His meeting with Scrudton complete, and feeling not a little proud of himself, Bertronius made his way to the Blushing Loaf, confident in the knowledge that his comrades Lem and Nelhoepher would be there, ‘working’ dutifully on their investigation. Indeed, he was not disappointed, and found the inseparable duo at the tavern's bar nagging a bemused Arna for "just a wee bit of pipeherb."
"Hey, you two," Bertronius said, drawing their attention.
"Hullo, Bert! How did yer meeting with Sir Atelon go? Is everything alright, then?" Lem asked, a touch of concern in his voice.
"Yeah Bert, how was it?" Nelhoepher added enthusiastically.
"Oh, it was fine. He just wanted to talk to me about the information I gave at the last meeting," Bertronius replied deftly, not wanting to rub it in the faces of his chronically incompetent friends that he had yet again been singled out for praise alone. "We basically just had tea. The biscuits were good."
"Scrudton is quite a fan of yeh, Bert, yeh rogue, yeh! Pretty soon, I reckon yeh'll be runnin' the whole spy shebang," Nelhoepher said jovially as he threw a strong arm around Bertronius’ shoulders.
"Well, that was nice of him! He does seems to like yeh a great deal, he does." Lem agreed brightly. "Was the tea good?"
"Yes, it was good, I suppose," Bertronius replied after a brief pause. "What are you guys up to today?"
"Ye mean aside from pesterin' me to no end?" Arna jested from across the bar.
"Well to be honest, Arna, we were only a goin' to pester ye until yer shift was over, then we were probably goin' to nag whoever took over the bar from ye," Nelhoepher replied, grinning, clearly assuming that he was being quite witty.
"So not much then, I take it?" Bertronius asked, a smile breaking across his face.
"Aye," Nelhoepher and Lem responded in unison.
"Well, I think I have something that might be a slightly more enoyable use of your time," Bertronius said, a sly grin across his face.
Bertronius led Nelhoepher and Lem back to their lodging house, and found that McNab was once again gone for the night and not likely to return anytime soon. Nelhoepher and Lem set about lighting candles and oil lamps while he rifled through the trunk where he kept his clothes, souvenirs, and sundry other items, and rooted around towards the bottom of its contents. The lad retrieved a small leathern pouch and held it up proudly for his companions to see it.
"What is it, Bert?" Lem asked, his face slightly puzzled.
Bertronius grinned. "This, gentlemen," Bertronius responded grandly, "is a bit of elvish pipeherb that I happened to come into possession of a few weeks back."
"Wow! How'd yeh get tha-" Lem sought to reply, but was cut off by Nelhoepher.
"Yeh mean yeh've had a fine sack of pipeherb for weeks now, and yeh were holdin' out on us this whole time?" Nel interjected in a way that Bertronius considered bordering on pouting.
Bertronius sighed and fixed his companions with an impatient look. "I had something in mind for it when I got it, but it didn't end up panning out." He had planned to use it as a possible bribe in his search for Ractor, but an opportunity had never presented itself. And after his meeting with Scrudton, with all the possibilities the old spy had laid out for his future, he felt it only approprite to celebrate. It seemed like as good a time as any to try the elvish drug. "So, you're getting the benefit now, right?"
"Well, I suppose yer right on that count," Nelhoepher responded, somewhat less bitterly.
"Aww, come on Nel," Lem, said cheerfully, as he comfortingly grabbed his friend's shoulder, "like me Auntie Dorit always says, ‘dunna look a gift horse in the mouth 'til the person what's given it to yeh has turned his back."
Bertronius and Nelhoepher gave Lem a confounded look, before Bertronius resumed his line of thought. "So, as I was saying, I figure that seeing as none of us are doing anything pressing at the moment, maybe we could all enjoy a break today."
"I agree!" Lem added. "We've all been workin' quite hard, we have. Nary a day goes by when we don' have to trudge off and do this or that, and it all gets quite tiresome fer a body after a while."
"Seconded!" Nel, said, now back to his normal cheery disposition. "Now how do we smoke it then, Bert? Do ye have a pipe?"
"No, but I've seen some of the humans down at the Blushing Loaf roll it up in bits of parchment, and smoke it like a tube. I'm pretty sure we could rig that up quickly," Bertronius said as he prepared some pipeherb in the fashion that he had seen Eralus, and other more experienced users do in the taverns. After a few failed attempts, and no end of unhelpful commentary and advice from Lem and Nelhoepher, Bertronius finally constructed a passably straight, securely sealed cigarette.
Bertronius lit the pipeherb tube and, after inhaling some of the harsh, musty smoke, passed it to his two young friends. Both Nelhoepher and Lem had smoked pipeherb before, but generally only the leftovers of patrons at the Blushing Loaf. Nelhoepher puffed on the cigarette with at least some measure of competence; Lem, on the other hand, inhaled a tremendous quantity of smoke, and hacked it back out in a loud, violent fit. They passed the cigarette between one another mostly in silence, as they gradually became more and more intoxicated by the pipeherb's unique, mind-altering effects. They would alternately giggle and stare off into space at random, each reveling in their own private realm of inebriation. When the cigarette had burned into a stub, Bertronius extinguished it, and carefully placed it back in the leather sack.
"Wow, Bert...this stuff is amazin'! How'd ye get it?" Nelhoepher asked as he dreamily gazed at the cracked wooden ceiling.
"Oh, I just asked Arna and she was willing to give me some of hers," Bert replied, his eyes closed as he imagined that he was floating on a becalmed tropical sea.
"She ne'er gives us anythin'...unless we do cleanin' fer her," Lem lamented. But his bad mood evaporated quickly into a fit of giggles.
"Yes, well I guess you two just don't have my luck with the ladies," Bertronius responded jokingly. It was nice to relax with Nelhoepher and Lem -- between tailing Eralus and his fruitless search for Ractor he hadn't seen much of them. Between his two quarries, Bertronius had felt himself growing more and more insular, more and more obsessed in a way he knew intuitively was not good for him, but these two always made him breathe a little easier and forget his troubles for a little while. He leaned back, half-listening to his friends going on about the feminine charms of the various prostitutes of the Blushing Loaf, and let the effects of the pipeherb relax him further.
“Vathorem, lad, let’s see how yer arm is healin’,” said Sellior, waving the other elf over.
As the injured elf walked to him, he chided Sellior lightheartedly, saying, “Don’ ye call me lad, ye daft git. I ha’e more’n fifty years on ye, an’ a good twenty on Naki!”
Sellior gave a small noise of surprise as he dressed the bandages. “Do ye now? I ne’er knew! I always took yer clumsiness ta be ta last stages o’ growin’ pains.”
Vathorem shook his head. “No, no, grew out o’ those long ago – an believe me, it wasn’ pretty! Jus’ not as graceful as our lot are supposed ta be, is all.”
“Ah, well, I’m sure ye’ve got other talents, la—erm, friend. Now let’s ha’e a look at yer arm, there, see how it’s healin’. Tell me where it still feels tender,” Sellior said as he gently squeezed Vathorem’s forearm.
Vathorem winced and let out a small yelp. “All over. Still tender up an’ down.”
Sellior nodded. “Aye, tha’ one’ll take a good while yet ta heal. Whate’er that damned ape did to ye, it practically shattered yer arm. I ha’e somet’in’ tha’ should help ta bones join each other again, though.” Sellior carefully unwrapped the bandages from Vathorem’s broken arm and spread a dark green paste over the wounds and wrapped his arm again in freshly laundered bandages. “Tha’ll help reduce yer swellin’ as well.”
“Thank ye kindly, Selli. Say, I’ve been wonderin’, where’d ye learnt ta healin’ arts, anyway?” Vathorem inquired curiously.
“Me ma was a midwife, so I picked up a good bit o’ it growin’ up. An’ before I joined up here I was an apprentice ta a healer,” Sellior supplied thoughtfully as he straightened his medical supplies. “Wish I knew more ta help wit’ yer arm, though. Ye mind sendin’ Helkint o’er ta me if yer headin’ tha’ way?”
Vathorem gave Sellior an affectionate pat on the shoulder with his good arm and thanked him warmly for what help he had already provided, and sent the young elf to the camp’s erstwhile doctor.
“Mornin’ Helkint,” Sellior said warmly. “Let’s get ye some fresh bandages.” Sellior tried to make small talk with Helkint as he unwound the boy’s bandages. “So, how’re ye feelin’ today, lad?” Helkint made no response, or even any effort to acknowledge that the other elf had spoken to him, which worried Sellior greatly. Since Rethnaki left, Helkint had spoken to no one else. Sellior inspected the still-oozing wound left behind by the evil nybbas, and frowned, suspecting that the beasts had some sort of poison on their claws that kept the wounds from healing quickly. Before speaking, Sellior took a moment and looked closely at the elf himself: he was so young that he had not yet lost his childlike features, and still had not reached his full height, giving him an awkward and gangly appearance. The boy sat, shoulders hunched forward, green eyes downcast, as if only distantly aware of Sellior’s presence.
Sellior sighed sadly as he examined the boy’s tortured visage. “Helkint, I’m going’ ta spread this poultice on yer wound. It’ll help ta swellin’ go down an’ get ‘em ta heal quicker, and then -- ”
Helkint interrupted Sellior abruptly with a tired wave of his hand. “Please don’,” he said in a flat voice without turning to look at Sellior.
“Lad, I’m afraid if I don’ tha’ ye’ll get an infection or worse,” Sellior responded in a concerned tone.
“I hope they ne’er heal,” Helkint said softly as he stood and walked off, still unbandaged.
After their terse conversation, the rift between Sellior and Helint grew deeper and their interactions grew more antagonistic. The boy avoided him now, and he had not been able to bandage his wounds for several days. Sellior was certainly annoyed that the young elf was being so difficult, but he was also deeply troubled by the lack of regard Helkint was showing to his own health and could not for the life of him understand why he would want to cause himself more injury than he already had sustained. Even more worrisome, the lad had not been eating more than a bite or two of bread a day since the battle and had begun visibly wasting away. “Vathorem, ha’e ye seen Helkint about? I t’ink he’s avoidin’ me an’ I still ha’e ta bandage him up,” Sellior said, frustrated that the young elf had once again gone missing.
“Aye, he’s at ta stream, I t’ink,” Vathorem responded. Sellior nodded and tossed his medicines and fresh bandages in his pack, along with a couple of hunks of crusty bread. He set off for the freshwater stream near their camp hoping that Helkint was still there and that the lad would stay in the same vicinity long enough for Sellior to talk to him.
He spotted Helkint easily from afar – the elf was squatting shirtless at the stream’s edge, his spine and ribs visible even from a distance, and seemed to be doing something with his hands. As Sellior got nearer, he noticed that the grass around Helkint was littered with red locks of hair, and a cold realization dawned on him.1 Sellior dropped his pack and ran to the boy. He knelt beside Helkint and pulled the young elf to his chest. “Oh, lad. ‘Tis cruel what fate did ta ye,” he said softly.
Helkint said nothing, but allowed himself to sink into Sellior’s chest, seeking comfort there. Sellior felt Helkint’s tears falling on his chest and his heart wrenched for the boy, who could not find words fit to communicate the depth of his feelings, which he had suffered alone until now. Sellior silently comforted Helkint as the boy began to weep in loud sobs that racked his thin body. Sellior sat holding him until Helkint had exhausted his tears and gently pulled away, ever so slightly embarrassed at his loss of control.
“I’ll help ye cut yer hair, if ye’d like, Helkint. ‘Tis hard ta do it on yer own,” Sellior said kindly. Helkint gave a sad sort of smile and looked at Sellior with red-ringed eyes and nodded. “One condition: ye ha’e ta eat somet’in’ while I do it, alrigh’? Can’ ha’e ye passin’ out from hunger while I ha’e a knife ta yer head, can I?”
Helkint gave the same sad smile and nodded again, and Sellior stood to go retrieve his pack from where he had dropped it. He walked back and handed the boy a hunk of bread and took the knife from the ground where it had fallen and sliced off hank after hank of the boy’s pin-straight hair. Flooded with the significance and intimacy of such an action, tears slowly made their way down Sellior’s cheeks.
“Helkint, can I ask ye somet’in?” Sellior asked softly, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.
“Ye don’ ha’e ta answer if ye don’ want to.”
“You can ask me anyt’in’ ye want, Selli,” Helkint replied after he finished chewing.
“Why won’ ye let me dress yer wounds?” Sellior asked, cutting off another clump of hair.
Helkint paused and sighed, then took another bite of bread. Just as Sellior had concluded that he had pressed too hard and caused the boy to clam up again, Helkint spoke in a tortured voice. “As long as they’re here, makin’ me face throb all night and all day ta ta point o’ distraction, I can ne’er ferget how he died. An’ I owe him tha’, at ta very least, since ‘tis me own fault he’s gone.”
Sellior wanted to shake him by the shoulders, and tell him that he should not blame himself for his friend’s untimely death, but he knew that this would only do more harm than good. So he proposed a compromise instead. “Helkint, would ye let me dress yer wound usin’ only mundayne means? I’d use nothin’ ta get rid o’ ta scars an’ they’d be there fer ta rest o’ ye life.”
Helkint thought for a long moment, and nodded slowly. Sellior felt very much relieved; he had spent the last few days worried sick that Helkint’s wounds would get infected and that the boy would die a horrifying death as a result. Sellior finished cutting Helkint’s hair, gently treated and bandaged his wounds, and lead him back to camp with a firm arm around the boy’s narrow shoulders.
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1Red elves traditionally wear their hair shoulder length or longer, most often loose and unbound. The only occasion upon which red elves wear their hair shorter is during times of mourning, as a way of marking themselves out as enduring great, sometimes debilitating, suffering at the loss of someone close.
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