Days of the Dead Book 2: The Beggar's Tomb

Chapter 10: All I want for Christmas is a nap

Gideon
I leap through the now broken stone wall just in time to see King Henry run the ghost through. It vanishes immediately of course.
"Ghost," I predict, standing in the wreckage of the wall.
"Apparently," King Henry growls, pushing past me to go back out to the hall. Prince Harry is trembling a little, tears on his face as he holds his bible. This poor sweet kid. Courtenay is standing with him.
"He didn't hurt you?" King Henry asks, striding quickly to his son's side.
"No—no, I talked to him. I did hope you were coming," Prince Henry says, "I wasn't afraid though. But I don't want to die."
"Of course you don't. We don't die," King Henry says, putting his hand on the boy's neck, "Of course I was coming."
"Did it say what it wanted?" Courtenay asks, wiping blood from his face, tiredly. He asks it like, he expects it to be his fault. Like he's gonna be familiar with whatever it wanted.
"To kill me," Prince Harry says.
"What?" King Henry frowns, confused, "What—that was all it said?"
"Yes, it said it was supposed to kill me," Prince Harry says.
"That was the same wizard we tangled with last year. Kit Wren. Incidentally the same one certain circles kidnapped," I say.
"Well, he was certainly less hazardous as my prisoner," King Henry snarls.
"Ignoring the fact that he wouldn't have a grudge against this family if he hadn't spent five years as your prisoner?" I ask, sassily.
"Don't argue," Prince Harry pleads.
"We're not, we're stating conflicting facts, it's fine, we'll get rid of it. Saint isn't doing anything anyway," King Henry says, nicely, to his sad child.
"It would appear Kit is a ghost now, he's leveled up his power so to speak quite a bit, since he was pulling the nightmare trick on us," I say, cradling my head in one hand. My head is still ringing from King Henry's memory of the arrow wound and subsequent surgery, by the way he's tipping his head, I'm sure his is too.
"Right, so we need to trap it—or destroy it—damn, it's hard to dispel ghosts," Courtenay sighs, wiping blood from his face again.
"But why did he want me?" Prince Harry asks, so sad.
"Because of who we are," King Henry says.
"He doesn't need a reason, I have reason to believe he killed his own father, and he tried to kill his own mother," I say. I doubt if Kit knows she survived her wounds. I wonder if it was even a mercy, knowing her own child tried to end her. "He's not at all right. Do not worry about it, okay? We'll take care of him."
Prince Harry nods.
"Should be gone for the night, let's hope," I say, rubbing my arm. It hurt to throw him through a stone wall. Satisfying though. I do need to remind Prince Harry I gave him a protection amulet for instances such as this and he could have used it. But he's having a bad night I'm not going to ride him now.
"We don't know that. We'll fortify in the apartments, tight guard," King Henry says.
"Oh great yeah I'll—," I say, about to ask to come.
"Not you," King Henry and Courtenay say, in unison.
Two hours later of course I come. I have no strength to find my Welsh friends so I have to leave it for now. I'll give them news when they arrive. That's all I can do. For now I'm exhausted. Prince Harry begs for me to come and King Henry says no then doesn't actually stop me from just following them. It takes a veritable act of God to get the fortifications arranged. King Henry issues orders rapidly as his men scurry to obey and bring him updates of the battle.
And for somebody who says 'We are NOT keeping Gideon' to every one of the royal children who are present, Courtenay rather quickly tugs me off with him to see the doctors. We're both exhausted from the magic. We get sugar and a few herbs. It'll do a little bit abate symptoms of blood loss. But that's better than nothing.
Princes Harry and Edmund, and Princess Kate, are all unscathed, but it seems two of the dogs were killed protecting them so they do weep about that. King Henry is sympathetic about that which is weird considering he has not yet been truly sympathetic about their mother dying. He assures them quickly they can pick other dogs when Kenilworth and they're all a bit cheered at the idea of going there.
By now it's the early hours of the morning and nearly time for breakfast. We're all locked in the back apartments until we're secure the ghost isn't coming back. We're not secure in that yet, in fact we don't know what is going on. Which is troubling.
I can't do much to help direct traffic, but I wind up mingling with the royal children who like me well enough. Edmund and Kate ask after some of their things and rather than King Henry and Courtenay remember they want to blame me for all this, I volunteer to fetch the kid's items rather than send a servant. Kate asks for something she was drawing; Edmund asks for a jacket from his room. So I go to get both. Not like I got a good night's sleep or anything. Rhiannon and Sadie are going to find it hilarious I legit get better sleep with my year old baby than I do with the Lancaster clan. It's fine though. I'd sooner walk about than pace and listen to King Henry give his men orders, which is all I've been doing.
I'm far too at home in this place. I find my way around with no trouble, easily fetching the children' s requested things. The castle is eerily quiet, just the staff scurrying about to clean up after the fight. Somber. Usually the children are running the halls, for the most part to the delight of the various palace workers. And Prince Harry is quite kind to all his serving folk, I'm fairly sure he's a palace favorite. But now all is quiet. Too quiet. I realize Kit doesn't need a reason to do what he does, but why target our fair prince? What's he got to prove? And this is the second time, I found him some twenty five odd years in the future terrorizing our Harry for no reason. Now, he tends to sock slide on the space-time continuum, so I don't know if that was before or after this for him. But still. He's threatening my favorite people an awful lot.
I make my way back to the tower apartments we barricaded ourselves in. The palace guard don't even question me anymore, it's beautiful.
Owen Tudor is entering from the other direction. He's been about all morning. I didn't know 'I'm shocked my head is still attached' could be a resting expression but there you have it. King Henry has barked orders at him just like normal, and he nearly died with the rest of us earlier. Now he looks a little worse for the wear, pale blonde hair damp and still a bit bloody, soft blue eyes bloodshot, he's still in mail and on duty, but is currently carrying a big black wrinkly mastiff puppy. Mastiffs are an ancient breed, dating all the way back to Alexander the Great, who is credited with honing the line and using Neapolitan Mastiffs or their ancestors, as his war dogs. The English mastiff is taller with a thicker head and fewer wrinkles and its Greek ancestors, but none the less equally noble. A loyal, tough breed these dogs don't live long but they're natural guardians, famously serving at the battle of Agincourt. King Henry of course has a line of them in his kennels, apparently here at Windsor though he might have more at other estates and just keep a few here for protection. Usually the kids favor the wolfhounds as pets, equally loyal breed, but a bit taller and more likely to want to run about and play chase than the much heavier boned mastiff.
Owen walks up to me, stiffly, carrying the clearly sleeping, wrinkly big puppy, which he deposits in my arms, "Some of the dogs got killed." He grunts it, rather unemotionally.
"Yes, I saw, that was sad, what's this?" I ask, holding the big puppy amicably as it wakes up a little and tries to lick my face.
"Just put it on the ground, by the kids, namely the crown prince. All right? I'm not—," he's not going in there now, "Just—go put it in there and don't say anything."
"Right, will do, you all right?"
"Do I look all right?"
"No. Fair, right," I say.
"You look like hell."
"Thanks," I say, as we walk on down the hallway a bit, he's also carrying an extra weapon, I assume bringing it to somebody.
Prince Harry walks out of one of the rooms, head down. I wince, fully prepared for him walk past us, refusing to look at Owen as he did before. Owen clearly expects that too, pain lining his face.
But instead Prince Harry, eyes closed, walks directly into Owen, wrapping his arms around the shorter man's neck and sobbing bitterly. Just sobbing into his shoulder.
Owen stands there, a bit surprised, before hugging him back, loosely.
Prince Harry, for his part, just clutches him sobbing. Some silent acceptance of this man who loved his mother. And Harry letting go in some way of his prejudice against their adultery.
I walk on, the scene isn't for me. Nobody else pays any mind. It's not uncommon for the boy to be attached to any of the guard and after our mourning we're all quite emotional. I don't want them to be interrupted though.
I go on to check on the kids. Edmund is bouncing in the hall with the knights chatting so I hand him his jacket and go on. Kate is in with her ladies and I'm not allowed in. So I go on to the sitting room that King Henry and Courtenay were in. The kids will likely wind up here anyway or at least Harry will.
The King and his Archbishop are, predictably, in full discussion, eating, and at this point ignore me coming in.
I set the puppy down on the floor and fetch a plate of breakfast. The puppy pads after me hopefully and I sit down and start feeding it acceptable bits of food.
"And of course Gideon is always here—Saint? Any fantastic prophesies regarding the ghost?" King Henry asks, I'm thrilled he's recovered enough to blame me that's really nice. He's completely calm by the way, if anything cheerful, holding a plate of sausage and potatoes which he's liberally mixing with mustard. By liberally I mean, this should choke a normal person.
"No. Thank you for asking. I don't even know how to trap the thing. I know as much as you do, Wren has a grudge against all of us and apparently the whole world," I sigh.
"There are methods to trap ghosts but only wizards can perform them," Courtenay says, he's also got a plate of breakfast. He's not waging war on his stomach lining with mustard, though.
"I'm down, obviously," I sigh, petting the puppy's soft little ears. It flops down to chew on my boot. I let it. "I suppose you have a book on it somewhere."
"A few, it'd help if we knew what he was after," Courtenay says.
"My son," King Henry says, icily, "Of courses, he's the crown prince."
"Yes, but specifically? It's sort of pointless there's three more after him, as well as yourself, why kill him?" Courtenay asks.
"You're right—it doesn't make sense. It's not like he's ever done something to offend anyone," I say, shaking my head, "Ghosts have to be summoned. Kit was sent, on a quest. And Prince Harry hasn't done anything offensive."
"Unless he has?" King Henry says, but like hopefully. "Perhaps he's dabbled in sorcery or something? When he was small you said he might have the gift."
"I don't know. I can't imagine he'd do something to provoke that though," Courtenay says, poking at his food more than eating it.
"Maybe it's not to do with him. Maybe they're doing it to hurt you," I point out. I know it would be more effective to threaten Lowri or Myrddin than threatening me. I care more for their lives than mine. "To get revenge for something so they invoke a ghost to go after your son."
"I haven't done anything," King Henry says. Then he and Courtenay look at each other and try not to laugh. King Henry has to put down his plate in order to cover his face and try not to laugh.
"Nearly did it," Courtenay covers his face as well.
"Very close there. God, it's been a night. First a bloody funeral now this—all right," King Henry composes himself.
"Yeah fair, I think we'd be quicker to list the people you two haven't made an enemy of," I say. I'm eating hungrily and sharing sausage bits with the puppy.
"I'm very popular in all of Europe," King Henry says, charmingly.
"Yeah, be that as it may we're not very likely to guess who's currently cross enough to summon a ghost, a powerful sorcerer could, but that leaves us with France, Portugal, Castile, and then just random Scotsmen and Englishmen. Not Ireland at the moment, and Wales is all us wizards so we're clear, that I know of, though it could be a lone wolf," I say.
"No, there's no guessing, we just have to stop it," Courtenay says, leaning back in his chair.
"Right. Easy enough. Saint was lacking an occupation while invading my home anyway—where the devil did that boy go?" King Henry asks, about to go to the door.
"I saw him he was in the hall," I say.
"Doing what?" Courtenay asks.
"Crying," I say.
"He's been melancholy of late," King Henry observes astutely, going back to his breakfast.
"His mother died," Courtenay and I, in unison.
"Yes, beyond that," King Henry says like he remembered. He did not. "There's something off. He's very pensive even for him."
"I really do think it's that his mother died," Courtenay says, gently.
I shrug, because I know more things are in fact bothering him the King is technically right. But I'm also not confirming.
Prince Harry chooses that moment to walk back in, wiping tears from his face, gold curls limp and sticking to his blotchy skin. The puppy hears his entrance and pads over to stand nearly directly on his one foot, wagging its rat tale. Prince Harry kneels and scoops the stocky puppy into his arms automatically. It starts to lick his face.
"Well? Do you have any thoughts why that ghost would want to hurt me, father?" Prince Harry asks, going to sit in a chair just cradling the puppy, who is licking his face happily.
"It's summoned by our enemies. We'll destroy it," King Henry says, comfortingly. "Saint was just leaving."
"No, please father, let him stay. He's no family here, and he was quite kind to me; he came right away after hearing about my mother," Prince Harry says, softly, petting the puppy which is now tugging on his shirt. He gives it his hand to teeth on instead and it obliges happily.
"As you wish," King Henry says, a bit stiffly, "Is something troubling you?"
"Merely grief, I apologize father. I confess I've slept little. And now I cannot knowing that thing is hunting me. I've thought and I really should be removed from the others and yourself if I am it's lure as it were I don't want it coming back and hurting anyone else," Prince Harry says, holding the puppy and looking down at it rather than at us.
"No. You're staying here, I will protect you, it's fine," King Henry shakes his head.
"We can get rid of it. It was just a ghost, that's all, I know. I have texts that detail how to trap those spirits," Courtenay says.
"Oh it is? Yes, you do. I've read them," Prince Harry says, "I know where a couple of them are. In the library."
"Just tell the Archbishop which. Since when are you interested in magic?" King Henry asks, a little concerned.
"Oh. I'm not. Ever since that—memorable time that Windsor was invaded because you stole an Irish artifact. I took it upon myself to date and reference many of our treasures that might be similarly cursed. In order to prevent our untimely deaths, of course, I've been ensuring nothing we own is actually cursed or linked to some ancient set of undead warriors that will want to kill us," Prince Harry says, very understandingly given the context of the speech.
"Ah," King Henry says, "I'm glad you're taking an interest."
"My great grandfather, King of Castile, he had possession of an ancient Norman charm that could trap ghosts. All but a piece of it were destroyed in the Savoy fire, however," Prince Henry says, nicely, petting the dog, "That would be of use. I would think."
"Good," King Henry says, studying his first born, "Is something else troubling you—Harry?"
"I don't know what else there is. My dear mother is not a week dead. You're home and now we're under attack. Again. And we don't know why but the thing wants to kill me. And historically speaking it's always trouble from your campaigns that causes the attacks. We're forever in trouble. I'm sure it's some fault that I do not enjoy it. But my mother is dead. My home is invaded. And my life is threatened and god again spared my life and I make such poor use of it or we'd not be having this conversation. All of this is public knowledge and very, very present, there is nothing else. Troubling me. That's enough," Harry says, leaning back in the chair, the puppy cradled on his chest.
"Have you not slept since your mother died?" King Henry asks, studying his eldest, "Have you been eating?"
"No. And no. I can do neither. Jesus survived for forty days in the desert I think I can live here, with you," Prince Harry says. He's extremely delirious and still intoxicated.
"You need to go rest. You've done excellently. I'll take care of everything," King Henry says, coolly. His boy is being insolent however. He knows this isn't him.
"I'll show Gideon the artifact in question, I know where it is," Prince Harry says, standing up.
"Don't, one of us can," King Henry says, quickly.
"You're taking care of everything remember? We're under attack, which is your forte, and I'm sure you're going to check over mother's funeral arrangements please do. I've never buried my mother before," Prince Harry says, just leaving.
We all three stare after him.
"I'm going to follow him—," I point.
"Go," King Henry sighs.
"He's drunk," Courtenay says.
"He's delirious," King Henry says.
"I'll—just follow him yeah," I say, backing to the door.
I catch Prince Harry in the hall. He's cradling the puppy and pressing his face into its wrinkly head. He waits for me, then keeps walking as soon as I reach his side. We're heading out of the secured area towards his office.
I don't say 'you okay' because it sounds really bad. But I have to do or say something don't I? At least he's letting me follow him.
Once we clear the more crowded hall he speaks again, softly, "I've given orders that the Tudor boys are to be brought here. With an attempt on my life we can't be sure if our enemies are aware or not of their parentage. They'll be safer here. I told Owen that they'll do their lessons here, with other pages. He's their father they'll be little question. I'll tell my siblings the truth when we are together. I don't want to see them or talk to them. But I also don't wish them ill."
"That's fair," I say, nodding.
"None of this is fair," he mutters, "But their parents crimes are not theirs."
"No," I agree, "It's a plenty big castle. They'll be fine, Owen will look out for them."
"Yes, of course," he says, nodding a little. I give it five days before he pack bonds to them. He pack bonded to me when I was a ghost his father was trying to kill. He pack bonds to anything. It's a familial trait, I like to call 'adopt it or kill it?' An English royal family game show that goes on between the two brain cells of anyone in the male line anytime they meet someone new. Except our Harry doesn't even have the 'kill it' brain cell so he just pack bonds to anyone around him long enough and adopts them as his new friend.
We make our way to his study, and he locks the door before going on, "All right, from what I understand the spirit that attacked me is the same one we tangled with last year?"
"Correct," I nod, "I tried to kill him, but he was cursed by the Beggar's Tomb. I assumed it claimed him."
"I believe it did," Harry says, setting the puppy down and going to open a couple of his books, "From my research—there is no escape from the Beggar's Tomb."
"No, I understood the same. However, somehow he appears to be freed. He's not—real. He's a spirit," I clarify, "Or we couldn't have dispelled him how we did."
"How did you?" Harry asks.
"I hit him with a blast of magic and knocked him through the wall. Then your father ran him through with his sword. This hasn't been relevant before but your father's sword has a few dozen curses on it courtesy of the Archbishop, makes it not so bad at killing ghosts. To be clear that's definitely necessary given their daily routine," I say, coming over to look at what he's gotten out.
"That's fair. I'm not even going to worry about that. All right, so we need to stop this spirit from attacking us, that's step one. Step two is find out why. Step three is give him the chance at salvation," he says, "Does he have no family—no one who might reason with him?"
"Ah—," I was not assuming we were going so far as step two or three. I kind of thought we were just going to kill him. Okay this is the more moral choice though. "Yeah—I don't think so. He tried to kill his mother but she lived. I can try to find out why he's doing what he's doing, or what he thinks he's doing. But that's after we actually catch him."
"Agreed," Prince Harry nods, "Of course. I pity him cursed that's all. And we know he was ill and suffering. Perhaps if I can prove to him I have no quarrel with him and right whatever injustice he perceives then he'll agree to cease."
"Possibly," but probably not. I do give people (cough, his father) the benefit of the doubt a lot. But I myself saw the extent of Kit's madness at the end of the last book when he tried to kill me as I offered him aid. I don't put much hope in reaching him.
"We'll try. All right, as you said, first things first we do need to capture him. I'm poor help on this I realize but—the last amulet I've read of that could possibly entrap a ghost was in my great grandfather's possession, he'd gotten from his father Edward III who got it on campaign I believe, but it and several of his other artifacts were destroyed in the Savoy fire," he says, sorting in his desk, "This is all that was recovered."
He places a small, broken sort of box—? into my hand. It's metal and has intricate carvings on the outside. It's hot with magic, but all the spells are clearly destroyed.
Complete side bar, but the 'Savoy Fire' happened during the peasants revolt, when John of Gaunt, this boy's great grandfather, who was a majority land holder in England, decided to raise taxes on the majority of England, creating an economic crisis, leading to a revolt of all the peasants. He did this, and then went off to Scotland to watch. Why did he do it? Well, his nephew whom he was sort of legal guardian of, Richard II, was on the throne had been for a couple of years, age fourteen, and the Privy Council who was in charge of Richard and the government, kept slighting John of Gaunt and not allowing him access to the young King. I realize I talk a lot about how dramatic and petty our King Henry is, but he was absolutely born and bred like this. John of Gaunt is one of the most dramatic, extra, horny people you will ever read about, it's his dramatic petty descendants that cause the War of the Roses, that is the level of chaos in this gene pool.
Now, none of that matters to my current Mcguffin, but it's important to me that you know that. Yes, the peasant's revolt is a bit more complicated than that, but I am not economics major, that's in brief what happened. Richard II quelled the revolt by the way, he gave a speech to the people, and when rioters attacked his guard he bravely said 'I am your captain, follow me' and led them out of the throng. They were attacked again and he wound up giving the order for his men to attack. This wasn't bloody or ruthless, he was fourteen and trying to get out alive and he asked the rioters for peace, and promised them he heard what was wrong and was going to try to fix things.
Anyway, the revolt ended partly because he wasn't afraid to use force, and he did get his uncle to lower the taxes. Interestingly I haven't found any proof he blamed Gaunt for this incident, like I don't know if ever actually realized how his fault it was. That makes Richard sound stupid, but to be clear he was fourteen I don't think a lot of us are all that smart when we're fourteen. Unless we're Henry V, but I don't usually count him as a person.
Anyway. John of Gaunt was insanely rich, partially because he was a financial and mathematical wizard (yeah he'd be really proud of his grandson, Henry V), and partly due to advantageous marriages. He was very good with numbers, very clever, overall a great businessman, his net worth is estimated to be in the billions in today's dollars or pounds. Thankfully (?) he used these smarts and money primarily to get laid, instead of invade countries, except for the Castille incident I don't have time to explain here. Okay, I do, but I realize you probably want me to get back on topic eventually and I've got John of Gaunt material all day. Anyway, because of many children from all of his extra-martial and curricular relationships, we get the War of the Roses.
But then we have Henry V and he doesn't use the money/schemes to get women and he still starts wars. So I think the lesson here is you don't win with Lancaster men, or England doesn't win, you just survive them. Prince Harry, future Henry VI, is not involved in that. He's excused. He neither fornicates nor starts wars he tries to protect himself and he mostly does that non-violently too. I'm really shocked that there aren't more rumors of him being illegitimate based solely off the fact that he's not a pyromaniac harbinger of chaos with a genius IQ and limited regard for other people' s wives and property. That sounds mean and yes, yes they are. Don't get me wrong, I adore these guys I'm sure I'll find a way to bring up more John of Gaunt stories before this trilogy is over.
"As you said, it's broken," I sigh, turning it over in my hand.
"Can you perhaps get another one?" Prince Harry asks, hopefully.
"All right, so before I say my suggestion, I'm aware you're going to take it negatively," I say, holding up my hands.
"No," Prince Harry says, shaking his head a little.
"I create a trace on it—I can go back to some point in its history, just like I did with the necklace that led me to Kit Wren. Then I use my amulet to come home," I tap the iron ring on my finger.
"No, we agreed Gideon. We don't know how all of this even works, messing with time is dangerous especially if you're not doing it linearly," he sighs, shaking his head.
"Minimal impact, less than a day. I go, I fetch it, I return here, we use it, I put it back in the proper time," I sigh.
"How do you even plan on—borrowing an expensive artifact—from who? My great grandfather?"
"No ah—I was thinking Edward III's court. Look, if I had to pick a court of England to talk my way into and nicely ask to borrow something, it would be yourself, Edward III, or Edward II. I know you don't know this, but your great-great-great grandfather was like your dad, but like, more fun, the number of times he just adopted and befriended a commoner and randomly helped them out is greater than three, not going to go into very fun stories now. But seriously, I prove I'm a wizard and offer to return it there's like, a great chance they say yes. And given everybody's lifestyle in that court nobody's going to think twice of the incident, it'll affect nothing," I plead, "We have—no leads on any other ways to catch Kit right now—and what if he was supposed to go after all of the princes? Damn good way to get back at your father for something."
Harry sighs, putting a hand through his hair, "Just get it and put it back."
"Of course," I will also do my best to talk to historical figures who were important therapy to me as a child. But that's for me. I get this one thing.
"Your whole body is shaking like it does when you're happy."
"I'm not saying I'm not going to enjoy myself. I'm saying it's an okay idea. I can't do it now though, I'm way too tired," I say, "I'm hoping Kit is as well. Seriously I'll try to make this quick."
"Okay," Prince Harry nods, a little, "Can you do the trace yourself?"
"Goodness no, I'm not wasting all that energy. I'm making Courtenay help. It's good for him. He'll wonder what I'm up to anyway," I say.
"But he doesn't know about—messing with time," Prince Harry frowns. It's quite true we've kept Courtenay and King Henry in the dark like a lot about how much we know about me switching time periods. We thought that King Henry did not need new information regarding lands or people he might want to conquer. Wouldn't be good for him, he's got plenty of globe here.
"No, of course not! I'll just tell him I'm getting it he doesn't need to know how. I'll be sketchy with details, but those traces wear me out and we don't need me at zero strength by the time I get back," I say.
"No, definitely not, all right," he sighs rubbing his face, "What do you want to do now then? I can't sleep."
Now, you would think I couldn't get this kid to fall asleep again, by suggesting he sit down while I badly quote the Bible. And you would be wrong. He sits down on a chair, the puppy crawls in his lap, and he almost immediately passes out.
"I bring you good tidings of great joy that shall be to all people—and surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life—twenty loaves and twenty fish—and he's out all right," I mutter, lying down on the floor. I'm exhausted myself. If only Myrddin would fall asleep that easy. No, he requires fifteen little magic games, it's really fun actually he just plays himself to sleep. Lowri likes to be rocked back and forth and sung to in Welsh, which is also sweet but she's a light sleeper it's hard to put her down. I'm a heavy sleeper which is usually a problem. I'd like to crawl under this rug but I'm too tired. I just curl up, my face in my arm, and let myself drift to sleep.