Chapter 13 #2
The answer, of course, was that Edmund always thought about things like that. The world was endlessly fascinating, sometimes to the point where it became hard to concentrate on things in front of you.
He looked into the Dervish’s silver eyes and suddenly had no problem concentrating at all.
“It worked, then?” he said. “As long as you had the sword?”
“It did.” The Dervish reached down and helped him to his feet.
His grip was warm and unselfconsciously strong.
By comparison, Edmund felt as clumsy as a …
a … hmm, what are examples of particularly clumsy things?
People sometimes talk about being as clumsy as an ox, but ox are actually quite sure-footed and wild cattle climb terrifyingly well. Yak in particular.
“I never had a chance to try it before,” the Dervish said. He paused for a moment, eyes boring into Edmund’s, and said, as if the words came hard, “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” said Edmund.
“You should have been able to try it before. I mean, you shouldn’t have had to try it at all, you shouldn’t even be in that situation, I shouldn’t be wielding you—I mean, not you, the sword, you’re not the sword, obviously, I wouldn’t try to wield you, I’m not even sure how that would work… ”
He stopped. His ears felt hot.
“Oh, I don’t know,” drawled the Dervish. “Sometimes a little mutual wielding can be fun.”
The heat in Edmund’s ears began to spread. Was that flirting? Oh god, it was. I’m nearly sure it was. People did not flirt with Edmund often, and none of the ones who had had looked anything like the Dervish. I … err … what do I say? Something witty. And flirtatious. And … um …
Someone who was neither witty nor flirtatious took over his vocal cords and said, “Did you know that yak climb extremely well?”
The Dervish blinked. Several times. “Do they?”
“Oh, yes. In their native range, they go up and down sheer mountain cliffs. It’s extremely difficult to fence in a yak as a result.”
“That is … good to know. I will keep it in mind should I ever need to fence in a yak.”
And now I will go and stick my head in the pond. “Excuse me,” said Edmund, and tried to retreat gracefully, while Dog Violet snickered behind him.
A dunk in the icy water was sufficient to kill his blush. Edmund scrubbed his hair with his block of soap, then toweled it off. Despite his near-fatal awkwardness and the sting of the cold air on damp skin, he felt infinitely better for finally being clean. It had been days.
By the time he returned to the campsite, the fire was built up and Dog Violet had gone off on an errand of her own.
The Dervish, with a frown of intense concentration, was making tea.
Large Francis sat—or stood, it was hard to tell the difference—chewing on a block of the paste she carried in her pack.
Edmund set a pot of oatmeal boiling and began packing up the campsite. “We follow this road for a good long way,” he said. “At least, if we want to go to Archenhold. Large Francis, do you know where you want to go?”
“I-do-not-know-what-to-do,” the pillbug said. “All-my-plans-are-in-disarray. I-do-not-know-what-would-be-best.”
“Do you still want to find another library, or to go back to your people?”
Large Francis considered this for a long moment, chittering softly to herself. Then she gave both feelers a decisive little flick. “If-I-go-back-then-this-journey-was-for-nothing-and-my-colleague-died-in-vain. I-must-find-somewhere-else, though-I-do-not-know-where.”
“We’ll help you,” Edmund said immediately.
“We will?” the Dervish asked.
“Yes? Of course? We can’t just leave her to wander around and get attacked by people.”
The other man held up both hands. “No need to glare at me. I go where you go, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” Although maybe not as true as it had been, but there were undoubtedly still practical difficulties, even if the Dervish carried his own sword.
I wonder if he’s worried that we won’t go see the scholar about breaking his curse?
“We’re going to Archon’s Glory anyway. The library there is one of our first stops.
And there’s a Temple of the White Rat in Archenhold, and this is the sort of problem that they love to get their teeth into. ”
“Another temple,” the Dervish said flatly. “I told you, I don’t like priests.”
“How do you feel about lawyers?”
The Dervish paused. The hard line between his eyebrows smoothed away. “I am reasonably ambivalent about lawyers,” he admitted.
“They’ve got a lot more of those than priests. They’re good people.”
“A gnole agrees,” Dog Violet said, stepping out of the bushes. “A gnole has cousins in a burrow there, and those-gnoles say Rat-priests try to help, always.”
The Dervish twisted to look at her. The line of his body briefly ran in a long elegant sweep from throat to wrist. Edmund’s fingers itched to sketch it.
“Quite an endorsement,” the Dervish said finally. “Very well. I’ll try to withhold judgment until I see these lawyers of yours in action. But what on earth do you have there?”
Dog Violet held up her prize—a pair of rodent-like creatures nearly a foot long. “Not a hunt-gnole, but not too bad, eh? Heard them in a burrow and dug down.”
“They seem to have misplaced their heads.”
“Did knife-man want to eat the heads?”
“No, no.” The Dervish held up both hands. “Just an observation.”
“What are they?” asked Edmund, fascinated.
“Don’t know human word. Like rabbit, but ears are short, yeah?”
“May I look?”
The gnole handed one over. It had been neatly gutted, but otherwise looked intact. “Did it have cheek pouches?” Edmund asked, examining it.
“Don’t think so, book-man.”
“Then I think this is a pika. Do you remember how many teeth it had?”
Dog Violet rolled her eyes. “Next time, a gnole will keep the heads and leave the meat.” She packed snow into the body cavities and slung them over her shoulder. “Come on. Road doesn’t get shorter by looking at it.”
“No, indeed.” Edmund hastily scooped oatmeal into mugs. “Dog Violet…?”
“A gnole ate already.”
Edmund suspected that some of the innards—and possibly the heads—had made up Dog Violet’s breakfast. Gnole stomachs were a great deal sturdier than human ones.
Still, he wasn’t going to turn down meat for dinner.
He washed out the pot and returned it to Sweetness’s saddlebags and they set out, the humans still downing oatmeal as they went.
“Not the most graceful travel food,” said the Dervish, who had managed to spill some down his front.
“You have some on your … err…” Edmund tried to indicate the exact spot. The Dervish missed it twice, and he gave up and said, “Here,” and wiped it off with his thumb. The gesture felt more intimate than it had any right to, and Edmund found himself blushing again.
“I’m looking forward to getting somewhere with hot baths,” the Dervish said. “Isolated farmhouses don’t sound like they’re going to cut it.”
“Oh, there are inns once we get lower down,” Edmund assured him. “And towns with baths.”
“Good to know.” The Dervish paused, studying the road before them. Dog Violet and Large Francis were a little way ahead, discussing something or other. “I have a question, though.”
“Mm? Yes?” Edmund had definitely not been picturing the Dervish in a hot bath. Not at all. What is wrong with me? I’m not usually this … err … venal.
The Dervish gestured at Large Francis. “Just exactly how do you plan to disguise our friend here…?”