Solitude
Tenterden and Elsewhere, Early-November 2007
Two weeks, and not a word from my son. He and I had left Germania together and arrived back in Amber, but there we had parted. He'd said he had things to do and made himself scarce. I'd ended up in the middle of Dad's Proclamation as King. I'd assumed he'd gone back to Tenterden, but when I'd gone to pick up Marina, a couple of days later, I'd felt no indication that he was there. Which rather left the question of where in Shadow had he lost himself.
Initially, I didn't worry overly. I knew he was angry with me for dragging him into what we'd done on Germania, as evidenced by his understandable unwillingness to forgive me that last night in the Wewelsburg. And with the pressure of what was going on in Amber, I made a conscious decision to give him some space: after all, the whole King/Crown Prince business was a lot for me to get my head around. However, after two weeks had gone by, and there was still no sign of him coming back, I was beginning to worry.
I went back to Tenterden for Halloween, as the Lyminge Group were due to meet at Wittersham House this, and as host I knew I should be there. I generally enjoy the Samhain celebrations, but this time, of course, they was overshadowed by other concerns. Still, I knew I had to tell them what I'd done eventually, and take whatever sanctions they wanted to place on me. I'd been their Man in Black for a long time, and to admit that I'd done something so wholly against their principles was one of the hardest things I had ever done. Yes, the Group believed in the Sacred King, and the sacrifices that were sometimes needed in that context, but what had happened on Germania was very different. Still, the fact that I came clean with them meant that at least they were willing to listen, and offered to help me come to terms with my actions, which gave me comfort. However, by mutual agreement, I stepped down as their Chief until such time as they were satisfied that I had made amends in mind, body and soul.
Wolf never showed. And that worried me even more.
When I got back to London, I headed round to his flat, just to make sure he hadn't lapsed back into his old method of trying to forget, and wasn't lying unconscious or worse on the floor, unattended by anyone. However, as I let myself in, the place had an undeniably unoccupied feel, with a slight layer of dust over everything, spoiling the usual clinical tidiness. There wasn't even any sign of the little black and white cat he'd acquired for company, about eighteen months before.
I headed downstairs to his bedroom, and noted that the go-bag he kept packed by the door was missing. One of the wardrobe doors was open, and I could see his uniforms hung in there - dress and day-to-day - complete with the new rank insignia Dieter had given him while we were on Germania, the sword and dagger on the shelf above them. Next, I went up to his office, to see if there was anything which might suggest where he'd gone, but there was nothing obvious on his desk and I didn't intend to do a formal search of my son's belongings. The only thing I checked was the wooden case where he kept his usual athame, and there it was, resting on the silken lining.
So all in all, I concluded, he'd been back, had probably left voluntarily, hadn't been expecting trouble of an arcane nature (I wasn't that trusting) and almost certainly wasn't with his other grandfather. Thank the gods for small mercies.
On the off-chance, I gave Michel a call, in case everything was as innocent as he'd decided to go and stay with her and Tony, her banker husband. However, all she could tell me, was that he'd asked her to pick up Ava a few days before, and had said he'd call when he got back. Since then, she hadn't heard from him either. I didn't know what to answer when she asked me if he was alright.
To cover the final base, I gave Carmichael a call, but with pretty much the same results. He hadn't heard from Master Wolf.
So where the Hell was he? And how could I find him?
The first option was to try to Trump him. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the standard Family deck (I keep the one Dad gave me safe elsewhere, just in case) and shuffled out his card. I concentrated on it for a while, and hoped, and at least it went cold, which as I understood it, meant he was still alive. But he didn't answer. I tried pushing, and for a moment I thought I'd reached something, but then I was hit by a backlash which made my head hurt and I dropped the link. Had he attacked me, or had I bounced off some kind of ward?
I raided his medicine cabinet, downing three paracetamol for the headache, and then began to consider other options. The Pattern was supposed to help you look for anything you wanted in Shadow, as long as you knew what you were looking for, and it was undeniable that I knew Wolf well enough to seek for him. Moreover if all else failed, I could use his Trump as a focus to help me search. I tried to think if he'd ever mentioned a hidey-hole somewhere in Shadow, but came up blank. After he'd walked the Pattern, we'd travelled a certain amount together as I'd taught him how to use it, but nowhere had really taken his fancy, so he'd always returned to Tenterden. However, maybe, since I'd been more involved in Amber and therefore around less on Tenterden, he'd found somewhere else to go.
I locked up his place behind me, and walked back to Albion Mews, where I picked up my own go-bag - twin to the one I kept in Amber. Then I slipped my own athame into its usual place and closed it up. Once that was done, I put on my walking shoes, grabbed a leather jacket, amended the time flow on Tenterden back to slow, and went out to my much loved Triumph Bonneville and started the engine. Even if it didn't get me all the way to him, a motorbike was quicker than walking. I rode up to the Westway, and from there, I started to shift away. Once I was clear of Tenterden, I brought my son's image to mind and then started feeling where it would take me.
After a few hours, I realised I was going down the tech curve, although I felt to be moving away from Amber, rather than towards it. So much for the bike. I Trumped Carmichael, passed it back to him and asked him to get Ruairí saddled for me. Ruairí is a favourite mount of mine, who I keep at Wittersham House: an even-tempered bay gelding, of about ten years old, who had occasionally been into Shadow with me before. Carmichael called me back about fifteen minutes later and handed the horse through, then I broke the link. I clipped the holstered Browning to my belt, spent a few minutes searching in Shadow for a sword, which I fastened over my back, as usual, and then swung up into the saddle.
Holding Wolf's image in my mind once more, I set off again, noting after a while that the countryside I was travelling through was becoming more rocky and mountainous, and the predominant trees were becoming evergreens. Off to one side, I thought I heard the howling of wolves. I pressed on for a while, until I eventually acknowledged that it was getting on towards night. I sought for a bag of fodder for the horse, and then started looking for somewhere to camp.
I pulled up by a rocky outcrop, with a shallow cave, a small spring nearby and an area of grass where Ruairí could graze. I unsaddled my mount, rubbed him down and tied him to the rocks, giving him enough line to graze. Then I built a fire, boiled some water in the billy can from my pack and gave him a warm mash. He'd worked hard since he'd come through to me. Once he was settled, I saw to my own needs. I collected more water - filling both my water bottle and the billy can; brewed myself some coffee; and opened a couple of MRA packs. By the time I'd eaten, it was full dark, and I could see two partial moons rising over the mountains. I cast a defensive ward around the clearing and the cave, and then settled down to sleep.
Nothing disturbed us, and I woke unharmed to the warm sunshine of a late-spring morning. I washed in the spring, made another cup of coffee, munched another ration bar and then brought down the wards and we set off again. However, I still felt I had some way to go. We picked up speed, and I began making changes more quickly to cover the ground between me and my quarry. Several hours later, the mountains eventually began to level out, becoming more like rugged Scottish moorland, and soon the trees were gone. I'm not sure I'd ever been anywhere so bleak before, but it felt as if I was finally close to him.
He'd spent a long time in Scotland after what had happened in Berlin in 1980, so perhaps I shouldn't have been that surprised that he would have picked somewhere along those lines to go. And yet the place seemed quiet and alien, and as I studied the area around me more, there were obvious differences. The sky was cold and dark, as if particulates in the atmosphere were partially blocking out sun, and the temperature was noticeably colder even than Scotland on a bad day. I'd read of the darkness after Krakatoa had erupted in the sixth, and the fact that it had caused a mini ice-age. Perhaps something similar had happened here?
The plants didn't look right, either. They were greyer, sharper, and more disturbing. That puzzled me until I dismounted and took a closer look, and realised that the proportions seemed off, as if they'd been poisoned. If anything, they reminded me of the pictures I'd seen of Chernobyl, on Matthew's Earth. Which called to mind the unpleasant possibility of a "nuclear winter". And the only sound was the wind. It was as if Ruairí and I were the only living creatures on this world.
And yet I had a gut feeling that Wolf was here somewhere. The question was how to find him. I drew and silenced the Browning, then test fired it, just in case. Yes, the place seemed deserted, but the hairs on the back of my neck were prickling. Thankfully, it worked. Then I unscrewed the silencer, reholstered it and rode on cautiously. Eventually, I found a small spring, feeding into a pool of brackish water, which barely reflected the sky. Perhaps it was time to try to scry for my son, to see if he was really in this godforsaken place.
Mirror scrying isn't something I do all that often - there are others in the Group who are far better at it than I am - but I know the theory. I fed my mount and let him loose to wander, reasonably sure that he wouldn't go far. Then I sat down on the least uncomfortable rock, got my working paraphernalia out of my pack, and started a scrying ritual. I used Wolf's Trump as my focus, laying it on the ground in front of me, just touching the water, and began to seek for him. It seemed to take forever to get a fix on him, but eventually I thought I felt a trace of him. I concentrated harder, and was met by a wall of pain. Wherever he was, he was in serious trouble.
I tried to focus on him, and eventually an image began to resolve. He looked to be tied naked to a post in some kind of cave, and I could see that he had been badly beaten. Moreover, as I watched, I saw figures around him. They didn't seem entirely human: they had pale grey flesh; wide, pale eyes as if they were primarily underground dwellers; and hands with too many joints, as well as spurs on the backs of them. And as I watched, they would approach him, strike him and then dance away chuckling, as if it was all some vicious game.
What the Hell had he got himself into?
I scried harder, to locate him in relation to me, and came to the conclusion that he was probably about forty miles away, and significantly lower in altitude. Underground? The question was, could I use the image in the scrying pool to gate to him? I was considering the possibilities, when I suddenly had a very bad feeling, and I saw the waters of the pool moving;. Then something was reaching for me and pulling me under. I fought like Hell, trying to break free, but to no avail. I felt myself dragged under the water, and could do nothing physical to stop it.
I fought down my panic, and then tried to concentrate on bringing up the Pattern, rather than drowning, and using it as a defence. I managed it just in time, and before I knew what had hit me, I was flying backwards through the air, out of the water. I cracked my head on a rock as I landed, and blacked out.
When I came around it was night. A baleful orange moon glowered at me from the sky. My head was splitting, my mostly healed ribs seemed to have taken a knock for the worst, and I was pretty sure I had a concussion. Of the faithful Ruairí, there was no sign.
What the Hell had the thing in the pool been?
I dug in my pack, grabbed another dose of painkillers, and then started listening for my mount. Nothing. All was as still and silent as it had ever been. Reasonably sure that there was nothing I could do until sunrise - if the sun actually managed to rise - I collected my things and moved away from the pool, before wrapping myself in a warmth ward and a blanket and letting myself get back to sleep.
However, now I was dreaming. I could see the grey men. I could feel their blows raining down on me. And I could see two figures in dark robes observing proceedings in silence, taking notes as if they were engaged in an experiment. Then one of them approached me with a wicked looking dagger, the grey men parting in front of him, and he rammed it with full force into my guts, then cut sideways to extend the wound. As he did, I caught a glimpse of a swarthy face under the hood, and a wicked smile.
I woke up screaming, and heard my own screams being echoed back towards me and magnified.
Shaking and feeling sick, my head hurting like the Devil, I dug into my pocket for Wolf's Trump, and frantically tried to call him. The card didn't seem able to get a stable link, and that panicked me even more. It also spurred me into action. Using the card as the focus, I started trying to build a gate spell which would take me to him. I cut those corners that I could - which for the record is never a good idea, but I was desperate - and soon felt I could punch through to him.
I drew the Browning once more, and then, weapon in hand, I punched the gate through to where I thought my son was. As I arrived, the smell of blood - and other bodily odours - was almost overpowering in the darkness. Feeling disorientated, I tried to summon handfire and realised that I was surrounded by bodies. Most of them were old and desiccated, but over to one side I could see a pile that were far fresher. My heart in my mouth, I moved towards them, dreading what I would find.
Wolf's body was lying on top, cast away like so much rubbish. He was covered in blood from multiple injuries, and his torso was red from a wicked gash in the lower left abdomen. I dragged him clear of the charnel pile and knelt beside him, then reached to see if he still had a pulse. To my relief, I thought I felt the flutter of something, and I realised that the gash in his abdomen was still oozing slowly. I laid the pistol down beside me, and started to examine just how bad his injuries were. I quickly came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to survive without magical healing, so I began to concentrate, to try to make that happen.
Then I heard chuckling, and I realised that I had company.
I looked up to see four of the grey creatures stalking towards me. I grabbed the Browning and fired. The noise was almost deafening in that underground space, but it was worth it when they dropped. However, I also knew I couldn't stay here any longer, as something would have heard the shots. Keeping one eye on where they'd come in from, I slung Wolf over my left shoulder, away from the sword hilt, tucked the pistol in my belt, and then got out my Trump deck. I found Carmichael's card once more and tried to open the link.
"Sir?"
"Take him," I answered, "and call an ambulance." And I passed the body through to him.
"What about you?"
"I still have to find something," I answered, and broke contact. I hoped to Hell that my unflappable butler would live up to his reputation.
And then I heard a slow handclap.
"Bravo," came an unfamiliar voice, and I looked over towards the door to see the robed figure I'd seen in my dreams - or maybe they'd been Wolf's dreams, and I'd tapped into them. There was a dagger at his belt, possibly the same one with which he'd nearly killed my son, and it was impossible to see his face clearly. At that point I wondered if he'd actually got a glamour on it so he would remain unidentified.
"Who the Hell are you?" I answered.
"An interested relative," he continued in Thari, "one who wanted to get a good look at the new Crown Prince of Amber outside of his native environment," came the reply, "You don't look like a Black Magician, you know. You look like a lawyer. Of course many people consider that both professions are the spawn of the Devil, so perhaps it was an obvious career path for you."
"Why did you grab Wolf?" I asked, hearing anger in my voice.
"Is that his name?"
"You didn't even know who he was?"
"I knew in principle who he was: the child of Ian Bleyson. But the specifics didn't interest me. What I was interested in was his potential as bait."
"What is this all about?"
"As I said. Bait. In your weakness, you care for him - I've long since learned that it's better not to care for anyone in this family - so you came looking for him. And here you are, just where I want you. How quickly the burden will fall on your poor, innocent little brother John. You might have caused me problems. He won't."
"Screw you," I answered, quick-drew the Browning from my belt, and emptied the clip at him. He actually staggered back, and as he was off-balance, I shoulder charged him then bolted for the door. I don't know if I'd actually hurt him, or if it was just surprise, but he stumbled, and then I was running headlong down stone-cut passages lit only with weak glow baskets. I didn't have time to stop and reload, so I stuffed the pistol back in its holster, drew the blade over my back, and started swinging as the grey guys began trying to stop me.
They obviously had the advantage in low light, but I was faster and I started cutting my way through them. The trouble was, they had sheer force of numbers on their side. My only hope was to find a side room where I could hole up long enough to get away. My initial thinking had been that I didn't want to leave Ruairí to die in this godforsaken place, which is why I hadn't gone through to Carmichael when I had the chance. But now things had taken a darker turn, I knew I didn't have the luxury.
Off to one side, I saw a door that was partially open, and fought my way towards it. I ran through one of my attackers, then ducked inside, and slammed the door shut. I was in luck. There was a wooden bar I could lock it with and I did so, then looked around me.
I wished I hadn't.
The room was barely lit, and the only thing I could see in it was a stake, a pool of blood beneath, it where it was fastened into the floor. It was the room where I'd first seen Wolf. I crossed to the stake and knelt down beside it. The blood was still tacky. With a burst of anger, I thought of fire and brought it forth to burn both the stake and the blood to ash. Then I began working on getting out of there. I pulled out Carmichael's Trump and started to concentrate on it, but quickly realised that it wasn't connecting. It was hardly even getting cold.
Could the robed man have blocked this place against escape by that route?
I didn't have time to think that through. Instead I stuffed the card back in my pocket and started working on a gate spell. Which is when I confirmed to myself that I was going to have to punch out through a set of very good wards.
Who was this guy?
Still, I was out of other options, so I had to persist. The earlier gate down into the tunnels had taken a lot out of me, given how rushed it was. Punching back out was worse. However, at least I knew what I was focusing on. I'd left the go-bag topside, along with the one or two unique items within it. I reached for that, as fast as I could - which still numbered minutes, not seconds, during which time I could hear the grey beasties trying to beat down the door of my retreat.
The door gave about the same time as the wards did, and as I transferred, I felt myself caught up in a burst of flame. When I arrived topside, my clothes were on fire, and my skin was reddening. Out of desperation, I sprinted for the pool which had so nearly killed me, and plunged into it. Thankfully, this time nothing tried to drown me. I stayed soaking until my clothes had gone out, and then dragged myself out like a drowned rat. Thankfully, my jacket had taken the brunt of it, although my face and hands were both reddened from the heat. I was also so exhausted that I was about to drop. Unwilling to be defenceless, I took the time to replenish my wards, then walked slowly back to my stuff, and swung the pack onto my shoulders. I had to get away from there, as that gate was going to be traceable by even a part-way competent mage.
Too late. Off to one side, I felt as much as saw a shimmering, and the figure of my robed assailant appeared.
"Run all you want, you arrogant little Chaos spawn," he said, oh so quietly, "but it won't do you any good."
I didn't need to be told twice. I took to my heels and fled, listening out for the sound of pursuit. However, all I heard was laughter, echoing around the stones. I ran until my energy gave out, hoping that probability might be kind to me and I'd find some kind of shelter. Obviously it wasn't listening. Eventually, I dropped to the ground exhausted, which is when I heard the sound of horses behind me. I turned and looked back, to see the robed figure, flanked by half a dozen other men in a green and black livery that should have been familiar, cutting across the ground to ride me down, their laughter ringing around me.
This spurred me to reach for my last depths of strength. I dragged myself to my feet and looked around me. About half a mile to my right I saw a rocky outcrop, and made for that. Maybe I could arrange some kind of rock fall to take out the riders. I threw up a fatigue banishing cantrip - which was realistically a band aid on a compound fracture, but the panicked mind has an infinite capacity for self-deception - and stumbled in that direction. As I got closer, I thought I saw a crevasse in the rock, and wondered if it would be big enough to hide myself in. I threw my pack first, then squeezed after it, and found myself in a small passageway. At least it would be too small for the horses, and if I was smart, I could hold them off in here indefinitely.
Or at least until such time as I passed out, which sadly, wouldn't be that long.
I carried on moving through the darkness. Outside, I could hear voices as they argued whether to come after me. I rummaged in my pack to see if there was anything I might be able to use to help me, and found half a dozen gemstones in one of the front pockets. They were the ones I kept stored energy in, in case I needed something really unsubtle, really fast. Which pretty much summed up my situation. I took hold of one, the way a drowning man would grab a rope.
Further back in the tunnel, I began to hear voices talking Thari. I was out of time. With a prayer to the gods for deliverance, I gave the trigger word, and filled the passageway through which I'd just passed me with explosive energy. Thankfully, my wards stopped most of the back-burst, although it took them down pretty damned thoroughly. And then I was falling back with the power of the blast.
I curled up and lay flat, until the wave of heat had gone over me, and then took stock of my surroundings once more. It was cold and dark, and off to one side, I could hear the dripping of water. Behind me, the passageway was thoroughly blocked by the rock fall which had been caused by the explosion. With great effort, I got to my hands and knees, and started crawling down the tunnel. Eventually, the darkness became less, and I saw a distant light. I forced myself to my feet, picked up my pack, and stumbled towards it. That was the point at which I realised I was crossing a Shadow boundary, but I decided to keep on going, in the hope that wherever I ended up, it wasn't as bad as the place I'd left.
About ten minutes later, I walked out into sunshine. Warm, spring sunshine. I was looking down at an enclosed valley, formed out of the floor of a caldera. There was grass, and trees, and animals, and people dressed in simple clothing. There were even small wooden buildings, and I could smell campfire smoke on the air. It was like looking down on a living history project. The contrast to the place I'd left could hardly have been greater. I took a few steps, and then just sank to the ground and looked. I hoped to Hell that the bastards who had been chasing me couldn't get here.
A few minutes later, I heard footsteps off to one side, and saw a girl watching me. She looked to be in her mid-teens, with fine, elfin features, and was wearing a simple linen dress. More surprising, was the fact that she was leading Ruairí by a rope of plaited vines. As she approached, she said something to me in a musical language which I'd never heard before. I shook my head, to indicate that I didn't understood, which was the point at which I realised just what a mistake running around with a concussion was. I saw lights in front of my eyes, was violently sick, and passed out.
When I came around, I was alone. The caldera was empty and there was no sign that it had ever been occupied. I got slowly to my feet and looked about me, to see that the cave I'd walked out of was gone. And then I heard a whinny from over to one side, and saw Ruairí, tethered to a hazel tree by a vine rope. I crossed over to him, to make sure he was real, and reached into my pocket to give him the sugar lump I knew would be in there. Then I looked about me once more.
What was this place? Had the people really been here, or had I been hallucinating? I had to allow that the latter wasn't at all impossible after doing some stupidly risky ritual magic with minimal precautions, followed by being hunted across the moors by a bunch of psychotic madmen, and all with a concussion which I hadn't done anything to treat.
Which was about when I felt the stirrings of a Trump call. It did occur to me that it might be the robed psycho, but I decided to take the risk and opened up to the call. Thankfully, at the other end was Carmichael, blood covering the front of his usually immaculate suit. Wolf's, presumably. Boy would I have to stump up for the dry cleaning.
"The ambulance is here, sir. Are you ready to come home?"
"Go outside, and I'll be with you."
"Very good, sir," he answered, and complied promptly. Then he offered his hand, and Ruairí and I stepped through. He snapped his fingers, and my groom came over to take charge of my rather puzzled horse, at which point the vine rope disintegrated into nothingness. But I didn't have time to puzzle that one out. Instead, I headed for where the paramedics were loading my son's bloody form onto the ambulance.
At least he wasn't in a body bag.
"Is he still alive?" I asked, going over to them, although from their expressions, they were more than half convinced I was some kind of crazy madman. I guess I wasn't looking my best after three days in the field, and being blown up twice.
"Who wants to know?" one of them asked, suspiciously.
"I'm his next of kin," I answered, "I want to go with you."
They glanced at each other, uncertainly, but then one of them shrugged.
"Hop in. Don't touch anything."
I handed my stuff over to Carmichael, including the charred remains of my favourite leather jacket, and then climbed into the back of the ambulance beside Wolf. As I settled, I felt for the time flow and moved it fast relative to Amber. One of the paramedics climbed in beside me, while the other got behind the wheel. He started the engine, turned on the sirens, and soon we were speeding through the Kent countryside towards Ashford, which had a more major hospital than the local one in Tenterden.
We arrived in decent time, and the patient was unloaded with haste. At which point I decided it was time I actually exerted my control over Tenterden, and began to meddle. I spent a few moments to control things such that at least this time around, no-one would bother to call the police, then I followed the gurney in. Strangely, no-one tried to stop me - maybe because I looked like I'd kill anyone who tried. However, eventually one of the doctors, a feisty redhead whose ID tag identified her Dr Haley, did step in my way as we got close to the operating theatre.
"You can't come in here, sir."
"Actually, yes I can," I answered, meeting her gaze and pushing a little of my will into it, "my name is Dr Ian Hawke. I am a qualified trauma surgeon, and my brother is going to die on your operating table unless you let me help."
She looked at me, obviously deciding whether to argue, and then thought better of it.
"Clean up and step inside," she answered, then headed through the operating room doors. I went to the scrub room, showered and changed into a set of surgeon's greens, then went inside to join the operating team. And battle was joined to save Wolf's life.
* * * * * *
Six hours and a lot of blood later, we declared him stable. The wound in his abdomen had been cleaned as well as it could be, and Dr Haley had sealed it up with neat, even stiches. I'd let her take the lead, and had worked to support her, subtly using magic where I could to try to stabilise the injury and heal the torn intestines. I was pleased that my trauma training clicked in so easily: but then, that's why I still tried to do at least one shift a week at KCL Hospital when I'm on Tenterden. By the end, though, I was all but dead on my feet. My back ached and my head hurt. As Wolf was wheeled away to recovery, Haley and I went into the scrub room and started stripping off our filthy clothing.
Who would have thought him to have had so much blood in him?
"You're pretty good," she admitted, grudgingly, "where did you qualify?"
"KCL Medical School. Class of 2005."
"That recently? I'd have put it as earlier."
"Mature student," I said, with a shrug.
"Is he really your brother?"
"Yes."
"The ethics committee are going to have a field day with this."
"Only if you tell them," I answered, meeting her gaze and pressing slightly to persuade her that reporting me wouldn't be a good idea. I was slightly surprised when she pushed back. She had a strong mind for a mortal.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"He's alive. I think even you have to admit that he wouldn't have been without my help. And my license to practise is valid. You can check that with KCL."
She considered for a moment, then shrugged.
"Alright. Have it your way - if you'll take me out to dinner one evening."
"Why?"
"You intrigue me. And I want to know what happened here."
"Dinner I'll agree to. I can't promise an explanation. It's complicated."
"Stab wounds and a reluctance to call the police often are," she answered, then moved behind me, "what did you do to your head?"
"Clouted it on a rock."
"Did you get it looked at?"
"Didn't have time. I had other things on my mind."
"Let me take a look at that."
She sat me down, and then started examining the crack I'd taken to the back of my skull. Then she disappeared back into the operating room and came back with a needle and thread and started stitching the damage. I tried to take it without complaint. About ten minutes later, she came back into my line of sight again, and before I knew what was happening, she was shining a torch into my left eye. Then my right. I felt myself flinch from it both times.
"I don't think you need an MRI - no sign of subdural bleeding - but I want to keep you in for observation," she commented, "and I really ought to tell the ethics committee that you performed an operation with a concussion."
"Really no, you don't," I answered, pressing harder this time, and for a moment, she seemed to lose focus, before the spark came back into her eyes again.
"At least stay in overnight. You won't be able to see him until the morning anyway."
"Agreed."
"Is there anyone we should tell?"
"Not really. He's my next of kin, which kind of leaves my butler. Although he does have a step-daughter who deserves to know."
"You have a butler?"
She looked at me, incredulous.
"Long story."
"Tell me when we have dinner, Dr Hawke."
Without further argument, I let her check me in, and after placing a call to Carmichael to bring me some things in in the morning, I was made comfortable in a private room. Finally feeling something akin to safe for the first time since I'd set off looking for him, I quickly dropped off to sleep, making the most of safety and a proper bed, rather than a sleeping bag on the ground.
* * * * * *
Dr Haley came to check on me the following morning, and declared herself happy with my progress. A couple of hours later, Carmichael came in and brought me clothes, and I set about the process of checking myself out. Once the paperwork was done, I made my way to the ICU. Wolf was unconscious, his skin pale with a sheen of sweat, and I was afraid he'd picked up an infection. However, his chart seemed clear and as I checked the readings on the monitors, there was no particular cause for concern. Dr Haley had obviously said something to the nurses, as they didn't bother me when I sat down beside him, resting a hand on his upper arm, so I could continue to help him heal. However, I did catch sight of her through the ICU windows once or twice, watching us.
It was three days before he began to come around. By then, Haley was satisfied - against her better judgement - that he was on the mend, and he'd been moved to a private room. I spent a lot of time hanging around, being spelled occasionally by Michel, who I'd contacted once I was sure he was going to survive.
"Where am I?" he croaked as he slowly opened his eyes.
"Ashford Hospital," I answered, putting a cup of water to his lips and letting him take a few sips.
"How did I get here?"
"I sought you in Shadow and thankfully I found you. What happened?"
"I had to get away. Looking back on it, it was a fucking stupid thing to do. Wandering off into Shadow on my own, especially with Random on the warpath and Caine out there doing God knows what. But I needed some space. Some time to think."
"So what went wrong?"
"I was planning to just work off some energy and be alone for a while. Hiking. Climbing. Swimming. The occasional bar-room brawl in the evening to let off steam. I found a place where I could do all of the above. The trouble was, one evening, in the tavern where I was staying, someone drugged me. When I woke up, I was in that hellhole, being poked and beaten by those...things. But what I don't understand is why. I've been in Shadow on my own before. No-one's given me any trouble. I guess I have to put that down to your protection."
"And the fact that you weren't known. Unfortunately, that isn't the case anymore. Bleys was Proclaimed King just after Germania - so about two weeks ago, Amber time."
"So it's official then. You're no longer Crown Prince Presumptive. You're out and out Crown Prince."
"Unfortunately. And he confirmed you as my heir, whether you wanted to be or not, so you're now Second in Line."
"I guess that moves me up the target list."
"I doubt that's why he did it," I answered, quietly, "he knows how I feel about you, and maybe he wanted to make that official. He asked after you when he didn't see you at Court. So did Marina, the following day when I saw her."
"I'm surprised Bleys even noticed I was missing."
"The day he was officially Proclaimed? He noticed alright. You're his grandson, and he was hoping his closest kin would wave the flag for him. You have no idea how bloody uncomfortable those wooden advisers' chairs are with broken ribs."
"You're still hurting?"
"Like I said, this was a couple of weeks ago. It's back to mostly being aches now, although I knocked them again when I was looking for you."
"Is he very angry with me?"
"I don't think so. I tried to cover for you."
"Are you angry with me?"
"No. You needed your space. I realise that. I just wish I'd come looking for you before...this happened. Do you have any idea who they were?"
"Not for certain, but I have my suspicions."
"Any you care to share?"
"I think they were working for Caine. Or someone close to him."
"Do you have any proof?"
"None at all...it was just a feeling I got. They didn't seem to want to know anything from me. They just wanted to hurt me. And then there was the guy with the knife."
"Do you know what that was about?"
"It wasn't anything ritual that I could identify. So no. Not really. I obviously offended someone by my existence."
"But it was definitely Family?"
"Whoever organised it was. They knew where I'd be, how much to dose me and how strong to make the shackles."
"Of course Random isn't exactly our biggest fan, either."
"No, but it just didn't seem like his kind of operation. I think he would have tried to capture me alive and well, and bend me to his cause. Milk the propaganda value of Bleys's grandson becoming his bosom buddy. Not just out and out kill me. This was different. This was malice. And the only person with a track record of doing that, is Caine."
"I'm sorry, Wolf. For everything."
"At least you came for me, Mihai. In that, I cannot fault you."
"I will always come for you. You know that, don't you."
"Yes I do."
He paused a moment, and then added.
"I had a long chat with Tone before I left. He helped me put some things into perspective. In part that was why I wanted to get away. To think about what he'd said. It didn't exactly work out as planned, but at least I made a start."
"And?"
"I think I'm ready to forgive you now."
"For Germania?"
"I still believe that what we did was wrong. Very wrong. Even if we did it for good reasons, to whit protecting Amber and giving Grandfather's reign a chance to get off the ground. But when all is said and done, I had the chance to walk away and I didn't take it. I shouldn't blame you for that."
"When did you get the chance?"
"When I was talking to Dieter, before we left Berlin."
"Why didn't you?"
"He caused me to doubt my feelings for you, and your feelings for me. And then there was the pressure that both he and Thorsten - my grandfather, and my oh so flawed son - would be involved. And I was angry with you, so very angry. So in the end I was too weak to follow my own convictions."
"I still shouldn't have assumed you were on board."
"No you shouldn't. But then, I doubt that's a mistake you're going to make again, is it?"
"Definitely not."
"So we've both learned from this."
I nodded, and he offered a weak smile, but I could see that he was tiring. After all, it was the first time he'd been awake for days, and it hadn't exactly been an easy conversation.
"You're fading. You need sleep."
"I've been asleep for three days."
"It's still the best way to recover."
"You're probably right."
"Let me help," I said, and gently laid my hand on his forehead. A short while later, his eyes closed, and I felt the sleep cantrip take hold of him.
"Interesting trick," commented a voice from the doorway, and I looked up to see Dr Haley.
"It was just a hypnotism technique I know..." I answered, cursing myself for not being more careful, "nothing major."
"You have a lot of interesting tricks, Dr Hawke," she commented, as I got to my feet and crossed to her, "starting with the fact that his rate of healing has been unusually rapid. Given the injuries he sustained, a normal person would still be in the ICU, with a high risk of infection. There are reasons gut wounds killed people in the old days. He certainly shouldn't be conscious yet."
"We're strong and we heal fast."
"And yet, why do I feel there's more to it than that?" she answered, with a shrug, "believe me, I'm looking forward to dinner. You're the most interesting person I've met for a long time."
And then she turned on her heel, and walked off down the corridor. I looked back at Wolf, checking he was resting easily, and then I headed towards the exit so I could give Michel the good news that he'd come around.