Right to Know by Edward Willett

Author:Edward Willett [Willett, Edward]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-07-16T02:59:18+00:00

Chapter Nine

Rain sleeted against the windows as Art slumped in a chair at Kymbal’s kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket which burned against his damaged skin but he snuggled into nonetheless. His host’s blonde wife, Melissa, bustled from cabinet to refrigerator to stove, preparing the first real food Art had seen in…how long?

Melissa obviously had dozens of questions, but just as obviously had decided to put them off until she had seen to the needs of her unexpected guest. Art smiled at her when she set stew, bread and cheese before him. “Thank you,” he said, and she nodded in return.

Though his mouth watered at the savory odor, he waited until Kymbal and Lorn were also served before taking his first spoonful of the stew—and then it was all he could do to keep from gulping it down. When at last he sat back, feeling more human than he had since leaving the Skywatchers’ sanctuary, Melissa’s mouth quirked. “Well, Mr. Stoddard, I’ll take that as a compliment to my cooking.”

He blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

Melissa waved off his protest. “Nothing to apologize for. You obviously needed it.” She gave her husband a sharp look with her bright blue eyes. “Now, if someone will tell me exactly what is going on—”

Kymbal nodded to Art. “Go ahead.”

He sighed and hitched his chair a little closer to the table, leaning his elbows on it. “Well,” he began, “you might say I’m not as young as I look…”

Melissa listened to his tale in astonished silence, while Kymbal gazed into the fire and Lorn listened with a grin that gave way to a yawn as Art again told of his escape/kidnapping from the detention centre in the capital city (which, he learned from Melissa, was called Bagnell, after the captain of the first Umstattd-drive scoutship to land on Peregrine). By the time Art had brought his adventures up to date, the boy slept soundly, head pillowed in his arms.

Melissa’s first bundled her protesting son off to bed, where his four-year-old sister Lisa had gone before Art arrived. She returned to the table and poured all three of them a cup of something called “kuf” that might have been an indirect descendent of the semicaf they drank on the Mayflower II—itself a synthetic version of true coffee, which, it was generally supposed, only the Captain still had a store of to drink. Art sipped the kuf cautiously and found it tasted slightly better than it smelled—but only slightly.

“So what will you do now?” Melissa said.

Art warmed his hands on the cup. “I don’t know.”

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. You’re in no condition to go anywhere right away in any event. Recuperate first, then worry about what comes next.”

Art looked at Kymbal, who started to say something, stopped, then shrugged. “She’s right.”

“Of course I’m right,” said Melissa. “And now, Mr. Stoddard, as Marc may or may not have told you, I have had some medical training. Let’s have a look at you…”

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