Mouche scarcely had time to brace himself before Bane landed on him, knocking him backwards so the breath went out of him. His attacker drew a blade from his belt and wasted no time striking at Mouche’s face. Mouche rolled and fended the first blow, but the second bit deep. He felt the slice and the warm blood on his cheek. His mouth was suddenly larger, and something inside himself screamed with outrage. His face. Bane had scarred his face!
The manure fork was under Mouche’s hand, his fingers closed around the neck, just below the long tines. He managed to bring the fork up, twist it so the tines pointed at Bane, and thrust them deep enough that Bane fell back with a yelp, allowing Mouche to scramble to his feet with a firm grip on the fork as he backed, blood streaming, toward the ladder to the loft.
Meantime, Dyre had attacked Ornery, clutching her clumsily around the waist. Ornery had thrown herself forward, fallen hard on her attacker, and escaped while Dyre was catching his breath. By the time the brothers were on their feet, Ornery and Mouche were in the loft with the ladder pulled up after them and the manure fork close at hand for repelling boarders. Mouche leaked blood from his face, where his cheek had been sliced through, along with other cuts. Ornery had battered knuckles and a cut on her jaw, made by Dyre’s ring. She paid no attention to this as she inspected Mouche’s face, where the flesh was already swelling.
“Oh, by all the Hagions, Mouche … “
“If i … ‘s aad, don’ … ell … e.”
“It’s bad, and I have to tell you. It’s got to be stitched. You’ll be a horror, otherwise.”
Mouche felt the horror as he moved his fingers over his face. “ … ack,” he said, as best he could, and Ornery read his mind. He fetched the pack and Mouche felt through it, coming up with a slender tube. “Glue,” he said, almost clearly. “Now … whiaw is … resh.”
“Tissue glue? I may not be good at it, Mouche. I may leave a scar.”
“Now … whiaw … is … resh.”
Working from the top of the cut, high on Mouche’s cheek, just under his left eye, Ornery applied the glue and pressed the flesh together, centimeter by centimeter, hoping desperately that she would come out even when she reached the lips. The end of the cut was at the corner of the mouth, and this took several applications of the glue before it held. Mouche lay back, eyes wide with pain and sudden terror. Up until now, he’d had a life to depend on. Now? He couldn’t be a Hunk, not now. Not unless a miracle happened and it healed so clean that the Dentimed machines could clean it up. Well, Madame would make Mantelby pay his annuity out. Trust Madame. At least he wouldn’t starve.
Meantime, below, the brothers rattled the stable door to no effect, then sat down, muttering to one another and examining the walls in a vain effort to find some climbable way into the loft. The work of cleaning the stables went no further. Nor would it be finished, Ornery whispered, until those other two were got rid of.
“Let’s … ill ‘em,” muttered Mouche, dazedly fingering the manure fork.
“Now, then,” whispered Ornery, patting Mouche’s shoulder. “Killing them isn’t going to do us any good. Calm down. Maybe your folks didn’t want to hurt your feelings so they didn’t tell you about the new babies.”
Mouche shook off the comforting hand and concentrated on what was going on below. “ … e could … ake um … ane isn’ … so good a … ighter. He’s lazy.”
“He may not be a good fighter, he may even be lazy, but we’re in no shape to prove it,” said Ornery. “Please. Just lie there and let the glue set. Don’t talk. Let me just try to get us put to work somewhere else, or vicey-versy.”
Mouche took a shuddering breath and subsided while Ornery wet a clean handkerchief and cleaned the worst of the blood from his face. The glue had sealed the cut, as it was designed to do, which is why the stuff was carried by sailors and roustabouts and others subject to injury in the way of the work. Deep, disfiguring injuries like Mouche’s, however, were supposed to be followed up by an immediate visit to the surgery machines, and Ornery didn’t think it was going to happen, not with things all in confusion as they were.