The Journeyman.......You're out
Monday - just Monday
I was back in my hospital bed. New bandages adorned my body alongside the old, although they were soiled and showing red in places; and it would be easier and quicker to list the places I did not hurt (or at least could not feel anything at this time).
Xanthic was sat in the chair beside me. I would love to describe the look of concern on his face and how his attire was crumpled and creased from being bent over my bed for hours; But this would be fiction as he was lounging in the hard leather bedside chair holding court in front of several rapt nurses and patients all listening to his humorous stories of historic and famous people he claims to have met (he probably had for all I know, he is a terrible name dropper and boast sometimes). I was pleased to see to my side BQ looking sulky by not having a story to top the epics being spoken by a very bright and enthusiastic Xanthic. When he is like this; the focal point in a busy room and holding all the reins of the conversation close and controlled, he glows from within, looks bigger and more unique than ever. Its magic, even with my limited knowledge and experience in the field I can spot that; I think they call it a glamour. But oh my he did look handsome and commanding even if he was dressed as a Goth - a very wealthy goth with all the latest and most formal of fashions, a well styled and almost normal goth but highly gothic all the same.
He noticed I was awake and after finishing his tale to much humour and laughing from the nurses, he leaded in, cuddled them all and off they went about a nurse's daily routines - I wasn't jealous or anything but I really hoped it involved large puddles of sick or someone in desperate need of disempacking!
"What happened?" I asked with a croaking voice and a throat as dry as camel's big toe after it crossed the desert on the hottest day. It felt like I had eaten a sandpaper sandwich! "Where were we........"
Xanthic interrupted me with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. "Not here, " He started, but I gave him a look even a police riot shield wouldn't deflect. He sat on the side of my bed, then as he didn't have much space he bumped up and down which sent a sympathetic bump along the bed; as I was momentarily lifted a mere fraction off the sheet he bumped sideways and moved me over. He sat down with a smile. I grimaced in indignity and pain. He didn't notice, or gave no signs of noticing.
"I arrived later than I wished but earlier than I expected from something we both need to look into as soon as you've finished your laying down and get back to work.
I half assumed finding you would be difficult but it was a lot easier than i imagined, I just needed to follow the screaming."
"Ludo? is he....." I started
"He's fine, back at work. He comes from hardy stock and a few bumps here and there are occupational hazards. He told me all about your adventures and what attacked you."
"What was it?"
"I am unsure, exactly, but it is of Extraxi decent. It attacked you physically, nothing odd there for a wounded or juvenile animal, but it didn't try to feed off your essence but it did consume your blood."
"A vampire?" I enquired, as all my childhood reading centred on the pale ones who supped from the well of human waters.
"No, most definitely not. For a start they are far more feral than Hollywood would allow you to believe, not so much opera cloak as matador cape. No, We would all know if one of those was at work here, the stink would be unmistakable. But it was something that could take on human fluids and use them for its own nourishment; and believe me there are not many that would do that.
Oh Demons and even demons will render flesh with their teeth and consume meat, but they would rather revel in your torment and dine on your pain. Fae may ritualistically draw blood and humans too for that matter, but they do it for significance or power. This thing seemed to want to drink you this time, but before, and I am certain it was the same one as before, wanted to steal your life's essence for its own rejuvenation."
"Maybe it wanted to simply kill me as it didn't have much time." It was hard to talk, the thought of that thing at my throat subconsciously closed it tight and I knew I was wheezing as I took in air.
"It would have done so, easily done so if it wanted to. It wanted you dead sure enough and it knew how it was going to do it. I need to find this thing and find out why."
"Don't you mean find this thing and kill it for hurting me?" Indignity raised my octave to a shrill.
"Eventually. But my curiosity must be quenched first. It may lead to an identification of a new Fae or demon/Fae halfcast, or something far more interesting!" He actually sounded pleased by this.
I brought the conversation back to what had happened and why I was here talking to him - don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful I am here, but confused all the same.
I had to insist when Xanthic tried to turn me off my line, eventually he relented and the story unfolded.
By the time Xanthic arrived and swept to the front of an excited crowd of medical professionals I had bled a dangerous amount of blood. Through guidance (and shouting loudest) he made sure they had given me the correct measures to stabilise and promote recovery within my body (apparently it was harder than just pumping more blood into me, which was my guess). Of my attacker there was no sign; but on the plus side, there was no sign anywhere in the hospital (so all ye little children sleep well) my skilled and noble wielding of my weapon (or a spasmaming lucky thrust with an old WWII bayonette) had wounded the beast, through magical influence more than physical injury and with a scream that brought half the hospital staff and Xanthic running, the beast fled. A quick chase through the hospital with the sensitive eyes of a demon like Xanthic, showed it had exited the building by a set of service doors and the trail of invisible fluids continued past the waste disposal area and into side streets and away.
"I doubt it will be back, its feeding ground has been disturbed and its defended. It will go somewhere else, somewhere with easier prey but we will be chasing it down once we narrow down the possible locations. It has no den and no aid, so it will be dangerous but desperate enough to make mistakes and we'll get it." Xanthic stood from the bed and held his hand out palm up - he wanted something.
"Can I have the blade back now please?" He smiled at me. I looked down at my right hand, it was gripping the bayonette so tight my fingers were white, veins showing the blood flowing through them and muscles standing proud the length of my arm. An attempt to loosen my grip failed, I had no muscle control nor feeling in my hand and I even vocalised my desire to open my fingers. "Bloody open will you." I called then sheepishly retracted into myself as the roomful of people looked over at the mad woman talking to her hand.
Xanthic took my hand and prised (with some difficulty) my fingers away from the bayonette. Once again in his hands it looked like a dull curved knife (with dried blood marks) and within a second it was gone, disappeared within the inner fabric (how many pockets can he have there? - they certainly don't bulge or show from the outside).
"I'll leave you to rest now. Not all the rejuvenations used on you were purely medical in nature and they need you to sleep to be most effective."
I put my hand on his, partially to show my thanks but mostly to encourage him to stay.
"I need to chase this thing down and close as much distance on it as possible. You'll be safe now and Ludo will keep an eye on you."
He stepped away, stopping momentarily between the double ward doors. He did not turn back to see me - or he would have seen how scared I was at his leaving - He paused then with grace and energy exited my little world. I wiggled down on my bed to lay still and counted my pains. My neck let me know it was obviously the most in need of tender care, my old wounds told me softly they were still there but a new and unexpected pain on my chest sang in the medley of nerve responses. I lifted my hospital gown and bra cup and saw a fresh bandage dressing held down with off white tape. I peeled it back and fumed, my bottom lip pulled up tight to its upper twin. On my left breast, on the gentle slope of its right side which slipped down to my cleavage and just above my nipple was a black double circular thin line which contained runic symbols running around the circumference with a triangle pointing down touching at three points the writing and an eye with a tail in its centre.
Bloody Xanthic, I thought. Did he biro a bloody demonic symbol onto my breast while I was unconscious? Did he do it in front of all these Doctors or more publicly? My reserved modesty was short lived when I spat on a tissue from a box on a small NHS bedside cabinet and attempted to wipe it off and it came back with traces of red and not black. Puzzled I tried again and sat up in my bed. A Tattoo, a bloody (and very permanent) tattoo! I don't swear much as a rule but I did now, enough to draw two nurses into the room.
After an improvised explanation of my distress (something about a pain in the neck causing me concern - I didn't say it was Xanthic who was the pain concerning me!) the nurses left with looks of annoyance over being disturbed and I thumped the side of my bed cursing my employer (oh I do hope it was him and not Ludo who marked me) and promising the universe a revenge for it.
It didn't take me long to calm down. I assume Xanthic had the best of reasons to do it and there was a nicely warming pulse coming from it over my heart; but then again I once saw him late on a Friday night outside the clubs in Gunwarf Quays and helped a young man declare his love for his best friends by permanently etching their names onto his skin. I was less than impressed by his gleeful expression as he climbed upon the boys shoulders, whipped out a tattoo machine and proceeded to list in alphabetical order the names on his forehead.
Meanwhile, a new dorm mate had been delivered into our happy home, a middle aged man who'd spent that last couple of days in the high care ward and now recovered enough to be put in with all us mildly injured people. BQ had taken up the chance to gain his story without actually letting him speak, and, if not careful, he may find he does the opposite of our new friend and end up going from the mild to major ward until they can retrieve his teeth from his stomach and my fist from his mouth. I have had enough this weekend and my God its Monday and I hate Mondays!
"Oh my, Mr Dewy." Piped the Gent. "Whatever brings you in here with us?"
The newly identified Mr Dewy brightened with the recognision of a friend.
"I should ask why you are here." He said with the same polite tone of neighbours who usually only orate greetings and mild comments of the weather during breif meetings.
"I am afraid to say it was your Lady wife who seemed to have become enraged and attacked me at the polling station on Thursday. I quite thought she was going to register her vote by stamping it on my head and posting it through the ballot box. Luckily my ears got stuck in the slot." He gave a small smile at his own joke.
"I was simularly attacked by my good woman in the Rose and Crown where she found me teaching the new barmaid to play darts."
I summise the greater part of the conversation as I do not remember it all; but after a great deal of questioning and extraction of information by BQ and other interested parties it appears Mr Dewy had been booked on a sales conference in Milton Keynes in the eyes of his wife, but was in actual fact on a darts trip with the lads from the pub after he expressly agreed with her that he should give up drinking and darts and his 'friends' in favour of gardening and driving her to her sisters to play bridge. It didn't help much that when caught on Thursday in the closed bar, Mr Dewy with the landlords younger sister (the barmaid in question) were dressed in quite a state of undress on the occy. BQ asked if he managed to score a double top followed by a bullseye.
The room laughed, the stress from previous days melting away in the warm afternoon sun. We couldn't open a window (this being a modern government managed building) but I could imagine the birds singing merrily as they danced in the airs above us. I closed my eyes and drew in a beep breath. With my neck wound and sore throat it hurt to do so, but it also felt very very good. I was here, beaten and bruised but here none the less and feeling stronger than ever. With the thought of hunting the unfamiluar beast back to its nest and stopping it in my mind I fell to a very peaceful sleep.
I was back in my hospital bed. New bandages adorned my body alongside the old, although they were soiled and showing red in places; and it would be easier and quicker to list the places I did not hurt (or at least could not feel anything at this time).
Xanthic was sat in the chair beside me. I would love to describe the look of concern on his face and how his attire was crumpled and creased from being bent over my bed for hours; But this would be fiction as he was lounging in the hard leather bedside chair holding court in front of several rapt nurses and patients all listening to his humorous stories of historic and famous people he claims to have met (he probably had for all I know, he is a terrible name dropper and boast sometimes). I was pleased to see to my side BQ looking sulky by not having a story to top the epics being spoken by a very bright and enthusiastic Xanthic. When he is like this; the focal point in a busy room and holding all the reins of the conversation close and controlled, he glows from within, looks bigger and more unique than ever. Its magic, even with my limited knowledge and experience in the field I can spot that; I think they call it a glamour. But oh my he did look handsome and commanding even if he was dressed as a Goth - a very wealthy goth with all the latest and most formal of fashions, a well styled and almost normal goth but highly gothic all the same.
He noticed I was awake and after finishing his tale to much humour and laughing from the nurses, he leaded in, cuddled them all and off they went about a nurse's daily routines - I wasn't jealous or anything but I really hoped it involved large puddles of sick or someone in desperate need of disempacking!
"What happened?" I asked with a croaking voice and a throat as dry as camel's big toe after it crossed the desert on the hottest day. It felt like I had eaten a sandpaper sandwich! "Where were we........"
Xanthic interrupted me with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. "Not here, " He started, but I gave him a look even a police riot shield wouldn't deflect. He sat on the side of my bed, then as he didn't have much space he bumped up and down which sent a sympathetic bump along the bed; as I was momentarily lifted a mere fraction off the sheet he bumped sideways and moved me over. He sat down with a smile. I grimaced in indignity and pain. He didn't notice, or gave no signs of noticing.
"I arrived later than I wished but earlier than I expected from something we both need to look into as soon as you've finished your laying down and get back to work.
I half assumed finding you would be difficult but it was a lot easier than i imagined, I just needed to follow the screaming."
"Ludo? is he....." I started
"He's fine, back at work. He comes from hardy stock and a few bumps here and there are occupational hazards. He told me all about your adventures and what attacked you."
"What was it?"
"I am unsure, exactly, but it is of Extraxi decent. It attacked you physically, nothing odd there for a wounded or juvenile animal, but it didn't try to feed off your essence but it did consume your blood."
"A vampire?" I enquired, as all my childhood reading centred on the pale ones who supped from the well of human waters.
"No, most definitely not. For a start they are far more feral than Hollywood would allow you to believe, not so much opera cloak as matador cape. No, We would all know if one of those was at work here, the stink would be unmistakable. But it was something that could take on human fluids and use them for its own nourishment; and believe me there are not many that would do that.
Oh Demons and even demons will render flesh with their teeth and consume meat, but they would rather revel in your torment and dine on your pain. Fae may ritualistically draw blood and humans too for that matter, but they do it for significance or power. This thing seemed to want to drink you this time, but before, and I am certain it was the same one as before, wanted to steal your life's essence for its own rejuvenation."
"Maybe it wanted to simply kill me as it didn't have much time." It was hard to talk, the thought of that thing at my throat subconsciously closed it tight and I knew I was wheezing as I took in air.
"It would have done so, easily done so if it wanted to. It wanted you dead sure enough and it knew how it was going to do it. I need to find this thing and find out why."
"Don't you mean find this thing and kill it for hurting me?" Indignity raised my octave to a shrill.
"Eventually. But my curiosity must be quenched first. It may lead to an identification of a new Fae or demon/Fae halfcast, or something far more interesting!" He actually sounded pleased by this.
I brought the conversation back to what had happened and why I was here talking to him - don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful I am here, but confused all the same.
I had to insist when Xanthic tried to turn me off my line, eventually he relented and the story unfolded.
By the time Xanthic arrived and swept to the front of an excited crowd of medical professionals I had bled a dangerous amount of blood. Through guidance (and shouting loudest) he made sure they had given me the correct measures to stabilise and promote recovery within my body (apparently it was harder than just pumping more blood into me, which was my guess). Of my attacker there was no sign; but on the plus side, there was no sign anywhere in the hospital (so all ye little children sleep well) my skilled and noble wielding of my weapon (or a spasmaming lucky thrust with an old WWII bayonette) had wounded the beast, through magical influence more than physical injury and with a scream that brought half the hospital staff and Xanthic running, the beast fled. A quick chase through the hospital with the sensitive eyes of a demon like Xanthic, showed it had exited the building by a set of service doors and the trail of invisible fluids continued past the waste disposal area and into side streets and away.
"I doubt it will be back, its feeding ground has been disturbed and its defended. It will go somewhere else, somewhere with easier prey but we will be chasing it down once we narrow down the possible locations. It has no den and no aid, so it will be dangerous but desperate enough to make mistakes and we'll get it." Xanthic stood from the bed and held his hand out palm up - he wanted something.
"Can I have the blade back now please?" He smiled at me. I looked down at my right hand, it was gripping the bayonette so tight my fingers were white, veins showing the blood flowing through them and muscles standing proud the length of my arm. An attempt to loosen my grip failed, I had no muscle control nor feeling in my hand and I even vocalised my desire to open my fingers. "Bloody open will you." I called then sheepishly retracted into myself as the roomful of people looked over at the mad woman talking to her hand.
Xanthic took my hand and prised (with some difficulty) my fingers away from the bayonette. Once again in his hands it looked like a dull curved knife (with dried blood marks) and within a second it was gone, disappeared within the inner fabric (how many pockets can he have there? - they certainly don't bulge or show from the outside).
"I'll leave you to rest now. Not all the rejuvenations used on you were purely medical in nature and they need you to sleep to be most effective."
I put my hand on his, partially to show my thanks but mostly to encourage him to stay.
"I need to chase this thing down and close as much distance on it as possible. You'll be safe now and Ludo will keep an eye on you."
He stepped away, stopping momentarily between the double ward doors. He did not turn back to see me - or he would have seen how scared I was at his leaving - He paused then with grace and energy exited my little world. I wiggled down on my bed to lay still and counted my pains. My neck let me know it was obviously the most in need of tender care, my old wounds told me softly they were still there but a new and unexpected pain on my chest sang in the medley of nerve responses. I lifted my hospital gown and bra cup and saw a fresh bandage dressing held down with off white tape. I peeled it back and fumed, my bottom lip pulled up tight to its upper twin. On my left breast, on the gentle slope of its right side which slipped down to my cleavage and just above my nipple was a black double circular thin line which contained runic symbols running around the circumference with a triangle pointing down touching at three points the writing and an eye with a tail in its centre.
Bloody Xanthic, I thought. Did he biro a bloody demonic symbol onto my breast while I was unconscious? Did he do it in front of all these Doctors or more publicly? My reserved modesty was short lived when I spat on a tissue from a box on a small NHS bedside cabinet and attempted to wipe it off and it came back with traces of red and not black. Puzzled I tried again and sat up in my bed. A Tattoo, a bloody (and very permanent) tattoo! I don't swear much as a rule but I did now, enough to draw two nurses into the room.
After an improvised explanation of my distress (something about a pain in the neck causing me concern - I didn't say it was Xanthic who was the pain concerning me!) the nurses left with looks of annoyance over being disturbed and I thumped the side of my bed cursing my employer (oh I do hope it was him and not Ludo who marked me) and promising the universe a revenge for it.
It didn't take me long to calm down. I assume Xanthic had the best of reasons to do it and there was a nicely warming pulse coming from it over my heart; but then again I once saw him late on a Friday night outside the clubs in Gunwarf Quays and helped a young man declare his love for his best friends by permanently etching their names onto his skin. I was less than impressed by his gleeful expression as he climbed upon the boys shoulders, whipped out a tattoo machine and proceeded to list in alphabetical order the names on his forehead.
Meanwhile, a new dorm mate had been delivered into our happy home, a middle aged man who'd spent that last couple of days in the high care ward and now recovered enough to be put in with all us mildly injured people. BQ had taken up the chance to gain his story without actually letting him speak, and, if not careful, he may find he does the opposite of our new friend and end up going from the mild to major ward until they can retrieve his teeth from his stomach and my fist from his mouth. I have had enough this weekend and my God its Monday and I hate Mondays!
"Oh my, Mr Dewy." Piped the Gent. "Whatever brings you in here with us?"
The newly identified Mr Dewy brightened with the recognision of a friend.
"I should ask why you are here." He said with the same polite tone of neighbours who usually only orate greetings and mild comments of the weather during breif meetings.
"I am afraid to say it was your Lady wife who seemed to have become enraged and attacked me at the polling station on Thursday. I quite thought she was going to register her vote by stamping it on my head and posting it through the ballot box. Luckily my ears got stuck in the slot." He gave a small smile at his own joke.
"I was simularly attacked by my good woman in the Rose and Crown where she found me teaching the new barmaid to play darts."
I summise the greater part of the conversation as I do not remember it all; but after a great deal of questioning and extraction of information by BQ and other interested parties it appears Mr Dewy had been booked on a sales conference in Milton Keynes in the eyes of his wife, but was in actual fact on a darts trip with the lads from the pub after he expressly agreed with her that he should give up drinking and darts and his 'friends' in favour of gardening and driving her to her sisters to play bridge. It didn't help much that when caught on Thursday in the closed bar, Mr Dewy with the landlords younger sister (the barmaid in question) were dressed in quite a state of undress on the occy. BQ asked if he managed to score a double top followed by a bullseye.
The room laughed, the stress from previous days melting away in the warm afternoon sun. We couldn't open a window (this being a modern government managed building) but I could imagine the birds singing merrily as they danced in the airs above us. I closed my eyes and drew in a beep breath. With my neck wound and sore throat it hurt to do so, but it also felt very very good. I was here, beaten and bruised but here none the less and feeling stronger than ever. With the thought of hunting the unfamiluar beast back to its nest and stopping it in my mind I fell to a very peaceful sleep.
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