2 The Headache Benefactor

Vardimann stuck around, occasionally popping back to keep an eye on the doctor's wagon. As the market got busier, his customers increased in number. He neatly ate lunch while treating a man with a crushed toe. It was quite fascinating to watch. The nine-toed man limped away some time later, fee-free and happy despite the pain.

The headache benefactor spent half the afternoon teaching ponies to catch apples. There were two of them, both patchy brown and white with strong legs. The one on the left was clearly the dominant mare. She didn't hesitate to rear on her hind legs to get the apple.

It was tempting to take a peek in the wagon, so he did, sneaking behind the ponies to peek through a gap in the cover. The wagon was piled with boxes and baskets, some with bits of green poking out. Vardimann stuck his nose to the gap and inhaled. There was the rich smell of cool, damp earth. Not the clotted smell of mud when dirty shoes brought it inside, but the aroma of opening the shutters on a rainy day.

One of the mares nibbled his elbow. He gave her a scratch on the head and put his eye back to the gap. Almost directly on the opposite side, was the doctor.

He was looking straight at Vardimann.

The sunlight behind him shadowed his eyes.

They're burning again. Vardimann thought. They're scorching me.

The doctor's tone was accusing. "One of my customers thought I was collecting noses for witch cures." Vardimann couldn't help it. He snorted.

The doctor shook his head and leaned back. Light spilled over his face, giving a gentler look. "Well, she ran off. I don't have any other customers at the moment, so why don't we have a chat?"

Vardimann felt something stirring inside him. An excitement. He wanted to know more about this man and his inner fire.

The name was Lukin Whitlow. He was a doctor from a neighbouring kingdom down south. He'd studied for three years at a university, but missed out on his graduation because of a belligerent classmate. As a result, he couldn't get a job, so he traveled the countryside where even his unfinished knowledge was quite welcome. Doctors were rare here, and most of them were court physicians relaxing in the lap of luxury, in exchange for bandaging a finger and the odd abortion or two. Whitlow found the phrasing quite amusing. "Not all of them are like that."

Their conversation was interrupted by a richly dressed woman, probably a merchant wife. Vardimann pegged her at least five years into marriage. He had seen their caravan. It had been ill equipped for the countryside, selling only cloths at prices that made even the most die-hard court fanatic blanch. Better for them that they stick to the towns and cities.

The woman's voice was low and warm. "I heard you would be passing by here and took a detour to meet you." This looked interesting. "I require a... service that only you can provide."

Dr Whitlow's voice was hard. "I don't do that kind of thing."

She rolled her eyes under painted lashes. "I am not talking about a crude abortion for an unwanted child. I need something to help me get a child." She rubbed her belly. "We have been trying for years."

The doctor reached into a worn leather bag that he'd kept right next to him the entire day. He brought out a brown bottle. "Take one measure into your evening wine every day." He sighed. "If it doesn't work, then there's nothing I or anyone else can do. You'd be better off adopting."

The woman gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you." She gave him a gold coin from her purse. Dr Whitlow accepted it without a murmur.

Vardimann waited until she was out of earshot. "Soooo. You like being Robin Hood, huh?"

Whitlow's eyebrows wrinkled. "Robin Hood?"

The other sang, "~he robs from the rich and he gives to the poor~"

Whitlow chuckled. "Hardly. It's just my policy to only take payment from those who can afford it. Since I grow most of the medicines I use, I'm not making a loss." He shrugged. "Most of the expensive herbs are just rare and nothing else. No use at all. I don't need to buy them."

Sometime later, the sun was starting to get low. The conversation had been interesting enough that they had talked all afternoon while tending to visitors. Dr Whitlow stretched and ruffled his hair. "Ah, I'm hungry." His stomach gurgled in agreement. "I'm gonna get some food from the inn. You coming?"

"Sure." They started walking. "You know, I had planned to leave today, but I forgot."

Whitlow laughed. "You forgot?!" He shook his head. "Whoever's waiting at home must hate your irregular schedule."

Vardimann made sure nothing was showing on his face. "Ah, I don't really have a home. I prefer to just wander about."

"Isn't that lonely?"

"Nah. I'm a loner in any case. Besides, you're hardly one to talk."

The doctor shrugged. "I do have a place in the city, where I stay for the winter." He opened the inn door and that was the end of that conversation.

The innkeeper was not happy to see the headache benefactor again, even more so when asked for a room. "We're full up; you'll have to sleep in the stable. And no drinks for you."

Vardimann seriously doubted there were no rooms, even for a small inn like this, but didn't argue. The mattress he had slept on last night had been so thin, his blanket almost doubled the height. The stable should be more pleasant.

He laid his head on the counter. "Then pleeease feeeed meeee…"

The innkeeper slapped the head with his cloth. "Shoo!" Vardimann stuck out his tongue and stalked back to Dr Whitlow's table.

The expression on his face was quite the sight. "Making friends wherever you go, huh?"

Vardimann bared his teeth. "Heh. I'm never coming back here anyway." I shrugged. "I don't backtrack. It doesn't work."

"Backtrack?"

The doctor's drink and food arrived. Vardimann distracted him by trying to steal his chicken. When he scowled, Vardimann protested "It's entirely possible he won't give me any, out of spite."

He shifted his plate away. "Be patient. He'll probably give you yesterday's leftover leftovers, cold and soggy. And then overcharge you." As if to prove him right, the plate arrived. The woman waited, holding the plate above their heads until she was paid more than twice its worth.

Vardimann thought, I guess the innkeep isn't the only one displeased with me.

Vardimann ate what he could. In the end, he just couldn't eat the broccoli. He was fine with it most of the time, but these were soaked, and he knew from past experience that if he bit one, his mouth would get flooded. The broccoli couldn't completely absorb the liquid on the plate, so they just sat there, swimming in watery, yellowish not-quite gruel.

Vardimann muttered "I could have sworn I didn't order soup." and heard the man next to him chuckle.

The next morning, Vardimann was up early again. He didn't bother waking the innkeeper for food, just took a leftover log of ham from the kitchen. After all, he had paid for it last night.

Lukin Whitlow was still sleeping in his wagon. Vardimann waved him farewell and left the village. He didn't take the north road, but followed a river that flowed west.

The weak sunlight peeked through the orange leaves and striped the forest in gold. Vardimann set off, letting his legs follow the slope of the land. Downstream was best. The river split, and he took the smaller one, down a short gully and through black rocks. The rocks tried to catch the water as it passed, but all they got were meagre palmfuls, until the water finally gave up and relaxed into a pool.

It was a difficult climb down, but worth it. It was lovely, being able to strip after the exertion and dive in. The water was murky. His hands reached out, exploring the rough stone and squishy mud. His legs beat together in the water, and he was propelled up for air, and then swiftly dove under again.

Vardimann didn't stay long. After he absorbed his fill, he pushed off from the bottom of the pool so he could leap lightly on the rock next to his pack. He dried himself off by wiping the water off with his hands, and walked naked for a while to air out.

Unfortunately, a drizzle soon began to fall. Vardimann hurriedly got dressed.

The water left the pool and led him to another village, smaller than the last. There was no inn or tavern there where he could take shelter. He had planned to walk on and camp in the woods, but was stopped by a woman.

She had kind intentions. "Are you here to visit family?"

Vardimann felt his heart thump. "Yeah. Can you tell me where their home is?"

She obliged. He followed her directions to a recently-built house by the village green. There hadn't really been enough space for a full house, so this building was just a single room. After a knock on the door, a long-hair teenage boy answered.

He seemed surprised. "Vardimann. I did not expect to see you here."

Vardimann smiled. "May I come in?"

"Sure." He stepped back. The visitor had arrived just as dinner was being served. A girl, probably fourteen, was setting out the bone knives and forks. Vardimann smiled at her and sat down at the table.

They said grace, ate, and chatted. Then it was time to sleep. The three lay on the furs in front of the fire and were soon drifting off.