“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Well, he’s broken his leg badly and will be unable to complete his rounds. Would you be willing to take over for him down in South Boll? Until he’s able to travel again?”
Robinton was delighted to do so and hastily organized his packs for a noontime departure. He paused only long enough to tell his mother where he was going and why. She listened, nodding her head and giving him an encouraging little smile. As she walked him to the door, she reached up to caress his cheek.
“The sonata received a tremendous ovation, Rob,” she said softly.
He nodded, took her hand, kissed it, and left.
Karenchok’s home base was a cluster of seaside holds on the eastern shore of South Boll. It was hot and steamy when Robinton arrived, and the SeaHolder greeted him enthusiastically.
“We’ve all been worried about him, Journeyman. He’s very popular here, and so we’ve kept someone with him to help.”
“You’re very kind, Holder Matsen. Master Gennell asked me to thank you for your care.”
“We’ve a very good healer, local woman but trained properly in the Hall. She’s been overseeing his care, but she’s busy too.”
The Holder was a short man, stockily built in the barrel, with thin legs that didn’t look strong enough to hold up the weight he carried. But he moved quickly as he led the way to the cot set back from the little harbour. There was a long chair out in front, made by attaching a flat-topped stool to a padded chair. Vines had been trained over a lattice to shield the front from the morning
sun.
“Ho, Karenchok, brought you a guest,” Matsen bellowed, giving advance warning.
A woman appeared in the door, giving the loose, long skirt she wore a final twitch. Her smile was guileless as she greeted harper and Holder
“Ah, Laela, that’s where you got to,” said Matsen in a slightly strained voice.
Laela’s smile turned on Robinton, and her eyes widened slightly.
Then her manner became subtly seductive and her smile warmer.
“This is Journeyman Harper Robinton,” Matsen said stiffly.
“Laela helps Healer Saretta with hold-bound patients.”
“I do my part,” she said in a sultry voice, and Robinton felt his lips twitching. He could not deny her sensuality – or that it was affecting him. It was the first time in the nearly nine months since Kasia’s death that he had felt this way. He didn’t know if this was a good thing or not, but there was no missing the invitation in Laela’s voice and eyes as she slid past him. “Karenchok is in good spirits,” she said, her laughter trailing her departure.
In spite of himself, Robinton turned to see where she went.
“Karenchok is here,” Matsen said, prompting his attention.
“Sorry.”
Matsen cleared his throat and led the way into the cot.
Karenchok was sitting by the table, his splinted leg straight out in front of him and a pair of wooden crotches handily slanted against another chair. Robinton did recognize him: one of Shonagar’s wrestling partners. Seeing Robinton, Karenchok waved a friendly hand.
“I remember you, Robinton,” he said in greeting. “Very good of Gennell to send me help so quickly. Come, sit. Matsen, can you find the wine-skin for me?”
Matsen did, but not without a glance which told Robinton that Karenchok had been drinking rather more than might be good for him. A curious peek at the label on the skin disclosed the fact that this was a Tillek red, which was likely harsh. Well, it was wine and would go down as well as best Benden.
By late evening he had learned all about Karenchok’s accident and admired the man for the grit it must have taken to crawl, with a leg broken in three places, to a path where someone would find him. He’d been riding back to his cot when his runner – “one of the stupidest ever bred’ – had been frightened by a tunnel snake and thrown him down into the gully. Once over its scare, the runner had been in no hurry to return to its home, so it was late night before a search party went out to find him. When Robinton remarked on his fortitude, Karenchok shrugged.