I slept like a baby, thanks to my partner. One of his lesser minds managed my breathing. The samsom weed caused a sleep almost as deep as a coma. I had visitors during the night and was unaware of it. They included the herbalist who named what I’d been given but who knew of no antidote except good luck, time, and lots of water. He was amazed that I was still alive, so the luck did seem to be in.
Skelington knew Teacher White got the sleepy weed from a character named Kolda. Skelington believed there was an antidote and he thought Kolda had it.
Also in were a witch and a healer of the laying-on-of-hands variety. Neither did me any immediate good. Both agreed that I should drink water by the gallon. And Old Bones got to visit with a witch even though I’d been unable to deliver. He never explained why.
Others came in response to rumors of my ill health but waited till sunrise. Except for Tinnie Tate. She found a way to put the contrary aside when life got down to its sharp edges.
I woke up long enough to say, “Sometimes dreams do come true.”
Tinnie Tate is one incredible redhead. All the superlatives apply. She’s the light of my life-when she’s not its despair. In some ways she’s the gold standard of women, in some the source of all confusion and frustration. The trouble with Tinnie is, she doesn’t know what she wants any better than I do. But she won’t admit it.
She was there. And that was enough for now. She looked thoroughly distressed-until she realized that I was awake. Then her demeanor turned severe.
“When you do that, the freckles just stand out.”
“You’re a bastard even on your deathbed.”
“I’m not gonna die, woman. ’Cept maybe from lack of Tate.”
“And crude to your last breath.”
“Cold. It’s so cold. If I just had some way to keep warm…”
She was a step ahead.
Only one weak candle provided light. It was enough. For the hundredth time I was stunned and awed that this woman was part of my life.
How can I rail against the gods when once in a while they back off and let wonders like this happen?
Nothing happened. The Dead Man was right there in my head, disdaining discretion.