Ruckus

The ruckus built, waking everyone in the Abbey not already astir. Hinge a black bear passed off the damp bundle into the waiting arms of a knotted washline of pale night knits making suggestions and sending young apprentices off for excessive supplies. Rope slumped, bedraggled and relieved on the bench just inside, a serene smile crept over her features. Hinge patted her shoulder, "I"m off to care for my dogs, then to bed. I'm sure I'm the morning shift." He headed off, his job this night done.

"Master Rope, come to the bath. I'll get your knits later. You are just knackered, eh? I've been so worried about you." Bouillon arrived to fuss over the limp figure. "What is that smell?"

Rope's shoulder shook as she laughed silently, signaled agreement with open palms, and nodded tiredly. The lean meed pulled the exhausted women up and draped her arm over his shoulder, batting away a thick, wet lock of hair. She still overtopped him by a few inches, and kissed the crown of his head, and ineffectively tucked the dreads back. Her voice whispered in a laconic but urgent slur, "Sal."

"Mule showed up yesterday morning."

More effort, but just a questioning look of exasperation from bloodshot, brown tinged eyes.

"Yes, with all your gear. Your journeyman got it all secured and recorded," Bouillon added, "I helped him a bit." He shook his head. "I know you're in bad shape, when you can't talk no more. C'mon." And he half carried her down and away, past the commotion at the spa door and down to the ofuro, muttering, "But I expect the whole story tomorrow... biggest story all year and I'm missing out." Followed by continued reassurances about collected specimens, weather reports on her pewter, cleaning her robe, and resigned complaints about having more patients to care for now, as pockets empty into his free hand.

The clamoring crowd drifted off to sleep in their beds. Now only the shaved heads of apprentices congregated in the spa clinic, Candle and the journeyman medic's overgrown locks marking them out as they set order. The small white body lay exposed on a padded table, warmed stones wrapped in lint snugged under her fragile arms, in her groin, bright portable lights illuminated the bluish skin, bruised, scraped and chilled, and threw shadows all over the variegated wooden floor. Sunken eyes hung closed, matted hair leaked pinkish mud, ribs showed slow shallow breaths. Hands inserted one end of a grey translucent flexible tube into her arm, attached to a hanging glass bottle of warm, milky fluid. Amazed conversations floated phrases. "I've never seen.... " and "How on earth did... " as the journeyman medic pressed a hissing oxygen funnel over her face, and slowly pushed the gas into her lungs with a sheep bladder reservoir.

They turned the body gently onto the side, and a communal gasp puffed. "A pressure sore, strange that it's so square. Middle of her back. Salt water dressings in the morning, right Candle?" Granite the journeyman confirmed. Others washed her with warm cloths, applied oily ointments, and laid black blankets over her, another clipped away at the hair, all laid their hands on her, willing her to survive.

A large black dog parked, unnoticed, beneath the table.


"She is definitely pinking up, now." Candle pronounced, after an hour of concentrated effort. "I think we can safely settle her somewhere for the night. Yes, clean and dry tonight, tomorrow on you, Granite the Medic." She searched the room, "Where's Bouillon?"

"Taking care of your other patient." This from the tall, and admittedly, hulking, man in the doorway. His black wool hung upon him, so he looked like an ancient monk, thick canvas trousers covered his legs. The white knitted slippers on his feet, with two red knotwork eyes each, and a hint of floppy ears, belied a complexity of personality.

"Good, Lens, that's where we're going. Keep all my hands in one room. Right next to your cell, Lens the Nightwatch. With your new neighbor." Candle made to send some apprentices up to get warmers ready, but Lens stopped her with a raised hand.

"No. Your other patient, Rope the Weather got a bit frayed bringing in this lump of excitement. Bou got her to the baths. This one is for me. Right next door, you say?" He scooped up the child in one hand, held aloft the attached fluid in the other, to sail off majestically, and surprisingly fast, leaving the apprentices to snatch the flotsam of warmers and bedding in his wake. Out and up, the walkway trembled under the weight of his bunny slippered feet. He knocked with an elbow, then entered the already lit, and apparently empty cell. The hushed sound of a half dozen people trying to be quiet nudged into the space.

"I'm just in the pot room, Candle, not moving unnecessarily. But I could use a hand at this point," called a strained voice. "Oh, and the cat showed up, in here as well."

One of the apprentices, having laid the warmer down, scurried over to the door, "Um, I'm Dado, I'll help you... " and went in. After a few thumps and quiet conversation, both emerged tentatively. "See?" The cat stayed hid.

Stone made a slow stagger toward the nested child in the high alcove bed, spasms halting her progress, even with the gentle meed at her elbow. "Ah, the sick lame and lazy all together. Are you Lens of the Spiral?"

"Yes, I am. Welcome, neighbor. I brought you a roommate." Lens smiled until his eyes disappeared behind folds. "I'm here for the winter, we didn't insulate the Spiral windmill." A deep chuckle, as he swept his long straight black hair back into the tie it had escaped from. "I think I like Lens the Spiral, due for a change, ha. Oh, hey there Bill." The dog stepped gingerly over the doorstep with only front paws, scanning and sniffing, until focusing on the alcove. The apprentices moved aside watchfully, until Bill took up station beside the child. "I don't want to tell him not to stay."

"No, no, he's fine. Apparently I have the party room. Since I'm confined, might as well meet everyone here." Stone laughed carefully, and let the meed walk her back to bed.

"Ok, everybody, shoo. This is the job for Nightguard!" Lens flapped his hands and emptied the room of all but the two recumbent patients, a guarding dog, and an unseen cat lurking at the edge of the pot room. The breathing of the girl became audible, wet and a bit harsh, but steady. Lens turned down the lights, so only a single red LED shone in the darkness. He pulled out an old book from a pocket, shrugged off the hooded robe to reveal a much embroidered woven shirt, and settled down on the rug, to read, and sit vigil.