Volk by David Nickle

Author:David Nickle [Nickle, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-5040-6427-9
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2017-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

Annie got Ruth back to the sitting room, started up a fire in the hearth, and ordered Ruth to strip off her clothes.

“I’d like to get you in a hot bath,” said Annie, “but that’ll take time to draw. So we’ll get you out of those soaking clothes. Do you need help?”

Ruth shook her head no, but she did need some help with the fasteners on her blouse, her hands were shaking so badly. Annie crumpled up paper, lit it underneath the pyramid of logs she’d made, then got Ruth started with the top two hooks.

“I’m fine,” she said after that, so Annie opened up the trunk and selected a thick woolen blanket. By the time she brought it over Ruth had stripped to her undergarments. Annie draped the blanket over Ruth’s shoulders and led her to the sofa.

“Now sit,” she commanded, and when Ruth obeyed, Annie poured brandy from a decanter that Andrew had left on the mantelpiece. Two generously filled glasses. Ruth accepted one of them, but didn’t drink.

“No one saw me,” she said.

Annie sat beside her on the sofa. You didn’t see anyone see you was what Annie thought, but what she said was: “Well that’s good. Even if they had, in this rain I don’t think they’d have gotten enough of a look. . . .”

“No one saw me,” said Ruth again. “I’m sorry I left my room. I know it created a risk. But I couldn’t stay there. In that quarantine . . .” She looked into her glass, and then lifted it to her lips. “Where’s Andrew?” she asked.

Annie explained, and Ruth listened carefully.

“Andrew doesn’t do surgery, still?” she asked.

“No,” said Annie. “Not when he can avoid it. Which is pretty well all the time. Doctor Thomas is able enough.”

“Not able enough to keep that poor woman safe,” said Ruth.

Annie sipped her brandy, and Ruth finished hers.

“It’s the damned quarantine,” she said. “It has me . . . seeing things.”

Annie rose to get the decanter, but Ruth took hold of her arm, so Annie sat back down.

“I know that this isn’t a quarantine. But do you remember when we decided on this place? We joked.”

“I remember,” said Annie. Ruth had made a joke that the Harper Foundation was long overdue to pay for a proper quarantine, after botching it so badly in Eliada. It wasn’t properly a joke—but they’d laughed at it, loud and long, all the same.

“Do you know,” said Ruth, “that I had only ever been in the quarantine at Eliada the once? And that time—that time . . .” She lifted her feet from the floor to the lip of the sofa, and let go of Annie’s arm to wrap her own arms around her knees.

“You know, all these years, I’ve had such a hard time remembering that night. I remember it began as a lark: Jason, that sweet, handsome, and very sad boy . . . an outlaw’s son . . . had told me stories of that quarantine. Quite fanciful.

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