The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series) (48 page)

But by the naturally happy look in his blue
eyes, which were growing shiny, he didn’t seem to think anything
about that moment was inappropriate.

She remembered many years ago when Shem was
an injured young corporal with a bashed-in head, lying still at the
village green when the Guarders first attacked the village. Mahrree
had sat by his side all night holding his hand looking for signs of
responsiveness. The only time she got any reaction was when she’d
whispered, “I still need you!” His mouth had twitched.

She later suspected that he had heard
everything she told him that night, about how she and Perrin
thought of him as their younger brother and how Perrin had great
plans for him. Then again, maybe he heard only bits and pieces, as
Mahrree had. Maybe Shem had said even more to her, but that was all
she remembered.

She looked into his innocent blue eyes and
patted his hand with her other. “I’m sorry I worried my little
brother. Now I need to thank you again for all of your
attention.”

He blushed and stood up hastily from the bed,
as if suddenly remembering something. A guilty countenance came
over his face—at least that’s what Mahrree decided it was because
she’d never seen that look on him before.

“
I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be
taking up your resting space.” He glanced over to the side where
Perrin normally slept, and stepped over to the chair where his
uniform always lay ready. His trousers were still there, since he
had gone to the fort in his regular clothes and uniform
jacket.

Shem gingerly picked up the trousers and
draped them over the back of the chair before he sat down. “No
thanks needed,” he said, then added, as if eager for a new topic,
“Can I get you something to drink?”

---

Perrin trotted up the tower stairs, bracing
for the worst.

Instead, he faced the best. “Jon! Why are you
up here? I thought Thorne was on duty tonight.”

Lieutenant Offra saluted. “Sir, I should be
asking the same thing of you—aren’t you supposed to be at home with
your wife?”

“
Her fever broke this
afternoon. She’s doing much better.”

Offra grinned. “Oh, sir—that’s good news! I
was a bit worried about her, to be honest.”

“
We were
all
worried,” Perrin told him, sure that the relief was evident on his
face, “but she’s quite back to herself again. And although she’s a
bit pocked and dehydrated, she’ll recover. Wait—
where’s
Thorne
?”

“
He’s down too, sir. Since
yesterday.”

“
Thorne has the pox?”
Perrin tried to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

Oh, he
shouldn’t
think like that. No,
no, no. It was bordering on contemptible to hope—and
certainly
inappropriate to pray—that perhaps Thorne would be
one of those who didn’t break out in the pox, but instead—

Dear Creator
, he prayed anyway in his
mind, I’m so sorry for what I’m thinking, but surely you
understand, right? And if I have to lose another soldier, may I
submit a personal request as to who that might be—

“
Sir?” Offra pulled him out
of the most unworthy prayer ever. “Thorne broke out in pocks this
evening already.” The lieutenant must have read some of Perrin’s
fantasy in his face and he offered a conciliatory smile.

“
Well, of course he did,”
Perrin gave him The Dinner smile in return. “How fortunate for
us.”

“
And sir? An Administrative
messenger arrived not too long ago bringing word that the guest
quarters should be prepared, because Mrs. Versula Thorne is coming
to sit with her son until he recovers. Radan had informed Idumea in
the same hour that Thorne became feverish. Sorry.”

Perrin knew his groan was audible, but it was
in front of Jon, so it was all right. “Mrs. Thorne’s coming. How
fortunate for us,” he repeated, even more dismally.

Offer snorted at his miserable expression.
“Sorry again, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Perrin sighed loudly. “No . . . nothing . . .
at . . . all.”

“
We’ve kept the fort
running smoothly in your absence, sir,” Offra said, trying to cheer
up his commander. “In fact, I didn’t have much to do up here
tonight—”

Perrin looked around at the tidy office.
“Take the rest of the evening off, Jon. You’ll likely be pulling a
double shift tomorrow to cover for Thorne again, and I really don’t
want you falling ill in the meantime. You do
not
want Mrs.
Thorne tending to you as well.”

Offra grinned. “No, sir! Thank you, sir. And
may I add, I’m sorry to hear about Mrs. Peto? It’s been quite a
week that your family’s had to endure, hasn’t it?”

“
Indeed, it has,” Perrin
sighed, and his eyes rested on the purple and gold banner of Edge,
stitched brightly and excessively by Hycymum years ago. Someone had
tied a sprig of flowers to the nail from which it hung.

“
Zenos did that, after her
burial,” said Offra quietly when he noticed where Perrin’s
attention was focused. “I hadn’t realized Mrs. Peto made that
banner. She was quite . . . the seamstress,” he added
tactfully.

Perrin smiled sadly. “She was quite a lot of
things, Jon. When I first arrived she wanted to make curtains for
the tower windows, and in plaid, of all things. Did you know she
sewed all of the tower banners? Even made pink striped ones, just
in case I found a need for them.” He chuckled at the memory.

Offra actually sneered. “Pink stripes?”

“
Yep! She said she got a
great price on the cloth—which she charged to the army—and couldn’t
resist. I told Karna to dispose of them, and he hid them deep in
the supply building—except for one. He hoisted that ridiculous pink
banner in the village green tower to signal the last tower in our
first Strongest Soldier Race. I’ll tell you, I was in a
hurry
to get that down! That motivation was the main reason
I won.”

Jon laughed. “Maybe we should try to find the
pink banners, sir, in honor of her for your next race?”

Perrin smiled. “Not a bad idea. Did you know
she also made cake for the races? I always complained because we
had to use our wagons and soldiers to cart it all to the village
green and set it up so everyone could have ‘refreshments’ at the
conclusion of the race. I always told her it wasn’t necessary . .
.” His voice faded when he realized that this year there’d be no
cake.

And that he’d never thanked her for it.

And that now it was too late.

She was supposed to have lasted until next
season, and Perrin had been planning to say a few things to her
before then—

He cleared his throat gruffly and stared at
the hideous purple banner again which he suddenly realized he
loved. “Yes, Hycymum Peto was quite a lot of things.” Blinking
wetness out of his eyes, he smiled at his lieutenant, whose own
eyes had grown damp. “Good job with the fort, Jon. Thank you for
taking care of so many things for me. I truly appreciate it, even
if I forget to say so. Good night.”

---

Early the next morning Mahrree felt strong
enough to venture out of bed. Perrin had come home earlier than she
expected last night, and now the log-rock-bear snored peacefully
next to her.

She unsteadily made her way to the mirror in
her room, prepared for the worst. When she focused on herself, she
relaxed. While she was covered in small red blisters, she didn’t
think the scarring would be too bad. Besides, her husband still
looked at her the same way he always did. As long as he didn’t
care, she wouldn’t care.

She stumbled back into bed.

Perrin rolled over and opened his eyes. “Are
you all right?”

She ran a finger down his face that used to
be more scarred than hers. “Yes. It was a relatively good night.
All is well.”

Perrin smiled, looking more at ease. “That’s
my line! Now I’m supposed to suggest we spend the morning just
lazing here in bed. But, as you may not know, we
have
been
doing that for the past several mornings. You missed it.”

Mahrree sighed. “Guess I’ll walk down to the
amphitheater now and have everyone yell ‘General Shin!’ at me. Get
me a uniform.”

Perrin chuckled. “You sound much better. But
really, how are you?”

“
It hurts,” she admitted.
“My body, my skin, my heart. But they are all right, my parents.”
She fought back the tears, not wanting to lose any more water. She
learned last night when she thought of her mother that crying stung
her pocks. Shem and Jaytsy had tried to blot her face with damp
clothes as she wept to keep her tears from her blisters. It would
have been humorous if it weren’t so pathetic.

“
I think I saw them when I
was feverish. They were together, and they didn’t want me to come
to them.”

Perrin nodded. “I believe it. Twice we
thought we were going to lose you.” His voice grew husky. “You
wouldn’t cool down. You wouldn’t drink, no matter what we tried.”
He pushed a damp lock of hair off her face. “The new surgeon—he
transferred here from Vines last week—tried to warn me one night
that you wouldn’t make it to the morning. Shem threatened to hit
him if he didn’t stop talking. The Cat even got spooked once. He
wouldn’t come in here, and kept hissing at nothing.”

“
I had no idea,” Mahrree
whispered. “I didn’t realize I was that bad. Will you and the
children get this?”

“
Unsure,” Perrin shrugged.
“Some fall to it while others have no problems. You seemed to have
got it from your mother. But so far none of us are showing
symptoms, so that’s a good sign. However, last night I got a report
that one-third of the fort at Rivers is down, and Karna was very
bad a few days ago but he’s coming out of it again. But Mahrree,
he’s lost forty men so far.”

“
Lost? You don’t mean . .
.?”

He nodded somberly. “In Quake, Fadh’s lost
over thirty, and we haven’t heard from Yordin yet, but it’s just
beginning there.”

“
How many have you lost?”
Mahrree asked, afraid to know.

“
I visited our surgery wing
last night, and two more had just passed away as quickly as
Hycymum. That brings us to up to nine. Captain Thorne is now ill,
too, but already broken out in pocks, so he’ll recover,” he added
drearily. Then his tone cheered up, just a bit. “He insisted on
showing me his pocks, although I don’t know why, and along his
just-healed scar he has a few dozen blisters, itching and
puss-filled.” He smirked, but tried to cover it.

Mahrree snorted at his failed attempt.

“
By the way,” he added,
“Versula is on her way here to be with him, and she’s expecting to
eat dinner with us when she arrives.”

“
What?
”

Perrin smiled. “I guess it’s too early to
tease you, isn’t it.”

When her breathing became normal again,
Mahrree rolled on her back. “I just realized: what if you’d waited
on your offensive? Didn’t Shem suggest putting it off until Weeding
Season?”

Perrin exhaled. “It wouldn’t have happened,
would it? I didn’t realize six weeks ago why it was so important
that we attack when we did. I just felt strongly impressed that we
should. Had we waited, it could have been disastrous. If the
Guarders were still active and found out the soldiers were ill . .
. Mahrree,
we
could have been wiped out by
them!
Their explosives, our inability to fight—”

Mahrree groaned at the thought. “The Creator
knew what was coming. I’m just grateful you know how to
listen.”

---

In the hot afternoon sun Perrin stood in the
compound with his arms folded, waiting miserably for the arrival of
the black coach.

Next to him Lieutenant Radan was agitated.
“Sir, I don’t even know what to
say
to her.”

“
Don’t worry,” Perrin told
him. “She’ll say it all.”

“
So what exactly am I to do
with her?”

Perrin turned slightly to him. “Act as her
liaison, of course. I’ve even cleared your schedule. You’ll see her
to her quarters, escort her to Thorne’s, bring her meals—”

“
But sir, that sounds like
servant’s work!”

Perrin smiled slyly. “Officers are supposed
to be the servants of the army, Radan. Didn’t anyone ever teach you
that?”

Radan’s confused expression made that answer
clear.

“
No, of course not.
Officers think everyone should be serving them,” Perrin said,
watching the gates for the inevitable arrival. “But the reality is,
we are to serve the citizens, the world—”

The four horses rumbled in, pulling a coach
which generated a cloud of dust behind it.

Perrin sighed. “—and to serve the mother of
the captain, and the wife of a general. Both of them your
superiors
,” he reminded.

Fitting punishment, Perrin thought smugly to
himself, for going over Perrin’s head to send an urgent message to
General and Mrs. Thorne. The next two weeks would be a lesson the
overeager lieutenant wouldn’t soon forget.

When the coach lurched to a halt, Perrin
didn’t move but elbowed the lieutenant at his side. “Get the
door.”

“
Bu sir, there’s a corporal
acting as footman—”

“
Get the door!”

When Radan swung it open, Versula Thorne
stood there in her silk—silk? To her wrists? And dark red? Not
cotton in this heat?

The only thing Perrin understood about
fashion was that all of it was stupid and made the wearers
unnecessarily miserable. Whoever decided the trends in Idumea
either must be sadistic or the wealthiest jokester ever.