yourself? That would explain the sudden nature of your absence, and I may describe your case as your friend’s.
Then Dr Hitchingham may indulge in his own opinion on the matter, and we may have his advice that way.
Not that I think we will require it,” this with an apologetic glance towards Grytha, “but it will make him more amenable to the tale.”
As Dr Hitchingham loved nothing so well as giving his opinion on the matters of strangers —as Hullvardr had discovered early in his short acquaintance with the physician and as Ephraim knew very well in the course of his far longer friendship—this seemed the perfect scheme to keep him happily preoccupied and disinclined to question Hullvardr’s absence any further.
Hullvardr smiled at the thought and readily agreed to the plan, adding, “Do tell me all when you return.”
“Of course!” his Ephraim replied, as if there could be no other possibility.
There was nothing less in line with Ephraim’s wishes than to abandon his beloved Hull on such a night as this. He comforted himself with the notion that it must be done to protect Hull, and with his resolve to make the dinner short if at all possible.
Between the three of them—Grytha, Hull, and Ephraim—they had worked out how best to describe Hull’s injury as if it had occurred to a mortal.
The most anatomically-accurate comparison would’ve been a broken foot, but in terms of the complexity of the break and the weight distributed on the affected bones in a normal stride, the nearest comparison would be a broken shin.
“Well!” Dr Hitchingham concluded when Ephraim had told him the whole of it and he had finished giving his own medical advice in return. “While I am sorry you’re bereft of help, I cannot deny it is a relief to speak freely at dinner.”
Ephraim, who aside from confidential matters with his clients or fond murmurings to his beloved Hull had never spoken a word that couldn’t withstand staff overhearing, let this comment pass with a mere raising of his brows.
Dr Hitchingham continued without further prompting. “Six weeks ought to see his friend out of the woods. How you will do without a clerk for six weeks, plus the length of the journey back, and without any notice given beforehand… I defer to your expertise.”
Ephraim thanked him. It was rare that Dr Hitchingham admitted Ephraim had expertise, but then again, Ephraim supposed mortal law seemed a rather inconsequential pursuit when one regularly battled against mortality itself.
“This does mark the second clerk of yours in a row to abandon your office for greener pastures,” Dr Hitchingham went on.
“I hardly consider myself abandoned,” Ephraim protested. “You said yourself that Mr Hull may return in as little as six weeks.”
“You misquote me—I predicted that his friend’s broken bone would heal in six weeks’ time.
I do not by any means predict that Mr Hull will then return.
” Dr Hitchingham continued on before Ephraim could contrive a polite way of asking him what the deuce he meant by that.
“But as I did mention, this is your second clerk to leave you, as the sailors say, ‘hard up in a clinch with no knife to cut the seizing.’ Have you noted any commonality between the two?”
Ephraim did feel hard up in a clinch, etc.
, but more due to his own inadequacies when it came to treating broken bones rather than any action or inaction on Hull’s part.
He did however recognise in Dr Hitchingham’s tone a didactic note.
The question was not asked out of idle curiosity but rather so Dr Hitchingham might determine if Ephraim had drawn the same conclusion as himself.
What commonality the physician had noted, Ephraim couldn’t fathom.
For his own part, he replied, “They are both industrious young men whom I find indispensable.”
“And yet they have dispensed themselves right out of your office!” Dr Hitchingham chortled. “No, there is one particular trait both men share that I believe may prove the root of your difficulties. They are bachelors.”
Ephraim studied his friend. “And?”
“A bachelor,” Dr Hitchingham said, warming to his argument, “is an unfettered creature and likely to fly off where’er the wind takes him.
You have twice now hired bachelor clerks, and both clerks have abandoned the nest. If you want my advice, when you replace Mr Hull, you would do well to seek out a married clerk.
A thoroughly-settled man. Ideally one with a family already established.
This will anchor him to London, to Staple Inn, and, ultimately, to your office. ”
“John,” said Ephraim. “I am a bachelor.”
Dr Hitchingham blinked at him.
It was a rare moment when Ephraim could startle his friend into silence. He took advantage of it and laid out his case. “Would you describe me as unfettered? Or, if I may indulge in something so gauche as argot, flighty?”
Dr Hitchingham furrowed his brow.