Terra Firma

Terra Firma

by spinner

The note arrived the night before, in Max's practically illegible penmanship.

I am taking you into protective custody for your own safety. We will go for a ride in the country. Please be ready before 7 a.m. You must dress as a simple peasant. (No silk, no brocade, no uniforms) -M

"Hmph," Fandorin snorted derisively, pushing the note into the pocket of his dressing gown and turning to talk to Masa. "It's a g-good thing I recognize the handwriting, or I m-might have gone off with the wrong over-bearing tyrant. God knows there's no shortage of those in my life, is there?"

Masa smiled slightly, giving his master another plank of wood. Fandorin deftly nailed the form into place, muttering to himself around the nail he held between his lips.

"My first exciting c-case in weeks and he plans to kidnap me? It's not like I can't handle Le Viper. Does Kirnov think I am new to bullets and bombs and snakes and such?"

Masa was trying very hard not to laugh. His brows betrayed his amusement. Erast pounded in another nail and put down the hammer.

"I should send him a note. 'Mind your own b-business, Mr. Ogre'."

"Master will go with Kirnov-san."

"Will I?"

"He will," Masa repeated sternly.

"Maybe your danna doesn't want to go anywhere with Mr. Ogre," Erast whispered peevishly.

"Do not worry. Baron will have house fixed up before you are back. Good as new. I will be busy supervising."

"M-maybe you should go for a ride in the country with Kirnov-san, and I should stay and supervise."

"Kirnov-san wants to protect you."

"Hmph."

"I want to protect you."

Fandorin held his tongue, but he made a very petulant face. Masa got to his feet, chuckling. The new phone echoed loudly in the nearly-empty room. Erast got to his feet as Masa spoke into the receiver.

"Erast-san home? Yes. One moment please, Kirnov-san."

"What are you building over there? A coffin?" Max asked when Fandorin put the receiver to his ear. Erast squinted at the aperture where the window should have been. It was covered from the ground to waist level by neat planks of wood. Obviously Kirnov was close-by if he could actually see what they were doing.

"What do you m-mean by 'simple peasant'?" Fandorin asked coolly.

"Not what you're wearing now, obviously."

Fandorin squinted out the aperture again.

"I want to show you where the money went," Max said.

"What money?"

There was only silence except for Max's soft breathing.

"Th-that money?" Erast gasped, surprised.

"That money," Max confirmed.

"When you said you wanted to take me for a ride in the c-country, I should have made you specify which country."

Erast shifted in his seat, putting out a hand blindly forward in the direction of Max's steady breathing. He encountered a warm torso. A hand took his own, placing it back down to the cushioned bench in the carriage.

"You like surprises, don't you?" Max asked.

"I like pleasant surprises," Fandorin clarified. "Is the blindfold really n-necessary?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

"It's hardly going to keep me from retracing our path later, you realize?"

"You could even find your way back blindfolded?" Max started.

"I spent the better part of f-four months in a blindfold once."

"Were you wounded?"

"Hmph," Fandorin snorted. "Yes, but not my eyes. It was a precaution."

"What sort of precaution?"

"It would take too long to explain."

"We have plenty of time."

Fandorin paused for a sniff, tilting his head towards the sounds outside the window of the carriage.

"Yes, I suspect we do. You're wasting a great deal of it. This is the third time we have d-driven past these very shops. We haven't even left Moscow."

"Erast!"

"There is a bakery on the first corner, a fish monger, a butcher, a wine- - -"

"You are an evil, supernatural creature, aren't you?" Kirnov scolded, tapping the window behind him with his hand. The carriage rolled to a stop. "It's almost noon. I will bring you some lunch, and you will tell me your tale."

Max returned very shortly, and the carriage took off again. He had brought bread and cheese and very good wine, along with a box that smelled suspiciously of chocolate fudge. He retrieved a knife from his satchel and began slicing up the food, presenting it in careful pieces to the still-blindfolded Fandorin.

"Why am I not allowed to find my way back to wherever the hell you are taking me?" Erast said. He had no intention of launching into any tale, so Max was going to have to be more persuasive.

"Because it could prove problematic if you were seen there again and again."

"Why?"

"Don't ask questions. You are not allowed to ask the questions."

"Am I not?" Erast laughed to himself, gnawing on the delicious bread that had been placed in both his hands. It was warm from the oven and melted on his tongue.

"No."

"You are quite the tyrant, Mr. Ogre," Erast whispered.

"You were going to tell me about your blindfold."

"Was I?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I have a very sharp knife, and - - -"

Fandorin's hand darted out like a striking cobra. He snatched said knife out of Kirnov's grip, holding tight to the blade with his bare fingers. After his initial surprise, Max tried to take the weapon back, only to have Erast push it down into the leather folds of his own long boots. Ask him to dress like a peasant, and what you get is part opera and part pirate, Max mused to himself, admiring the boots.

"You should know better than to ride around in a bouncing carriage with a d-drawn weapon. Someone could get hurt," Erast teased, easing back in his seat and stretching out his right leg to rest his toes on Max's bench. Kirnov wrapped one set of fingers around and under Fandorin's ankle. He started to sensually rub Erast's calf through the expensive boots, and was surprised to find not only the dagger Erast had purloined from him with his wicked ninja skills, but a companion piece—a smaller, thinner stiletto strapped to his sinewy limb.

"How many weapons are you carrying at this particular moment?" Kirnov asked.

"In round numbers?" Fandorin purred.

"Do you have your Herstahl?"

"Never without, if I can help it."

"The derringer?"

"R-right here," Erast put a hand behind his back and touched his spine at the waist.

"I am here to protect you. But you have a hard time trusting yourself to other people, don't you?"

Fandorin mused sadly. "The blindfold was precautionary, that's all. Any prudent man would have done the same, and my captor was indeed a very prudent man."

"Your captor?" Kirnov questioned, not at all amazed that Fandorin had changed the subject.

"Yusef Pasha."

"This was during the Turkish war? I was on assignment in Istanbul then. So you really were held prisoner in a harem, weren't you?"

"I was, yes."

"I have heard the most apocryphal tales about you and this harem," Max teased.

"Don't believe any of them. The truth is much more mundane than you can imagine."

"How mundane?"

"I spent four months in a b-blindfold before Yusef Pasha trusted me around his wives, to say nothing of the fact my main caretaker was pregnant."

"The blindfold was pointless then, wasn't it?"

"She was p-pregnant before I arrived. I'm not that foolish. I was celibate p-practically the entire time I was there."

"Practically? But not entirely?"

"I see I'm going to have to be careful what I say to you," Erast smiled.

"Go on," Kirnov chuckled, giving Fandorin more food.

"Shamim. It means 'beautiful perfume'. She was very k-kind to me."

"How did you come to make her acquaintance?"

"I saved her husband's life, and he stabbed me in the f-foot, and then took me home and held me prisoner. It's complicated."

"You saved the life of a pasha?"

"Yes."

"He took you prisoner anyway? What a twat!"

"I paid for my k-kindness with a year of boredom in captivity."

"Why did you save his life?"

"Because senseless slaughter has never appealed to me."

"Why can't you stand the sight of blood? Is it because of the war?"

"No," Erast said hesitantly, taking a long drink of wine.

"Because of an earlier case?"

"I've....I had never been good with viscera, not even before I saw my wife b-blown into bloody sm-smithereens. She died holding a b-bomb meant f-for me. Bits and p-pieces of her were thrown more than twenty-five feet. It made a lasting impression," Fandorin said coldly, draining his glass. Max caressed Erast's calf, remaining silent for a long moment. This was a touchy subject he should not bring up again if he could manage, Max knew.

"My assignment during the Turkish war was to infiltrate the enemy's positions and learn as much information as possible," Kirnov said as a distraction. "Truth be told, I was glad to be away from Moscow."

"In the end, that's what I managed to do, quite accidently," Erast whispered.

"Whatever became of the sweet-smelling Shamim and her husband?"

"Both alive and well, as far as I know."

"What curious and boring tales you tell, Erast-san. I was led to believe that you had your way with your captor's harem of beautiful women. I shall have to correct those court gossipers when I see them again."

"Max, have you ever been in the c-company of seventy-five women at once?"

"No, I haven't."

"It was mayhem. The rivalries, the p-pressure, the nastiness they inflicted on one another. You would flee from all women if you had any idea how dangerous they can be when they don't like you."

"I've encountered plenty of women that don't like me. However, I'm surprised to learn that you have."

"You have no idea," Erast laughed again. "I was like a bauble that only one of them could wear at a time, and because Yusef Pasha had given me to Shamim, because he had singled her out by this special attention, she found herself the object of mischief. I followed Shamim around like a pet hound, and we p-protected each other from serious harm. She was more of a sister than anything else. Her worst enemy among the other wives tried to poison her not once, not twice, but on six separate occasions!"

"Why didn't this pasha keep you in the dungeon like any sensible oriental despot would have done? Why cause problems by keeping you in the harem?"

"I had s-saved his life. He wasn't sure what to do with me. He felt both g-gratitude and annoyance for the position I had p-put him in. Shamim tended my wounds—she was studying medicine, most fortuitous for me. After Yusef made discreet inquiries and learned who I was, he treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration. To put me in the dungeon would have been unseemly. I made myself as harmless and unassuming as possible, in order to lessen whatever threat he might have seen in me."

"How did you…."

"If you must know, the blindfold was Shamim's idea. It was Yusef's second choice."

"What was the first?"

Fandorin could only chuckle at this naïve question. Kirnov gasped, crossing himself.

"Dear God! Would he have gone that far?!"

"I don't doubt for a second," Erast mused.

"Dear God," Max whispered again.

"F-four months in a blindfold doesn't sound so bad by comparison, eh?"

"I'd say not!"

"Hippolyte practically laughed himself unconscious when I told him how close I had come to being made a eunuch. I didn't think he'd ever stop," Erast murmured softly.

There was the name Max had been waiting to hear. Hippolyte. And yet, he had to let it slide this time. Perhaps Erast would bring this ghost up again someday. Fandorin already felt he had said too much. He withdrew back from the conversation, drawing his leg off of Max's bench. He wanted to be alone in his thoughts. Kirnov watched him for a moment while putting a half an apple into his hands.

"There's time for a nap, if you are tired," Kirnov offered. Fandorin shook his head no, chomping into the apple and chewing moodily in silence.

"Wooden floors."

"Oh, very clever," Max intoned sarcastically, keeping a hand on each of Erast's shoulders and walking him through the small door that opened through the bolted larger doors of the ancient church.

"Incense."

"You have the nose of a bloodhound."

"Mm. We Fandorins are d-descended from a long line of bloodhounds."

"This way, Herr Hund."

Kirnov walked the blindfolded man along the wooden floors, tapping his hands when he reached out to either side in order to gauge where they were traveling. He had not been quick enough to keep Erast from touching the top of the back of a pew as they passed it. Fandorin's fingers crooked into a heart-shaped holes, and he was immediately intrigued, caressing the space to familiarize himself with the outline.

A widow in black followed them into the church and sat in the back row. A veil shaded her face from view. Erast paused, reaching back again for the same pew and nearly taking the widow's face off. Kirnov took his hands and pulled him to the front row of the nearly deserted space. Another widow entered and took a seat in the distant corner of the tiny chapel away from them. She wanted to be alone in her sorrow, it appeared. Max put Erast down gently on the wooden pew in the first row, in a specific spot, and sat next to him. Kirnov swung his legs back and forth for a moment before tapping his feet on the floor.

"Can I look?" Erast whispered.

"Shhh. Quietly, you may look."

Fandorin peeled off his blindfold and sat back in the pew to study his surroundings. He raised his brows in amazement. It was a very ancient church, filled with the smells of new wood and old incense and antediluvian hymnals and dust and faith and nails and sweat and hard work. It could have seated fifty people, in a pinch, if they didn't mind sitting cheek by jowl. Much of the church seemed to be holding itself up with willpower alone. But not ten feet away, a remarkable new altar gleamed, shining with gold and sapphires and triptychs with saintly faces. Above them, the ceiling gleamed as well.

"The altar has needed replacing for some time," Max shrugged and whispered. "Pieces have been falling off during services since I was a boy."

Erast gave Max a sideways glance filled with mischief and humor and wonder.

"We redid the altar, bought new beams for the ceiling too, because during heavy rains, it was hit or miss whether you'd leave the services wet or dry. We resupplied the charity pantry for months to come with flour and sugar and wheat and potatoes. We even bought new blankets for the orphanage. There is plenty left over. I gave it into the hands of Father Gavril and let him decide where best to use it."

"Did you tell him how you c-came by the money in the first place?" Erast worried.

"I lied."

"To the priest. You lied to the priest?" Fandorin blushed hot red.

"Was I going to tell him I had ordered a friend to earn the money performing deeds that would make angels cry?"

"You worship at the Church of Saint V-valentine? I would have never suspected," Erast whispered, still blushing.

"Good."

Fandorin leaned closer to Max, and his face gleamed with boyish mischief. "Did you really have to drive me around Moscow for seven hours to show me this? It's less than an hour's drive from Malaya Nikitskaya."

"Shh," Max whispered again. "I wanted to show you this first. We will leave town shortly. There is a place in the country where I go when I want to get away. That is where I am taking you."

"It's b-beautiful here," Erast whispered after a moment, sitting back again and staring up at the ceiling. Someone had started to cover the new beams with plaster, and presumably they would then repaint the ceiling with the same celestial stars and clouds and cherubs that dominated the rest. One of the widows behind them walked up to the altar, passing by the two men and lifting her veil as she knelt to whisper prayers. On her black gloved hand, there glittered two bands of gold.

"I'm glad you approve," Max said, watching Erast watching the gnarled widow's hands.

"It's very beautiful. I'm t-touched," Erast said, glancing sideways again. His features softened, and he quietly took Max's hand into his. Kirnov held his fingers for a brief moment before a commotion behind them made him jump to his feet and whirl around, digging for his gun at his side. A cold shudder tore through Erast's body.

A gun was firing behind them, and Max was firing back. Fandorin put his hand to his side for his own gun as well. The woman kneeling at the altar started screaming before she rose from the ground. She was on her feet and instantly back down on the floor, her screams filling the small space as she flattened herself like a satin-black puddle on the wooden floor. The last thing Erast knew was that Max was on top of him, and they were down between the first pew and the second. Or perhaps they were under the first pew? Erast was lying on top of his right arm and his Herstahl was compressed under him. He'd be damned lucky if it didn't go off beneath him.

Max was using his body to shield Erast from danger as gunfire ricocheted around them. Kirnov looked worried at first. Very slowly, though, the echoes of gunfire in the small space died away. The new and old plaster stopped falling on them. The widow's piercing screams dissipated like the acrid gray smoke. Max was having a hard time focusing his eyes. He and Erast lay almost face to face. Kirnov looked less and less worried all the time. His chest was growing warm and sticky between them. Erast wasn't sure which of them had been shot. Perhaps both of them. He was having trouble breathing, and he could feel nothing but pain at the end of his right arm. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. His left arm was pinned under Max's body, and he couldn't seem to command his right arm either. He couldn't look away from Max's face. Green eyes focused and unfocused when Kirnov struggled to draw in a breath. Max spoke softly against Erast's cheek.

"Are you hurt?" he whispered, and then he sighed, and before Erast could answer, Max went very still.

The next week was a blur. Erast awoke in the hospital with Masa by his side, not knowing how many hours had passed, and not caring either. His right arm was wrapped as if sprained, but other than that he appeared to be unharmed. Lucky him. Masa crawled down from his chair to kneel beside Erast's bed. Drying tears off his face, he tenderly combed his stubby fingers through his master's hair.

"Time for zazen?" Erast whispered when Masa appeared. His friend was shaking his head in sad wonder. New tears took the place of old ones.

"No, danna. We do zazen later. Rest now."

Fandorin closed his eyes but did not sleep. Over the next couple of days, he heard people come and go and did not care either way. Masa remained at hand, never leaving his side, at least it seemed so. He was allowed visitors on the second day, and both Tulipov and Baranov wanted to talk to him, but he did not greet them. He feigned sleep while they hovered around his bed, these angels of death. They were debating who would say what if Fandorin awoke while they were there, and Erast had decided that he did not want to hear what it was they had to say. He already knew. He already knew. What was the point in telling him anything?

Erast opened his eyes later, after he heard Tulipov and Baranov leave. He found Masa was praying at his bedside, and in order not to disturb his valet's concentration, Fandorin closed his eyes again. He hid away in the many dark rooms of the fortress of his mind. There were doors he did not open, doors he could not open, doors he would not open, and doors he could never close. He could not think of Max now, and let him choose any door he wanted to hide behind. Maybe he could think of him later when the wounds weren't so raw and fresh and naked. He dreamed of Shamim and heard her voice. He imagined the fairy tales she had read to him, and thought as well about the time they had watched fireworks from her bedroom window. She had watched, and he had listened. The sounds had made him shake inside and out with childish fear. The acrid smell of smoke and ruin had made his blood run cold.

On the second day, Dolgorukoi, the cunning old man, waited patiently at Erast's side for more than two hours, whispering quietly to him, cajoling gently, until Fandorin decided his shameful cowardice could not continue, that he should at least make an effort to reward such persistence. He opened his eyes slowly, and gave his master a questioning look. The prince patted Erast gently on the top of his head. His whisker-ringed smile was strained with nervousness and concern. It slowly disappeared, rising to the heavens like the smoke from incense to leave nothing but ashes behind. Dolgorukoi could not bring himself to say the words Fandorin was dreading. Erast loved him all the more for his awkward misery.

"I was so worried for you, dear boy," the prince murmured sadly when he could say nothing else.

"Excellency, someone needs to tell him," Frol was saying from another part of the hospital room. Fandorin could not see him, and did not want to either. Masa muttered threateningly in Japanese. Dolgorukoi glanced up, his whiskers shaking as he tossed his head back and forth. Absolutely not, his stern glare read. His anger disappeared before he stared back down at Fandorin.

"You get some rest. I've got everything under control," Dolgorukoi promised in a soothing, deep voice. Rest was the last thing Fandorin wanted. What he wanted, he could never have. Rest was no substitute for love, and if he couldn't have one, he didn't want the other.

Epilogue

Today the funeral mass will be performed for Kirnov-san. Danna is not dressed-- he hasn't even risen from his bed. The important gentleman's coach will be here within the hour. Erast-san has been awake for the better part of a week. He doesn't think I know that he was pretending sleep, but I could tell. He might have drifted off here and there, but never for more than few minutes before he jumped awake with nightmares and hallucinations brought on by lack of sleep. I could almost hear the sound of gunfire ringing in his head. I cannot bear the humility in his face or the pain in his water-blue eyes. I need to get him away from this place for a while, until he is himself again.

I want to give Danna comfort. I want him to know that while he was in the hospital, I went straight to the lair of the Viper, and I slit his throat while he slept. For good measure, I cut off his hands. I did not stop there. I also stabbed him through his cold, black heart. It was a matter I could not trust to the uneven justice of this strange land. No one saw me. It took ten minutes. No one is any wiser that I was there. This man could not be allowed to live after hurting my master, and with such impunity! To kill one man and wound another man under the roof of a sacred temple is truly a grievous sin. But to injure a man and make him watch his beloved die—that is the most unforgivable manner in which to wound another human being. When Danna is ready to know, I will tell him how the Viper died, and I will let him punish me if he so wishes. But for now, he is not ready.

I had no choice but to give him laudanum this morning—not very much. There was no more than a thimble-full mixed into his favorite hot tea and honey. He wasn't eating, but at least he would accept morning tea. If there was any hope of surviving through these interminable religious services without causing an embarrassing scene, Master had to be kept quiet.

I was very pleased when Danna made it through Kirnov-san's funeral without more than a peep of sound. He sat like a statue next to the prince. He cannot bring himself to look at the coffin. He stared at the floor, at the altar, at the ceiling. It seemed strange to me too. I kept expecting Kirnov-san to appear somewhere in the crowd, to creep up behind Master and surprise him, to promise it was all a cruel joke and ask wasn't it funny. The prince kept glancing sideways at Danna, deathly pale with worry. Master did not notice the stare. He was lost in his own world throughout the mass. No doubt his thoughts are filled with other deaths, other funerals.

Although I know the Christian custom is for everyone present to walk past the coffin and say a final goodbye to the deceased person, there was no conceivable way that we could do this. I know from the Baron that Erast-san tried to do this at his wife's funeral because it was expected of him, but he slipped into unconsciousness, nearly falling into the coffin with her. He had had to be carried away. I could not allow Master to show such vulnerability. Not here. There is a time and a place, but this was not it. The best thing to do at the end of the service was to guide him quickly and easily from the newly-repaired Church of Saint Valentine, while he was still malleable and cooperative. Kirnov-san would surely understand this.

We very quickly had Master secured in Dolgorukoi's private carriage, doors locked, windows letting shafts of light through to the blue interior. Three of us gave sighs of relief. Master remained impassive and subdued. I sat next to the important gentleman's servant, and the prince sat beside Fandorin on the other bench. Erast-san shuddered, and Dolgorukoi immediately wrapped a heavy cloak around him, tucking it around his sides, draping it over his long legs. The carriage pulled away, the horses clip-clopping along the cobblestones and then the pavement. Houses and shops passed by without much discussion beyond Frol and Dolgorukoi both saying how nice the service had been.

I let them both talk without reply. There was nothing to say. I watched Master, who sat stonily in the farthest corner. Erast swayed to and fro, his eyes nearly crossed, and slowly, his lids closed. I held my breath—would sleep finally come to him, now that everything was over? Erast-san's head tilted sideways, first to the carriage wall, and then the other way, to land limply on Dolgorukoi's shoulder.

I could imagine nothing more horrible. Why had I not sat next to him in that place? This was most embarrassing! The prince froze in worry and glanced at me for help. I shook my head, waving my hands in warning, but he didn't understand. I knew what he was going to do, and could not stop him. Dolgorukoi stared downwards through his whiskers at my sleeping master, and carefully lifted one big arm to ease it around him.

Yesterday at home, I had tried to put a blanket around Erast-san when I found him reclining against the corner of the armchair in the study. Master had awakened screaming. I cringed in anticipation of the sounds that would surely follow.

But I had no reason to fear. Erast-san bolted awake, sitting up straight. He mouthed an apology to his master and stared blankly out the window with sleep-deprived eyes. I melted back into my seat, unable to hide my disappointment or my anger with the important gentleman. Dolgorukoi seemed to feel my disrespectful annoyance. He must have felt it, because he was burning with shame.

A few minutes of silence passed. Bells began to toll timidly in the distance, but one by one, they grew in strength until a cacophony of church bells coordinated their peels to indicate the coming of the hour in a flurry of radiating waves of sound. Amidst all this racket, Fandorin-san's eyes drooped closed again, his head cushioned on the wall of the carriage. Of all the things to find comforting, stupid church bells? Perhaps the waves of sound connected with the tangled part of his brain and relaxed the knots?

What the bells began, the rocking carriage completed. The gentle motion lulled Erast-san further into sleep. I didn't breathe or move, and the important gentleman and his servant followed suit. It was good for them that they did. If either of them had so much as twitched, I would have had no choice but to break their kneecaps.

The Governor-General's home came into view outside the small windows. When the carriage rolled to a stop, his servant delicately undid the door, hoping to push Dolgorukoi through without fuss, I imagined. The prince motioned for Frol to get out, which he did. The important gentleman motioned me towards the exit, and I glared sullenly at him. He motioned again and whispered please. I very reluctantly complied. The portly prince slowly maneuvered himself down and out the small door. He pushed the edge of his cloak back inside the carriage, tucking it closely around Master's legs.

Surprisingly, Fandorin remained undisturbed. Amazed, I studied Master's sleeping face. There were such dark circles under his eyes. He was like a ghost buried in the cushioned bench, surrounded by the important gentleman's heavy cloak. Dolgorukoi stepped over to the driver and had a quiet word with him. The driver nodded, accepting a handful of banknotes from the prince. Satisfied, the important gentleman motioned me back inside the carriage, making a tiny pantomime with his hands of fingers moving in a circular motion on his palm.

He meant for the driver to carry us around Moscow's streets as Danna slept, I knew. I was so grateful that a true understanding had finally been reached, I almost burst into tears of gratitude. I bowed to the prince most graciously, then climbed back inside the carriage with the agility of a feral cat. It didn't rock in the slightest, I am proud to say. That would not be the greatest challenge though.

I sat with extreme care on the cushioned bench beside my master. He quivered but did not awaken. Dolgorukoi nodded his approval. He gave Erast-san a final glance of fatherly concern before closing the door without a sound. The horses drew away again from the Governor-General's home, and the city beckoned us into traffic once more.

Poor Danna. What am I to do with you? You're going to get a stiff neck, sleeping that way.

I reached both arms under the cloak around Erast-san, and pulled him gently away from the carriage wall. Resting on my shoulder wasn't going to do his neck any good either. I eased him down onto the bench itself. This had to be done with great care, or he might wake up screaming, and I didn't want that. I sat down on the floor of the rocking carriage and assumed a comfortable position. From here, I could watch Master's pale face. I rearranged the important gentleman's cloak so the heavy gold designs on the stiff collar would not leave a mark on Danna's cheek.

His hair was sticking up. I smoothed it down, listening to his steady breathing. He was not feigning this time. I felt so guilty for having slipped a potion into Master's tea. It had had to be done though. I promised myself that I would not give him laudanum again without telling him I was doing so. If he was angry when he awakened, I could argue that he could not go on any longer without his rest, and my drastic measures had been necessary. But for now, what was done was done.

Buddha be praised. Danna was finally asleep.

Le Fin

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