Tabula Rasa

Chapter 70

Too late, Ruso realized he had just scooped up somebody else’s son in an enormous hug. He was not given to displays of affection; the closest physical contact he usually had with children was when his nieces and nephews leapt on him uninvited. And now here he was, with a boy helpless in his arms. How long should one hold on before letting go? Branan was surprisingly heavy and beginning to slide out of his grasp. Ruso lowered him to the floor, aware that various parts of himself that had stopped hurting were now starting again. He patted the boy on the shoulder, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Branan retreated to a safe distance and peered at Ruso’s battered face in the lamplight with unashamed curiosity. Then the boy said, “Are you not going to thank me for rescuing you?”

Ruso sat down on the bed, hoping the room would stop dancing around him. “Did you?”

“I shouted at them not to hurt you,” Branan explained. “I kept on shouting, ‘Help me, I’ve been stolen!’ and the horrible man with the furs round his neck said he would slit my tongue if I didn’t shut up. And then a lady said, ‘Are you the missing boy?’ and I said, ‘I’m Branan,’ so she started telling everybody who I was. And then most of them stopped hitting you.”

“Then I thank you very much,” he said, trying to focus on the boy’s face and remind himself that his jaw was not broken: It was only toothache. “Very much indeed.”

Branan bowed his head graciously. At that moment an orderly poked his head around the door and asked if he could come in. He turned out to be the advance guard for a squad of hospital staff who all wanted to see the famous Branan. “Everybody knows about you,” they told him. A couple of them pressed small gifts into his hand. One was a honey cake.

The boy grinned, showing the gap in his teeth. Ruso thought he had never seen such a fine sight.

“Shall we go home now?”

“I’ll see to it,” Ruso promised.

Ruso was aware that he was behaving just like his most annoying patients: the sort who had no time for doctors, always wanted to do too much too soon, and refused to listen to advice. At last, he felt, Pertinax had a reason to be proud of him. The man himself could not have done a better job of complaining about his confinement. Finally the local doctor agreed to let him leave on the first carriage that would take him tomorrow morning, but only after Ruso had promised that nobody here would be blamed if he dropped dead on the road. “The only other problem is,” Ruso confessed, “I’ve got no money.”

“We’ll club together,” the medic assured him. “It’ll be worth it to get rid of you.”

Ruso attempted a smile and wished he hadn’t. He suspected it came out as more of a lopsided leer. Then, remembering, he said, “I left a lame horse at the inn.”

“They’ll sort it out. It’s a decent place. They would have helped you get the boy back if you’d asked.”

“I didn’t know who to trust.”

“No?” The medic grinned. “Welcome to the border, soldier.”