“Sure ya do.” Cephas said quickly. “I’m the same Cephas I always been.”
“No.” Naasir responded. “The boy with whom I was raised would not have arranged to trade me for coins.”
“Our life ain’t so bad.” Cephas answered. “Mr. Fontanals—he’s a sight better than most of the folk ‘round here. He treats us fair. We could stay side-by-side.”
Naasir nodded to the silver tray which he still carried. “I must take this inside.”
“Naasir, I’m tryin’ for to protect you. Why shouldn’t I earn some gold for my troubles?” Cephas argued.
“You can’t protect me, Brother.” Naasir smiled softly. “What shall be, shall be. There’s no changing it.”
“That foolishness ‘bout your destiny again. You know those were jus’ stories mama tol’ us.”
“Some stories, Cephas, are true.” Naasir sighed. He looked to Hannah. “It has been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise,” Hannah nodded.
“Goodbye, Brother.” Naasir said before walking into the house.
“What was that?” Hannah said sternly to her husband. “What kind of fool thing was that to do to your own brother. Can’t you see that man is taken care of right and proper by those English folk? Why’d you want him to sweat in the fields with us when he could wear a fine suit of clothes and do nothin’ but help some gentleman put on his boots?”
“Cuz,” Cephas grumbled. “They’re gonna take out his soul. That’s the cost of his comfortable life. Now, come on before we’s missed.” Cephas tugged at his wife’s hand, and they tucked into the greenery once again.
Naasir carried the tray up the back staircase of the Rittenhouse Mansion and walked quickly through the corridor. From one of the bedrooms, he heard a woman with a deep voice laughing.
“Really, Nanny, you are terrible.” The voice said. Naasir recognized the voice as Ulrika Rittenhouse whom he had seen earlier in the courtyard berating one of the servants.
Naasir grimaced. “That one’s going to be trouble.”
He knocked gently on the door to Robert’s room and entered.
“I’ve brought you some tea and cakes, Mr. Punch.” He said softly. “And some broth for when Dr. Halifax wakes.”
“Thanks, Chum.” Mr. Punch answered.
Marjani cleared a spot for the tray on the small table by the mantelpiece.
“The doctor’s dressin’ needs changin’.” Marjani said to Naasir. “Mr. Punch done said he’d prefer you doin’ it.”
“Of course.” Naasir nodded.
“Now, then, Mr. Punch.” Marjani began. “I’ll give you gentlemen some privacy. But, I’ll be back in awhile for to check on him.”
“Right.” Mr. Punch said. “Don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done.”
“No need to thank me, Mr. Punch.” Marjani smiled as she exited.
Naasir gently pulled back the covers and began to undress Robert.
“Can I help?” Mr. Punch asked.
“No, Mr. Punch. I can manage. I used to undress Sir Louis when he was abed—before he passed.”
“Me master remembers Sir Louis Alderton. Chums with our pa, he was.” Mr. Punch muttered. “Nice fella, was he?”
“Yes, Sir.” Naasir said.
“Worked for him for a long time?” Mr. Punch asked.
“I did.” Naasir said.
“Taught you what’s proper and what ain’t, did he?”
“Yes.” Naasir answered.
“Here, Chum,” Punch continued. “Marjani told me the story what’s about ‘The Great Man of the Rocks’—that story what you told us ‘bout. She said that ‘The Great Man’ is travelin’ with two princes—one dark and one light. Are you a prince, Naasir?”
“In a way.” Naasir smiled. “Yes.”
“Huh.” Mr. Punch grunted. “Don’t got no crown.”
“One doesn’t need a crown to be a prince, Mr. Punch.” Naasir said, slipping a clean nightshirt over Robert’s head. Robert mumbled and opened his eyes.
“Listen,” Mr. Punch said, coming over to Robert’s side. “You go back to sleep. You gotta get better you do.”
“Where I am?” Robert murmured.
“Some big house in Marionneaux. Don’t matter now. Just sleep, understand.” Punch answered softly.
Robert coughed and shut his eyes as Naasir gently lowered him back onto the pillows.
“So, he’s the other prince, is he? The light one?” Mr. Punch asked.
“That he is,” Naasir nodded. “That he is.”
“Coo.” Mr. Punch sighed. “Then, we got some big things facin’ us, don’t we?”
“That we do.” Naasir smiled. “Now, Mr. Punch, perhaps you should also get some sleep.”
“Don’t need sleep.” Mr. Punch mumbled.
“Perhaps not, but Lord Fallbridge does.”
“Sleepin’ in here.” Mr. Punch thumped Julian’s chest.
Naasir grinned peacefully at Mr. Punch.
“I know what you’re thinkin’.” Punch muttered.
“Mrs. Rittenhouse has arranged a very nice room for you just across the passage.”
“Ain’t leavin’ here.” Mr. Punch frowned.
Naasir sighed. He took a cushion from a nearby chair and placed it on the floor in front of the fire.
“Will, you then, at least, lie in front of the fire and shut your eyes?”
“Here! Prince or no, I won’t have you givin’ me orders.”
“It’s not an order, Sir. Merely a suggestion.”
“Maybe I will.” Mr. Punch grumbled.
“You’ll be more help to Dr. Halifax if you don’t allow your body to become ill, too.”
“Only this place is full of creatures what’s bad.” Mr. Punch said. “Barbara and that Nanny and I didn’t much like the looks of those Rittenhouse humans. ‘Sides, who knows if them men what took you to be burned is around? Gotta stay alert, I do.”
“Marjani and I will look after you.”
“Huh,” Mr. Punch grunted again. “You’ll stay, then?”
“Just outside the door.” Naasir smiled.
“Fine, then,” Mr. Punch mumbled. “I’ll shut me eyes, but I ain’t gonna sleep.”
Punch curled up in front of the fire not unlike an obedient dog, and placed Julian’s head on the cushion. Within minutes, he was sound asleep.
Naasir smiled with satisfaction. When he was certain that Mr. Punch was slumbering, he removed a small red sack from his pocket and placed it under Robert’s pillow. “This is to protect you. Keep away the sickness. Keep away the sickness. From one prince to another.”
With that, Naasir left the room and sat in the corridor on a long, hard bench. “Keep away the sickness.” He whispered to himself.
Meanwhile, further down La Colline Cramoisie, upstairs in the yellow house, Cecil awoke with a start—frightened from his sleep by a nightmare. He reached for Adrienne, but found her side of the bed empty and cold.
Cecil rose and put on his dressing gown. He walked up the small flight of stairs to the nursery expecting to see Adrienne feeding Fuller. Instead, he found that neither was there. On the table next to the crib, a purple feather sat next to a wrinkled handkerchief.
“Dear God,” Cecil gasped. “Please, help me.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-67? If so, you can read them here.
4 comments:
Scary! Is there any place safe in that town? I don't blame Mr. Punch for not wanting to close his eyes. Evil lurks in every dark corner. I hope Nassir has enough red bags of gris gris to protect them all.
That Robert is alive still is a miracle. It is satisfying to see "Good" begin to mass against "Evil" - at least by perception. These good folks still remain very much outnumbered.
Hi Darcy. Poor Naasir would have to have a wheelbarrow full of gris gris to combat the evil that skulks around Marioneaux. Thanks for your comment!
Hello Dashwood. You're absolutely correct. And, I'm afraid it'll get worse before it gets better.
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