J. V. Jones The Book Of Words 1 The Baker's Boy

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Melli was a little alarmed at the sight of the woman wielding the knife, but
she had little choice. She herself knew nothing of surgery or doctoring; she
would have to trust the woman. She was more than a little relieved, though,
that the woman had chosen to attend to Jack first: she would watch her
performance on him before committing her own arm into the old woman's care.
"Now don't be anxious, boy." The old woman washed the dried blood away with a
clean rag. "This will hurt, I won't lie to you, but it's necessary." She
turned to Melli.
"Girl, bring the jug of spirits from the dresser." She peered closely at
Jack's wound. "At least the point is not barbed." Melli handed the woman the
jug. "Here, take a swig of this, lad, it will help to relax you."
The old woman then took a mouthful of the liquor herself.
She cut deep into Jack's shoulder, ignoring the circular entrance wound, and
slicing directly above where the arrowhead lay. Melli was horrified. "Couldn't
you take it out the way it came in?"
"Hush, girl, you will ruin my concentration." The woman pulled back the skin
and began to cut into the muscle. She ignored Jack's heavy bleeding,
concentrating on freeing the arrowhead. She scraped the last of the muscle and
sinew from around the point and then pulled it out with her fingers. "There.
Got the little devil." She dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. "Hand me
the twine and needle, girl. He'll bleed to death if we don't stitch him up."
The woman pinched Jack's skin together with one hand and drew the thread with
another, making large irregular stitches. "Course I can't guarantee he'll look
too pretty afterward. I'll be more careful with yours.
Can't have such a pretty girl with a nasty scar on her arm. With men it
doesn't matter; a few scars only serve to make a man more appealing to the
ladies."
"How did you learn to do this?" Melli did not care for the subject of scars.
"The sows, of course. You can't be a pig farmer and not know how to tend
creatures." The woman did not look up; she was intent on finishing her work.
She cut the thread with her teeth and then turned her attention to the
entrance wound. The woman drew the knife twice over the wound, forming a
cross.
"What are you doing?" Melli was distraught. "You've made it worse." Fresh
blood gushed forth.
"Girl, do you not know anything of surgery? The wound was round-a round wound
will take forever to
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heal. Better to make it bigger and change the shape." The old woman took up
needle and thread once more. "You mark my words, the cross will heal in half
the time, and it will be a nice, clean scar. Round wounds heal messy."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Melli did not doubt the woman's words.
"No matter, girl." The woman finished stitching the wound. "Now help me get
your silent friend to the pallet over there; he needs some rest. Then I'll see
to your injuries." Melli did as she was asked, but dragged her feet as she did
so. She little relished the idea of being cut and stitched.
Twenty-two
Tawl was finding himself enjoying his journey-it was good to be on horseback
again. He even liked the company of the boy, and it never failed to make him
smile to look upon the way Nabber clung miserably to his pony. The boy was
obviously not a born horseman. Tawl had tried to give him some advice on how
to ride, but Nabber had ignored his pointers and continued to ride as though
he were afraid he would fall off any second.
The mountains loomed nearer, but Tawl was sure that if they made their way to
the western coast of the peninsula they could avoid most of them. The western
coast missed the worst of the mountains, although the terrain was still rocky
and hilly.
He calculated that their next main stopping point would be Ness. It occurred
to Tawl for the first time that Bevlin was not far from that city-three days
hard ride. He wondered if he should pay the wiseman a visit and tell him of
his progress. There was, however, little to tell. What could he say-there is a
remote chance that the boy might be somewhere in the Four
Kingdoms? No, he thought, better not to see the wiseman at all.
He tried to put Bevlin from his mind, but something nagged at him, something
in the back of his mind. He felt as if he did have something to tell to the
wiseman, only he could not remember what it was. He racked his memory-he had
not discovered anything that Bevlin might be interested in, and the Old Man
had given him no message. Maybe he should inform him that the knights had been
expelled from Rorn.
Tawl shook his head; Bevlin would probably already have heard about the
knights. Wisemen had their own ways of acquiring information. The more he
thought about Bevlin, the more certain he was that he should visit him-it felt
right to do so. It would add but a few days to his journey.
They approached a small settlement, barely a village: a few run-down shacks
and no inn.
"Why don't we stop and buy some fresh food?" Nabber had little taste for dried
meat and hard biscuits.
Tawl looked around the village. There was a woman on the road with three
children; they were poorly dressed and thin.
"I don't think we'll find fresh food here." He could not remember passing any
farms or herds recently, and he wondered how the people lived. "I think we
will head on and try to reach the coast by nightfall."
Tawl looked around and found to his annoyance that the boy had already
dismounted his pony. He watched as Nabber spoke with the woman and then
returned.
"Tawl, she says there is a small town just over the hill there. She said it
would be worth a visit."
"Let's just be on our way." Tawl had a vague feeling of unease.
"It won't take long for us to reach the town, and if we did, we'd be sleeping
on feather pillows tonight and eating hot food." The boy looked so eager that
Tawl could not refuse him. He nodded and they headed off.
After about an hour's ride they finally crested the hill, and there was a
fair-sized town nestled in the valley below. As they rode closer it was
obvious something was wrong: there were no people on the streets.
There were no signs of life; no smoke, no hens or goats, no cultivation.
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Tawl's hand rested upon the hilt of his knife as they rode into the town.
The deserted town had obviously once been prosperous. There were several
inns-which were usually a sign of good trade-two blacksmiths, a wheelwright's
shop-all deserted.
In the center of the town was a square which boasted a fine marble statue.
Taw] read the sign hanging above one of the inns: "The Water's Edge." He could
not remember seeing any water and they were still some distance from the sea.
He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see an old man in rags. "Got any
food to spare?" The man looked as if he would collapse at any moment.
"Here take these, friend." Nabber brought the sea biscuits from his pack and
gave them to the man.
Tawl suspected the boy's motives were less than charitable-Nabber hated the
hard and tasteless sea biscuits. The man grabbed them from him and sniffed [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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