[Envinyatar]

Derufin leaned heavily on Aman’s shoulders and hobbled up the stairs slowly. His ankle was on fire and already he could feel it begin to swell and stiffen. So concentrated was he on not crying out in pain, that he forgot that there were hazards and traps for the unwary that lay innocently on the steps. His foot slipped on a thin sheaf of papers filed on the next one he stepped onto and without thinking he stepped hard on his right foot to balance himself, sending a spasm of pain shooting up his leg.

He twisted and sat down hard on the step, his face pale. A line of sweat broke out along his upper lip, and he clenched his hands hard against his thighs until the fiery furor abated. When he opened his eyes again, Aman sat next to him, her eyes wide with worry. Cook had come down to see what was happening and stood on the lower step, in front of him.

She handed Aman the candle lantern she had thought to bring with her, telling her to put it up on the stairs behind her and open it wide so she could see what she was doing. Her hands went down to left his right leg gently up toward her. He winced as she did so, taking in a ragged breath and holding it.

‘Best we get you upstairs and quickly, boyo. Your ankle’s pushing hard against the leather of your boot, and if we wait much longer, we’ll have to cut it off.’

Between the two of them, she and Aman hauled the injured man up the stairs and sat him in a kitchen chair. Cook directed Aman to stand behind him and hold on firmly to the chair back. Derufin she told to get a tight grip on the edges of the chair seat and take a deep breath. With a practiced hand, she lifted his lower leg and pulled quickly and surely on his boot. It came off with an effort, followed quickly by his sock.

The ankle was puffed up and beginning to turn a lovely shade of deep purple, and his toes stuck out like fat sausages ready to burst their seams. Buttercup came running in, a roll of linen bandage in her hands.

‘Here! Miss Cami gave me this from her medicine chest, and sent this along, too.' Cook took the small pottery bottle from the girl’s outstretched hands and popped off the cork. The thick sweet aroma of poppies filled the air, and she poured a small tot of it into a spoon.

Derufin protested, but Cook was having none of his manly protestations. ‘Drink it and be quiet! I’ve got to wrap your ankle tightly and I’ll not have you passing out on me.’ She fixed him with a steely look. ‘You don’t want me to do like I did my own boys, do you?’

Aman raised her brows in question. ‘You pinch their nose tightly and when their mouth pops open you let the medicine run down the back of the throat.’

Derufin relented, and was glad of it. Soon, under the deft hands of cook, his ankle was bound, and rested on a pillow on a chair in front of him. Aman returned, breathing hard, from the icehouse near the spring. Cook had given her a small leather pouch to fil with ice, and now Aman placed it gently over his ankle.

Buttercup brought a round of ale for all of them, and they sat round the table, drinking in silence. Cook, ever one to get to the bottom of things, sat her mug on the table and looked at the both of them.

‘What in blue blazes went on down there? I remember that contraption as being large, and somewhat unwieldy, but a man of your size could handle it easily. Just how did it come to fall on you?’

Aman looked quickly at Derufin, then lowered her eyes to her ale, studying the rings of foam on the sides of it. Derufin, for his part, said nothing, only shrugged his shoulders, his eyes sliding quickly to where the Innkeeper sat, and away again. Cook's eyebrows raised so high, Buttercup thought they might soon meet her grizzled hairline. Her eyes narrowed, and she spoke firmly to both of them.

‘If you have any hope that anything but cold rations will be served to you and to the guests in the Common Room tonight and tomorrow and the day after that. Then you’ld both better come clean with me.’ She stood, crossing her arms across her ample bosom, and looked from one to the other.

Derufin’s stomach chose at that time to pick up the protest of its still empty condition, and a great rumbling issued forth. He smiled ruefully at Cook and placed a hand on his gut as if to shush it. ‘Well, the both of you it seems have got me in a hard positon.’ He sat up straighter in the chair, and spoke hesitantly.

‘Now, I’m not sure what it was exactly that caused me to turn while I was taking down the juicer. I didn’t really see it. But . . . behind me, to the right of the stairs, in the shadows, something made a rustling, scurrying noise. And when I turned at the sound, something fleeting moved there . . . in the darkness . . .’