soothing Michael. 'Are you?' he replied, and was shocked at the weakness of his voice. 'So am I.'
The servants finally bowed out. Horn said, 'Perhaps we are destined to become better acquainted, then,' his voice heavy with innuendo.
Michael sneezed violently. It was timely but unintentional. He found himself genuinely relieved to realise that he really did feel horrible. His head ached, and he was going to sneeze again. 'I think', he said, 'that I had better go home.'
'Oh, surely not,' said Horn. 'I can offer you hospitality overnight.'
'No, really,' said Michael, as miserably as he could. 'I can see I'm going to be no fit company for anyone tonight.' He
coughed, praying that Horn's persistence would not outlast his courtesy.
'Pity,' said Lord Horn, flicking an invisible bit of thread from his coat into the fire. 'Shall I order you up the carriage, then?'
'Oh, please no, don't bother. I'm just a few streets away.'
'A torchman, then? It wouldn't do to have you falling again.'
'Yes, thank you.'
His wet overclothes were brought steaming from the drying fire. At least the water was warm. He walked home, tipped the torchman, and climbed the stairs to his bedroom with a candle, leaving his clothes in piles on the floor for his servants to find.
Michael slipped between cold sheets in a heavy bedgown, a handkerchief balled in his fist, and waited for sleep to overcome him.
Chapter V
The next day came cold and sullen. Layers of grey cloud blanketed the sky. From Riverside the effect was oppressive: the river roiled yellow and grey between the banks, swirling darkly about the struts of the bridge. Above it stretched the city's warehouses and commercial buildings, interrupted only.by patches of dirty snow. Richard St Vier got up early and put on his best clothes: he had an appointment in the city to pick up the second half of his payment for the Lynch fight.
It was a substantial amount, which only he could be sure of carrying back into Riverside unscathed. He was to meet someone, probably the servant of the agent of the banker of the noble who'd hired him, in a neutral place where the money could be handed over.
Both St Vier and his patrons appreciated the formalities of discretion in these matters.
From the Hill the view was quite another matter. The distant rivers glittered, and houses sent up cosy trails of smoke. The sky stretched out forever in rippling layers of silver, pewter and iron, over the domes of the Council Hall, the University walls and ancient Cathedral towers, on across the eastern plain and into the tiny hills.
Michael Godwin awoke at noon, having slept a round twelve hours, feeling remarkably fit. He coughed experimentally, and felt his throat, but the cold that last night had threatened to overwhelm him seemed to have vanished
Just then his manservant came in to rouse him. Michael had forgotten his promise to dine with his friend Tom Berowne that afternoon. There was just enough time to dress and wash. His dry, clean, nicely pressed clothes felt remarkably luxurious after last night's escapades. He put the memory behind him and went whistling out of the door.
Dinner was predictably excellent. His friend's cook was legendary, and Lord Thomas was full of gossip. Some of it, gratifyingly, was about him. Bertram, Rossillion's son, had lost 30 royals gambling in a popular club last night, and as he left the table had been heard to damn Michael Godwin.
Michael shrugged angelically. 'I wasn't even there. Felt a cold coming on, and stayed in all evening with a hot brick. Oh, much ' better now, thanks. Poor Bertram!'
He was in no hurry to get home. There might be a note waiting from Bertram, or, worse yet, one from Lord Horn. What a lot of trouble from one night! Of course he would run into Bertram sooner or later. Better make it sooner and turn up at the club tonight after supper.
He could tell Bertram pretty stories, and take him home with him. Horn, on the other hand... hadn't he mentioned the
The servants finally bowed out. Horn said, 'Perhaps we are destined to become better acquainted, then,' his voice heavy with innuendo.
Michael sneezed violently. It was timely but unintentional. He found himself genuinely relieved to realise that he really did feel horrible. His head ached, and he was going to sneeze again. 'I think', he said, 'that I had better go home.'
'Oh, surely not,' said Horn. 'I can offer you hospitality overnight.'
'No, really,' said Michael, as miserably as he could. 'I can see I'm going to be no fit company for anyone tonight.' He
coughed, praying that Horn's persistence would not outlast his courtesy.
'Pity,' said Lord Horn, flicking an invisible bit of thread from his coat into the fire. 'Shall I order you up the carriage, then?'
'Oh, please no, don't bother. I'm just a few streets away.'
'A torchman, then? It wouldn't do to have you falling again.'
'Yes, thank you.'
His wet overclothes were brought steaming from the drying fire. At least the water was warm. He walked home, tipped the torchman, and climbed the stairs to his bedroom with a candle, leaving his clothes in piles on the floor for his servants to find.
Michael slipped between cold sheets in a heavy bedgown, a handkerchief balled in his fist, and waited for sleep to overcome him.
Chapter V
The next day came cold and sullen. Layers of grey cloud blanketed the sky. From Riverside the effect was oppressive: the river roiled yellow and grey between the banks, swirling darkly about the struts of the bridge. Above it stretched the city's warehouses and commercial buildings, interrupted only.by patches of dirty snow. Richard St Vier got up early and put on his best clothes: he had an appointment in the city to pick up the second half of his payment for the Lynch fight.
It was a substantial amount, which only he could be sure of carrying back into Riverside unscathed. He was to meet someone, probably the servant of the agent of the banker of the noble who'd hired him, in a neutral place where the money could be handed over.
Both St Vier and his patrons appreciated the formalities of discretion in these matters.
From the Hill the view was quite another matter. The distant rivers glittered, and houses sent up cosy trails of smoke. The sky stretched out forever in rippling layers of silver, pewter and iron, over the domes of the Council Hall, the University walls and ancient Cathedral towers, on across the eastern plain and into the tiny hills.
Michael Godwin awoke at noon, having slept a round twelve hours, feeling remarkably fit. He coughed experimentally, and felt his throat, but the cold that last night had threatened to overwhelm him seemed to have vanished
Just then his manservant came in to rouse him. Michael had forgotten his promise to dine with his friend Tom Berowne that afternoon. There was just enough time to dress and wash. His dry, clean, nicely pressed clothes felt remarkably luxurious after last night's escapades. He put the memory behind him and went whistling out of the door.
Dinner was predictably excellent. His friend's cook was legendary, and Lord Thomas was full of gossip. Some of it, gratifyingly, was about him. Bertram, Rossillion's son, had lost 30 royals gambling in a popular club last night, and as he left the table had been heard to damn Michael Godwin.
Michael shrugged angelically. 'I wasn't even there. Felt a cold coming on, and stayed in all evening with a hot brick. Oh, much ' better now, thanks. Poor Bertram!'
He was in no hurry to get home. There might be a note waiting from Bertram, or, worse yet, one from Lord Horn. What a lot of trouble from one night! Of course he would run into Bertram sooner or later. Better make it sooner and turn up at the club tonight after supper.
He could tell Bertram pretty stories, and take him home with him. Horn, on the other hand... hadn't he mentioned the
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