bed, or on one of those tables! He slept, at last, on the floor. On bedding from
the gardener’s chamber, not Kurd’s. He wanted nothing of Kurd’s.
Valuable knives and the bag of money were different.
He awoke at dawn, looked in on three sleeping men, marvelled, and left that
place that was nine times more horrible by day. He found a sausage, considered,
and chose flatbread instead. Only the gods and Kurd knew what sort of meat
comprised that sausage. In a shed Hanse found a cart and a mule. He had to do
some chopping and some seating. At last he got Tempus out of the ruined house
and into the cart padded with hay. Hanse covered him amid shudders. Tempus’s
cuts looked days older, nearly healed.
‘Would you like a few fingers or nose or something of Kurd to accompany you out
of here, Thales?’
Almost, Tempus frowned. ‘
‘0,’ he said, and Hanse knew it was a, no. ‘You want to, uh, leave them for
… later?’ Tempus’s reply was almost a yes, for me.
Hanse got him out of there. He used much of Kurd’s money to buy the place and
services of a tongueless, nearly blind old woman, along with some soft food,
wine, blankets and cloak, and he went away from them with a few coins and
hideous memories.
The coins bought him expensive treatment from a leech who dared not chuckle or
comment as he cleaned and bandaged a buttock with multiple lacerations, which he
said would heal beautifully.
After that Hanse was sick in his room for the better part of a week. The
remaining three coins bought him anaesthetic in the form of strong drink.