local herbal tea reputed to help hangovers. Randall already knew that Melinda wasn’t working today, and he didn’t recognize the serving girl. Frank usually hired on extra help during the job fair.
“I’m not really thirsty, Bobby,” Randall said as he laid his head on the wooden tabletop. The room seemed to swim, and the motion threatened to make him sick again, but he managed to fight down the urge to vomit. His headache was getting worse, and he was feeling incredibly tired. “Think I just wanna sleep,” he said.
“Hey lads,” called out a boisterous voice. “Mind if I join you? Seems all the other tables are full,” the stranger declared as he sat down at their table.
Randall groaned and glanced up at the newcomer. He was an older gentleman, but with an air of youthful energy about him so that it was hard for Randall to guess his age. His swimming vision might have had something to do with that, too. Randall thought he must be in his late forties, at least. He was dressed in simple clothes: a cloth tunic, stained an uninteresting shade of brown. The plain brown hair on his head was losing a two-front war against encroaching grey and a receding hairline.
“Oh, hey. Aren’t you the boy that just took a good whack to the noggin?” the man asked happily.
“Go away,” Randall moaned, pain overcoming his sense of manners.
“Pleased to meet you too, m’boy. I’m Earl. Head hurt much?” Earl asked, ignoring Randall’s rudeness.
“What do you think?” Randall asked sarcastically, never raising his head from the table.
“I bet!” exclaimed Earl. “That was some whack! So, is it the kind of pain that pounds and pounds and makes your eyesight blurry?” Randall just nodded his head slowly, from where it was resting on the table. “Sometimes a good whack like that can knock a man cross-eyed, so he can’t see straight for a month.” Earl went on with obvious enthusiasm. “I remember this one time…”
Every enthusiastic word that Earl said felt like it was drilling deeper and deeper into Randall’s brain, aggravating his already pounding head. Finally, Randall had all that he could take, and he snapped. “Hey, look!” he exclaimed, quickly lifting his head. Before he could finish, nausea swept over him again, and he doubled over beside the table retching, though there was nothing left in his stomach to come up.
“Ah, nausea too, I see,” Earl said, growing serious. He looked at Bobby. “Listen up, boy. Your friend has a concussion, and it looks to be a bad one. If you don’t do exactly as I say, he’ll probably be in a coma within the hour, and dead by morning.” Bobby gasped and paled. “The boy needs willow bark tea to ease the swelling in his brain. I think I saw some willow trees out by the stream. You know where I’m talking about?”
He waited for Bobby to nod nervously before continuing. “Good. Go strip me off at least two good handfuls of bark, as much as you can carry. Hurry lad!” Bobby rushed out of the door, leaving Randall in Earl’s care.
“Am I gonna die?” Randall asked. The way his head was pounding, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to live.
“Not if I can help it,” Earl answered, pushing something smooth and metallic into Randall’s hand. It was about the right size to be a mug handle.
“Not thirsty,” he said, eyes still closed.
“That’s alright, boy. Just hold onto it a bit while I talk to you.” Earl said.
Holding onto the mug, Randall felt comforted somehow, though he couldn’t pin his finger on the cause. Maybe because it felt so cool and refreshing in his hand. He’d take a drink in a minute—just not now.
“Now listen up, boy. I have some things to tell you, and they’re best told before your friend gets back. I didn’t just run into you by accident. I came to the job fair because I’ve decided I needed an apprentice. So, soon as I get to this gods-forsaken town, there you were, all puffed up full of anger and shining like a
“I’m not really thirsty, Bobby,” Randall said as he laid his head on the wooden tabletop. The room seemed to swim, and the motion threatened to make him sick again, but he managed to fight down the urge to vomit. His headache was getting worse, and he was feeling incredibly tired. “Think I just wanna sleep,” he said.
“Hey lads,” called out a boisterous voice. “Mind if I join you? Seems all the other tables are full,” the stranger declared as he sat down at their table.
Randall groaned and glanced up at the newcomer. He was an older gentleman, but with an air of youthful energy about him so that it was hard for Randall to guess his age. His swimming vision might have had something to do with that, too. Randall thought he must be in his late forties, at least. He was dressed in simple clothes: a cloth tunic, stained an uninteresting shade of brown. The plain brown hair on his head was losing a two-front war against encroaching grey and a receding hairline.
“Oh, hey. Aren’t you the boy that just took a good whack to the noggin?” the man asked happily.
“Go away,” Randall moaned, pain overcoming his sense of manners.
“Pleased to meet you too, m’boy. I’m Earl. Head hurt much?” Earl asked, ignoring Randall’s rudeness.
“What do you think?” Randall asked sarcastically, never raising his head from the table.
“I bet!” exclaimed Earl. “That was some whack! So, is it the kind of pain that pounds and pounds and makes your eyesight blurry?” Randall just nodded his head slowly, from where it was resting on the table. “Sometimes a good whack like that can knock a man cross-eyed, so he can’t see straight for a month.” Earl went on with obvious enthusiasm. “I remember this one time…”
Every enthusiastic word that Earl said felt like it was drilling deeper and deeper into Randall’s brain, aggravating his already pounding head. Finally, Randall had all that he could take, and he snapped. “Hey, look!” he exclaimed, quickly lifting his head. Before he could finish, nausea swept over him again, and he doubled over beside the table retching, though there was nothing left in his stomach to come up.
“Ah, nausea too, I see,” Earl said, growing serious. He looked at Bobby. “Listen up, boy. Your friend has a concussion, and it looks to be a bad one. If you don’t do exactly as I say, he’ll probably be in a coma within the hour, and dead by morning.” Bobby gasped and paled. “The boy needs willow bark tea to ease the swelling in his brain. I think I saw some willow trees out by the stream. You know where I’m talking about?”
He waited for Bobby to nod nervously before continuing. “Good. Go strip me off at least two good handfuls of bark, as much as you can carry. Hurry lad!” Bobby rushed out of the door, leaving Randall in Earl’s care.
“Am I gonna die?” Randall asked. The way his head was pounding, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to live.
“Not if I can help it,” Earl answered, pushing something smooth and metallic into Randall’s hand. It was about the right size to be a mug handle.
“Not thirsty,” he said, eyes still closed.
“That’s alright, boy. Just hold onto it a bit while I talk to you.” Earl said.
Holding onto the mug, Randall felt comforted somehow, though he couldn’t pin his finger on the cause. Maybe because it felt so cool and refreshing in his hand. He’d take a drink in a minute—just not now.
“Now listen up, boy. I have some things to tell you, and they’re best told before your friend gets back. I didn’t just run into you by accident. I came to the job fair because I’ve decided I needed an apprentice. So, soon as I get to this gods-forsaken town, there you were, all puffed up full of anger and shining like a
Similar Books
Daughter of Earth (Tales of the Guardian)
Brianna Merrill
Guardian Nurse
Joyce Dingwell
Rock Star (Dream Weaver #2)
Su Williams
Men of Anderas II: Dak the Protector
Cheryl Johnson
Loving Bella
Renee Ryan
Rebel Ice
S. L. Viehl
English Tea Murder
Leslie Meier
AMBUSHED
REBECCA YORK
Democracy of Sound
Alex Sayf Cummings