“Uh . . .” Karigan began. “I—I was hoping to take a bath.”
“You must not use the tub. If you get your cast wet, you shall ruin it, and then where would we be? I’m afraid it’s sponge baths for you until your wrist heals.”
Karigan grimaced. “Sponge baths? Isn’t there a way to—”
“Mender’s orders.”
Karigan was beginning to resent the strict dictates of Mender Samuels.
“Speaking of which,” Mirriam continued, “you should be in bed.”
“I, um, need to use—” and Karigan pointed into the room with the amazing porcelain bowl.
“Land sakes, child, then use it, but no playing with the plumbing. I shall await you in the hallway and see you back to bed directly.”
Karigan sighed as Mirriam stepped outside. It was not going to be as easy to sneak around the house as she hoped, with the housekeeper patrolling the halls like a guard dog.
• • •
Back in her room, Karigan planted her fists on her hips and stood her ground. “I do not wish to get back in bed.” Before Mirriam could utter another of Mender Samuels’ proclamations, she added, “I’m restless. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
Mirriam’s pose mirrored Karigan’s, and the two stared at one another for several moments. “You are right handed?” the housekeeper asked.
Karigan raised her plastered wrist as if it were a foreign object. “Yes.”
“Then needle work is likely out.”
Thank the gods for small favors, Karigan thought.
“Can you read?”
“Yes, yes I can.”
“Good to know that that part of your education has not been neglected. I shall see what I can do.” Then Mirriam glanced disapprovingly at Karigan’s bare feet. “And I shall find slippers for you. Going without is quite inappropriate.”
Karigan glanced at her offending feet and wiggled her toes.
“You get back to bed,” Mirriam said.
This time Karigan obeyed, knowing the housekeeper would refuse to leave otherwise. She pulled up the covers, and Mirriam grunted in satisfaction and left, closing the door behind her. From the hallway, Karigan heard a muffled query about “the patient,” from someone and Mirriam’s caustic reply: “She has an apparent fascination with the plumbing, as if she’s never used it before. Did they not have any at the asylum? She’s—” Mirriam’s voice faded with her footsteps.
Karigan leaned back into her pillows, a little surprised by how weary her explorations had left her, and before she knew it, she had dozed off, only to be awakened sometime later by the clangor of bells from deep within the city. Though she might bristle at being forced to rest, she had to admit her body had been through much and obviously needed at least some.
Drawn by the bells, she swung her legs out of bed and padded to the window. The light against the brick wall opposite had changed its slant, reinforcing the sense of time’s passing since last she had looked. Did these bells signify time as they did in her own Sacor City? Did they call worshippers to prayer in local chapels of the moon? If so, they were not particularly beautiful sounding bells but dull and heavy.
Perhaps if she stuck her head out the window she might be able to see more. She struggled with the latch and tried to lift the sash. It was painted closed. She tapped it with the heel of her hand and forced, best as she could even with her broken wrist, to push it upward. The window screeched as it shifted, after no small amount of concerted effort. Had anyone raised it in the last hundred years? No doubt the noise would bring Mirriam running. Let her come, Karigan thought, but not before I have a look.
She edged the window open wider, enough for her to stick her head out. She craned her neck, looking both left and right. She did not see much, but to the right, between this house and the adjacent building, there was an opening that led to the street. It was just enough for her to observe people, and horses and carriages rushing to and fro. Soon the bells stopped ringing, their leaden tones dying. The activity on the street also diminished. The warm air reminded her of mid- to late spring. She had lost track of time in Blackveil, but they’d entered the forest on the spring equinox. She could not say for sure, but it appeared she’d arrived in the future in the same season she’d left in the past.
“MISS GOODGRAVE!”
Karigan knocked her head on the sash. “Ow!” She backed away from it rubbing the back of her head and turned to gaze on Mirriam and Lorine gaping behind her.
Mirriam was the first to move, setting a pile of books on Karigan’s bedside table and storming across to the window to slam it shut. Karigan winced. She decided Mirriam was not good for the nerves of convalescing patients.
“Miss Goodgrave,” Mirriam admonished, “the air is not healthy. You must keep the window shut.”
The air did have that unpleasant acrid tang to it, but Karigan was definitely tired of hearing what she could and could not do, no matter how much these people were trying to help her.
“I was curious,” she said. “All I can see is that brick wall.”
“You shall find that curiosity has no place in this household. Now, Lorine has your midday meal and I’ve brought you some books.” She looked at Karigan’s feet again and rolled her eyes. “And there shall be slippers, and no more window opening foolishness, do you understand?”
Karigan nodded, and Mirriam marched from the room muttering to herself. Karigan and Lorine exchanged glances, neither of them willing to risk a move lest the slightest breath called the storm back down upon them.