Prince of the Stable

8. Half-snuffed

Aiden tried to sleep. He had to work come sunrise and would be busy at one thing or another until dark. If he was going to rise earlier to visit Ro, it would make for a long day.  But he couldn't sleep. He thought about this Lord Gilbert, a name he'd heard once or twice in servant gossip, but never with the dark stories associated with Prince Edmund. He'd seen the guards of the Watch abuse both men and women, so he had some idea of how bad it could be. Ro was a professional, he reminded himself, with prior experience with this particular "patron".  What if he overslept? What if-?

He tossed and turned. He jerked himself awake, panicked that he'd slept too long, but the darkness outside remained complete. Maybe it was still too early?  He didn't bother with a lamp, but made his way sure-footedly across the floor and down the ladder from long habit.  He took up the pole and water buckets and stepped out into the cool night air, listening.

But there was no sound in the night from the taverns, no raucous singing echoing off alleyways. The sky still held no promise of morning. He made his way to the well, listening for any signs of life, but it seemed it was indeed the dead of night, when even the most dedicated drunk had passed out.  He drew water from the well so that if he was able to linger with Ro, the horses would not suffer for his indulgence. 

Other times he'd gone to that quarter of the city, he'd known what time it was, roughly, by the hour bells from the palace. But the royal time keeper did not ring the hours through the night, so that folks could sleep. The Watch and others that had to work while others slept kept hour candles to mark the time in silence. He laced the red ribbon token through his fingers, lest he drop it in the dark streets, and hoped the guards of the Watch would honour it, if they caught him.

The night torches maintained for a price by the merchants to discourage vandals and thieves cast small flickering pools of dim light. The emptiness of the streets at this hour made Aiden feel all the more conspicuous, and he rubbed the token as if it were a magic charm.  Certain he'd be challenged at every corner, he was surprised to arrive at Ro's window without meeting the Watch or needed to show his token. Of course, if he hadn't had it, that probably would have been a different story. 

Ro's window as dark, which he expected as the shutter would be closed, but he thought there should be some glimmer of light.  Was he too early? Too late? 

 He scratched at the window, whispering, "Ro?"

But the only sound answering was a groan. He pressed against the screen with a rising trepidation, increased when the screen creaked open with no resistance. "Ro?"

He shuffled across the unfamiliar room to where he remembered seeing a lamp, and fumbled some more to find a strike to light it. Keeping the flame low, he let his eyes adjust and scanned the room. The dressing table was a mess, with the box from which Ro had drawn the red token on its side, contents scattered.  The bed was an unmade lump of linens or so he thought at first, until that lump twitched.

Aiden pulled back what turned out to be a robe, covering a battered and bloody body. "Ro? Dear heavens, what the hell happened?"  Aghast, he took in the bent from, saw the healing egg in red fingers that looked like one or two was broken, reaching back. "Why is there no one to attend you?"

He turned abruptly and filled the wash basin with what was left of the water, and sponged away the worst of the blood, not as much as first appeared. He gently took the healing egg and inserted it into Ro's raw backside. Ro's back was a mess of open lash marks and burns, and his nose and three fingers were broken, and likely some ribs. Strangely, Ro's genitals were hardly abused at all; perhaps the abuser had some fellow-feel hidden in the depths of his cruelty. Or perhaps he meant to finish the job once Ro left the brothel. He wouldn't let that happen.

The more Aiden saw of Ro's injuries, the angrier he got, especially as the broken young man faded in and out of consciousness. He latched the window and went through the door into the house itself.  He forgot he was a stable hand and strode with the upright fury of a prince of the royal house of Clearhaven. He snatched at the shoulders of a young person, too dark to tell gender, sleeping in the hall. "Where is the madam of this wretched establishment?"

He took the answer and barged into the correct room, causing the older woman behind the desk to start.  Her eyes narrowed. "You can't be in here," she began.

"Shut up, you cheap slattern," he growled. "Go to your dispensary and fetch some healing spells for the whore, Ro."

"I was paid a generous apology," she started and again Aiden cut her off.

"I don't doubt. Nevertheless, you will do as I say or..." he paused only fractionally, and hoped he guessed correctly, "Edmund will hear that you are no longer fit to run this establishment.  Then what do you suppose will happen to you?"

Her gaze flickered over his clothes, then back to his face as his words registered. "The prince! You wouldn't!"

"I most certainly would. The spells," he said, "now!"

She scurried away, obviously convinced, as he'd intended, that his poor clothes were a disguise to  hide the fact that someone as high born as he must obviously be - to know Prince Edmund - was frequenting a place such as this. She returned with a linen napkin wrapped around various shaped containers, all with a pale, not quite glow. "This will help knit the bones, and this one will prevent infection, and this one will ease his pain, and this one will...soothe the skin...they're labelled," she finished sullenly.

"Thank you," Aiden replied, his voice cold. "Now you will kindly arrange a litter, and have it wait outside Ro's window. I'm sure Gilbert paid you well enough to absorb the cost of removing Ro from your so valuable establishment," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm certain," he added, as threatening as he could, "that the likes of Gilbert won't be allowed back, am I correct?"

"Yes, m'lord," she said, her voice unsteady and her eyes downcast. 

"Litter. Now." And he turned on his heel and left in the same imperious manner as he'd entered, complete with slamming door.

His heart was pounding in his chest at the audacity of what he just pulled off, but he wouldn't consider it a victory until Ro was safely out of here.  He applied what spells he could, so that moving Ro wouldn't hurt him or do more damage, then he packed up all the things he believed were Ro's - the box of spilled items, cosmetics, lotions and creams, an extensive sewing kit. He packed all the clothes in the room and, jaw tight, decided to take a couple of the heavy blankets as well. 

When the litter arrived, he carried Ro gently out and then covered him with two blankets, thicker and warmer than any he owned, and arranged the rest carefully around him. "To the palace," he ordered loudly, for the benefit of anyone listening.

He stopped the litter at the stable and it seemed to be understood that one did not take a prostitute directly into the palace. No eyebrows were raised as he first took all Ro's belongings up to the loft, then carefully put him over his shoulder to carry up the ladder. 

He thanked the litter bearers and advised them to ask madam extra for their discretion. The sky was grey with pre-dawn light, as he ministered to Ro's injuries with the appropriate spells. When he could do no more, he descended the ladder to care for his other charges.