Waterborne Exile Read Online Free PDF Page A

they?”
    That riposte earned him a few more grazes, a black eye, and a sharp reprimand from the cook. But Josh fared little better and when Tad had done cleaning the rest of the pots and pans that evening, Josh wasn’t lurking outside the scullery waiting to resume battle. That suited Tad just fine.
    He made sure no one was around to see before he ducked down the corridor to the unused storerooms.
    The soldier was lying on the makeshift bed, propped up against the corner of the room, chin sunk in a half-doze. He raised his head when Tad entered the room. The soldier’s breathing was heavy, sluggish. His chest heaved as he drew in each breath.
    “Oh. It’s you.” The soldier was listless. Even these words seemed to be too much effort for him.
    “I brought you fruit. It’s good. It will help you fight the infection.” Tad noticed the bandages he’d carefully applied to the man’s arm had fallen loose again. The skin beneath was raw, red, angry still. He’d cleaned it as best he could, but he worried his best was not enough. How could the soldier be getting worse now, when he’d survived the fire? He’d seemed so much better the first couple of days, but now…? The man slumped in the corner with an air of defeat. A rank smell hung about him. A smell of impending death. Tad shuddered. He knew that smell well enough, having tended the grey brethren before their rites. Of course he’d never seen the ritual itself performed, but he had helped prepare the altars.
    The man’s chest rattled as he drew in a laboured breath. Tad winced. He needed to get a proper healer to the man, and quickly. But any healer would have awkward questions to ask – and like as not hand him over to prelate Durstan for questioning anyway, even if they didn’t recognise the former King’s Man. And Tad would get into so much trouble… But he couldn’t abandon his patient now. There had to be a way.
    It dawned on him slowly that his sister had been trained in healing arts by the cult. He’d hoped to keep the injured soldier a secret from her. That had been the game, at first: to defy her. Pure and simple. To prove to her that he existed for reasons other than to do her bidding. And perhaps, deep down, he still wanted to believe the story she’d told him about the man being their father. Here, hidden in this room, he could pretend it was true. The shadows were sympathetic to his daydreams. Once she knew, then her scorn would peel away the layers of illusion that he found so comforting.
    Tad peeled and sliced a peach for his patient, who offered him a hoarse word of thanks in return. Even by the poor light in the storeroom Tad could see the man’s pallor was increasing. And there could be no ignoring the disturbing sound that issued from the man’s lungs each time he drew breath or exhaled. The fruit sat forgotten in the soldier’s hands.
    “Here, you need to eat if you’re going to recover.” Tad hesitated before taking a slice of peach from the man’s lax grip and held it up to his mouth. “Taste it. It’s good. It’s the best, brought in for the prelate’s table.” He tried to prevent his hands shaking. This didn’t look good, not at all.
    The soldier opened his mouth and chewed the fruit painfully slowly. Tad repeated the process with the next, and the next, until the peach was gone. He tried the same with the bread but the man’s strength was spent. “Have some wine, at least. It’ll strengthen your blood.” He’d heard the healers say that often enough, it had to be true. Surely this would help, if only the man would drink it. He held the beaker up to his lips and the man gulped. As much wine dribbled down his chin as he managed to swallow, but half the beaker was consumed that way, until the man shook his head.
    “No more.” His voice was painfully hoarse, and the effort of speaking set off a rasping deep within his chest.
    “Good?” Tad asked. There was a little more colour in his patient’s cheeks.
    The man