The Last Necromancer

Chapter 3 (part 1)

"He forgot his stick," Gus said with a nod at the cane still in Fitzroy's hand. "Not that he needed it. Bloody toff walked out of here without a limp."

Fitzroy had been watching me from beneath lowered lids, but now he grasped the stick with both hands and snapped it over his knee. He opened the window and threw both pieces out.

Someone below cursed loudly. I hoped it was Gillingham.

Fitzroy shut the window. "Help him out of his shirt."

"Don't come near me," I snarled at Gus and Seth.

Seth frowned, but Gus approached. He reached for the top button on my shirt. I slapped his hand away.

"I'm only trying to help!"

"Don't come near me," I said again.

"I ain't going to hurt you, Half Pint," Gus said. "Just get your shirt off and let us look at your sores." He reached for me again and this time I grabbed his hand and bit it.

He yelped and went to slap me. I jerked away and he made no connection. It was just an empty threat.

"Leave him," Fitzroy said.

"I weren't going to hit him," Gus grumbled. "Just scare him into doing as he's told."

"Fetch clean water, a salve and bandages."

Seth hurried out of the room. Gus regarded me with hands on hips. "Saying we get him to take his own shirt off, do you think he'll let you tend his wounds, sir? I wish Lady Harcourt were here," he added before Fitzroy answered. "She'd know how to get the lad to trust us."

A lady? That was all I needed—another bloody toff. I'd only met one, but that had proved to be enough for me to thoroughly dislike the lot of them. "I can tend my own wounds," I said before one of them got ideas that they would do it.

"You cannot see all your wounds," Fitzroy said.

"I don't need to."

Fitzroy's eyes narrowed. "Help him stand."

Gus came forward, but I put my hand up. "I don't need help."

To prove my point, I got to my knees. Pain spiked through my body and made my head spin. I put a hand to the wall and concentrated on controlling my breathing. Everything hurt, but I couldn't let the men know, or Fitzroy would insist on inspecting my wounds.

The breathing helped and although the pain didn't lessen, I could endure it. I got to my feet and raised my brows in triumph at Fitzroy.

"Sit on the bed," was all he said.

I eyed the bed. "I have lice."

Gus pulled a face and scratched his head.

"That's why you were given clean clothes," Fitzroy said. "Remove your rags and throw them in the fireplace. We'll shave your head. Gus—"

"No!" I inched away from both men. "I'll change into them clothes myself when you're not looking. And you're not touching my hair." I'd had beautiful hair as a child. Long golden curls had reached down to my lower back. Now it was above my shoulders, with a long fringe, and it was light brown. Shaving it off meant losing a little bit more of the real me, as well as losing the veil it provided.

"Why d'you care?" Gus said with a shrug. "It's just hair."

"Can you walk?" Fitzroy asked. I nodded. "Then come with me. Gus, fetch salt from the pantry. Lots of it. And kerosene."

"Cook won't like me taking his salt, sir."

Fitzroy picked up the pile of fresh clothes from the bed then stood by the door. Gus slumped out and I followed at a slower pace that still made me wince as I put pressure on my leg. At least no bones had been broken, but it damn well hurt. Gus trotted down the stairs ahead of us.