Kitty's Keeper/No Clean Blades

VII

As soon as Paul was settled in his bed, Carum collapsed into the nearest chair. Their labors left them exhausted, not to mention emotionally spent. However, though they were uncomfortably aware of how they came to be in this situation, they weren't sure why. In fact, they couldn't recall much of anything between Paul throwing a fist of gold smoke in their face and finding their surprisingly genuine dagger in his stomach. "Paul?"

Paul turned to them. "Yeah?"

"What...happened? Why did I...You know...?"

Paul explained the use and function of the smoke, as well as the extent of the resulting hallucinations. "You did very well. You care greatly for the old man, and plan to care just as greatly for the Cult of Fab."

Carum nodded more in understanding than gratitude, but thanked him anyway. "Thank you, Paul. However, can I ask that we not use the smoke again? Not without my knowledge, at least."

Paul sank into the stack of pillows the acolyte propped up behind him. "Of course. You'll see no more surprises from me."

Carum smiled at that, but only for a moment. The final vestiges of their stress and excitement finally faded, drowned by a sudden wave of nausea so severe it took all they had not to hack like a gagging cat. "Paul?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Might I trouble you for a bucket?"

A bucket bathed in gold aura landed in their lap. "Here ye are. But why do you—"

Carum immediately began to vomit.

"Ah." Paul reached over and pat their back. "Let it out, dear. Let it out."

Carum panted, then vomited anew. Paul, meanwhile, couldn't believe that someone who handled sharp hooks and fish guts on a boat for most of their life could have such a sensitive stomach. Oh, well. He'd fix that in due time.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Carum's stomach was emptied and the human slumped in the chair in exhaustion once more. Paul teleported the pitcher of water from the bar to his bedroom and bade them drink. "Your stomach is hot and dry right now. You need something cool and wet, or you'll be thrown out of balance."

Carum finished two glasses before Paul could finish his explanation. Their nausea was tamed, that much was clear from their posture, but the acolyte was still pensive.

Paul cocked his head. "What ails you, dear? Stomach still upset?"

"No."

"Do you fear my wrath? Remember, it was an accident. If anything, it's my fault. And the others will understand that."

They shook their head. "No, that's not it either, though I thank you for the comfort."

Paul frowned. "Then pray, what is it? What clouds your mood so?"

"May I speak freely?"

The siren straightened. "Of course you can."

Despite this, Carum proceeded with caution. "Did you...plan this? Plan to get hurt, I mean. Was it all a plot to teach me healing techniques in praxis?"

Paul sat in stunned silence for a moment, then stoic silence for a moment longer. When he spoke, he spoke suddenly, all familiar cheer absent in his voice. "Did we not establish that I dislike trials by fire?"

"Yes, but—"

"Carum, that fucking hurt. I have to nurse these aches for hours. I'm going to bear bruises for weeks! No, it wasn't planned!"

Carum flinched. "Duly noted. Forgive me."

Paul softened and sighed. "No, forgive me, love. I shouldn't have taken that tone with you. It's the injury I'm cross with. You performed spectacularly—calm, cooperative, efficient. I couldn't be more proud."

Carum nodded, still shaken though understanding.

Paul leaned against the pillows again. "Now how do y'feel?"

"Still rather poorly, despite it all."

"I see. Well, you know what I do when I feel down?"

"What?"

"I sing a song!" He snapped his fingers and a hurdy gurdy appeared in his lap. "Sing a song, any song, dear, and I'll join in!"

They sighed. What did they have to lose? "Alright. But I must warn you, I'm not very good."

Paul waved away their humbleness. Carum shrugged.

"Yesterday...

All my troubles seemed so far away,

Now it looks as though they're here to stay,

Oh, I believe in yesterday..."

Paul gave them a look, but decided not to interrupt. Instead, he focused on his hurdy and played the accompanying chords.

"Suddenly...

I'm not half the man I used to be,

There's a shadow hanging over me..."