Ch. 120 While I Was Away

Chapter 120: While I Was Away

I woke because someone was pulling my hair.

For a moment, I thought I was still aboard the ship.

Then I opened my eyes.

Garrick sat supported against Evelyn’s arm beside me, looking deeply interested in what he had caught.

My wife watched without intervening.

“Good morning.”

“I appear to have been seized.”

“He’s been waiting.”

I gently freed a strand.

Our son reached again.

Evelyn smiled.

“He does that now.”

“I’m discovering it.”

I sat up against the pillows.

She passed him to me.

Outside, the courtyard had begun its morning noise.

A cart.

Voices.

Somebody arguing with a stubborn door.

I had never been so pleased to hear ordinary things.

Carol joined us shortly afterward.

She was less interested in my hair than in the edge of the blanket, which she gripped and drew toward herself with considerable purpose.

Evelyn settled beside me.

For a while, the four of us occupied the bed in a manner that left surprisingly little room for the two largest people.

I looked from one child to the other.

“I missed things.”

“Yes.”

“What things?”

My wife thought.

“Garrick discovered he can make a sound and wait for someone to answer.”

“He had already begun that.”

“He has improved his expectations.”

“And Carol?”

“She rolled twice while Mother was telling Mary she would surely wait until we were all watching.”

I laughed.

Then the laugh faded a little.

Evelyn noticed.

She rested her head against my shoulder.

“I wrote some of it down.”

“I know.”

“But you’re here for this morning.”

Garrick made a small, demanding noise.

I looked at him.

“Yes,” I said.

“I am.”

The reports began after midday.

Exactly as promised.

Mary arrived with two books.

I regarded them with suspicion.

“Only two?”

“One contains the matters already settled.”

“And the other?”

“The matters that still need you.”

I reached for the second.

Evelyn took the first.

We sat together at the table.

It turned out Greykeep had continued being a kingdom while I was away.

The roof above the cooper’s shop had been repaired.

The two families had moved into their rooms.

The school had its bench.

A disagreement over pasture access had been resolved after someone finally walked the boundary with the people arguing about it.

I looked at my wife.

She turned a page.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Mary’s mouth curved.

“He’s pleased we survived his absence.”

“I was trying not to say it like that.”

“Wise,” Evelyn replied.

There had also been trouble.

A kiln had failed.

A carter had broken an arm.

Two children had quarreled badly enough at school that their parents had attempted to continue the argument on their behalf.

Evelyn had dealt with that one.

“How?”

“I asked the children what happened.”

“And?”

“They had already apologized to each other.”

I leaned back.

“The parents?”

“Required longer.”

Mary turned another page.

The grain estimates remained sound.

The next shipment of materials for Veylan would leave Orselle once Belda’s measurements arrived.

Three of the island families had chosen to stay in Greykeep for the present.

Others wanted to continue toward relatives.

No one had been required to decide immediately.

I read the names.

Then set the book down.

“Thank you.”

Mary nodded.

Evelyn reached beneath the table and squeezed my knee.

I returned Jerrit’s plumb weight that afternoon.

He was working beside one of Eleanor’s masons near the lower lane.

They had opened a section of paving to inspect a drain.

Jerrit looked up when I approached.

I held out the little weight.

“Belda says your drawing was close.”

He took it.

Ran the cord through his fingers.

“Did she find the bend beneath the road?”

“Yes.”

“And the old lining?”

“Enough remained to help.”

He nodded slowly.

Then asked about the people who had stayed.

Orren.

The roof-tank keeper’s family.

A neighbor whose name I had to ask him to repeat.

I answered what I could.

He listened with his gaze on the plumb weight.

Finally, he looked at the open drain beside him.

“Eleanor says there may be work for the summer.”

“Would you like it?”

“Yes.”

He paused.

“For now.”

“For now,” I agreed.

Then I gave him Ressa’s letter for Rona and Neri.

He put away his tools at once.

At the infirmary, Arwen’s duck had become accustomed to a schedule.

Unfortunately, the schedule did not belong to Arwen.

It belonged to Beatrice.

This was explained to me by Nessa while the bird followed the stores keeper across the courtyard.

Arwen watched from the doorway.

“I was gone for a few days.”

“Rather more than a few,” Nessa said.

“That’s not the point.”

Beatrice stopped beside them.

The duck stopped too.

Arwen looked offended.

“Have you been feeding her?”

“Yes.”

“Extra?”

“What constitutes extra for a duck?”

Nobody had a ready answer.

The bird made a small noise and inspected Beatrice’s apron.

I left before the disagreement required a royal decision.

Cael found me near the teaching room.

He asked whether I would speak to the apprentices about the voyage.

I hesitated.

“What part?”

“The waterworks. The holding house, if you’re willing. What happened when Bera needed space to examine the boy.”

I looked through the open door.

My wife’s painting hung opposite the window.

The little figure of me was still obstructing the courtyard.

“I can do that.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Cael nodded.

Then he said, “I’m glad you came back.”

The words were simple.

I had heard them several times since reaching home.

They still caught me in unexpected places.

“So am I.”

I spent the next morning trying to explain the shield.

Not how to make it.

Why its shape had mattered.

The apprentices listened while I drew the holding-house steps on a board.

Bera’s position.

The children.

The guard.

The opening I had left.

One of them pointed toward the little mark representing the healer.

“What if she’d moved?”

“I would have needed to move with her.”

“How would you know?”

“Watch her. Listen when she spoke.”

The girl frowned.

“While watching the guard?”

“Yes.”

She looked at the drawing again.

“That sounds difficult.”

“It was.”

Cael stood beside the cupboard.

He let the answer remain.

For once, I did not improve it.

After the lesson, a young apprentice waited until the others had left.

She held a slate against her chest.

“Were you frightened?”

I set down the chalk.

“Yes.”

“Of the guard?”

“Of getting it wrong.”

She looked relieved.

Then slightly embarrassed by the relief.

“I thought people who could do that much stopped being frightened.”

I leaned against the table.

“I haven’t.”

She nodded.

After a moment, she thanked me and went to find the others.

Cael watched her leave.

Then glanced at the chalk dust on my sleeve.

“Useful lesson.”

“I hope so.”

“It was for her.”

Evelyn met me outside.

She had come from her own practice with Ilyen.

“How did it go?”

“I admitted several things that may damage my reputation.”

“That will give everyone variety.”

I took her hand.

We walked toward the garden.

The pear trees had more leaves.

I stopped beside them.

“How did that happen?”

My wife looked up.

“Quietly, I imagine.”

“I was here when we planted them.”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t seem long ago.”

She rested her shoulder against mine.

For a while, we stood beneath branches too young to give much shade.

Then she said, “I have something to show you.”

It was in the smaller practice yard.

Two wooden posts stood a little way apart.

A narrow chalk line joined them.

Alistair waited beside the wall.

When he saw us, he nodded to Evelyn.

My wife released my hand.

“Stand there.”

I did.

She moved between the posts and raised a shield.

Gold curved before her.

Larger than the last one I had watched her hold.

Not dramatically.

Enough that I noticed.

Alistair approached with the padded staff.

Evelyn stepped.

Turned.

Let the strike slide along the outer edge.

Then she moved backward across the chalk line without dropping the working.

Alistair changed sides.

She followed.

The shield held.

I forgot to breathe for several seconds.

When it faded, Evelyn looked toward me.

“Well?”

I walked over.

“How long have you been doing that?”

“While you were away.”

I looked at Alistair.

He folded his arms.

“She practiced.”

My wife’s expression was pleased and a little uncertain.

I knew that second part.

The desire for someone important to see exactly what had changed.

“That was very good,” I said.

Her smile widened.

I took her hands.

“And I would have been much less comfortable standing on Alistair’s side.”

“You should be.”

“Yes.”

She laughed.

Then leaned forward and kissed me.

Alistair became interested in the practice weapons.

Aurelia met us together that night.

For the first time since the voyage, neither of us had to explain why the other was absent.

She stood beneath the garden arch.

Evelyn went to her first.

Aurelia held her closely.

Then looked at me over her shoulder.

“You look better.”

“I’ve been fed.”

“So I hoped.”

When she released my wife, she took my hands and examined them.

Not for injury.

At least, not one I could see.

“The waterwork?” she asked.

I told her how it had felt.

The pressure behind the sluice.

The need to hold while other people moved the board.

The difficulty of easing the flow without letting it rush.

She listened.

Then nodded toward Evelyn.

“And yours?”

My wife described the shield.

Her teacher smiled.

“You’ve both brought something back to the lesson.”

We did not begin with a new exercise.

Aurelia asked us to repeat an old one.

The bucket.

Evelyn looked at me.

I looked at the table.

“An old enemy,” I said.

“A patient one,” Aurelia replied.

We lifted it together.

I supported the weight.

Evelyn steadied the water.

We walked toward the arch.

At the first turn, I felt her adjustment.

I moved with it.

At the second, she felt mine.

The water trembled.

Settled.

We reached the arch.

Set the bucket down.

Very little had spilled.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Evelyn began to laugh.

I looked at Aurelia.

She was smiling too.

When we woke the next morning, rain tapped softly against the window.

Carol was already making it clear that someone should come and discuss the day.

I rose first.

Evelyn caught my hand as I passed.

“Breakfast here?”

“Yes.”

“No meeting until afterward?”

“Not unless the roof falls.”

“Eleanor would be furious.”

“With the roof?”

“Initially.”

I laughed.

Then went to fetch our daughter.

Garrick woke while I was lifting her.

Of course he did.

I looked back through the doorway.

“Some assistance?”

Evelyn was already coming.

We met between the cradles.

She lifted our son.

I settled Carol against my shoulder.

Outside, the rain watered the young trees.

Inside, we carried the children toward breakfast and began finding out what kind of morning they intended to allow us.