THOTH & MORVEREN
Thoth pressed his forehead against the cold window, listlessly watching the grey rain beat against the glass.
This wing, the short term one, was quiet. Someone had come in earlier with a sprained wrist, but had been allowed to leave without having to stay the night. The only other movement came when nurses bustled past into the long-term ward or their offices. Morveren, who was easily the most exciting thing in the hospital most of the time, was asleep on the foot of his bed. Thoth’s corner was so clean and tidy that anyone who knew him was liable to be suspicious: the white sheets were dirt-free, as was he, and his pile of books was stacked neatly on the floor next to the bed. The only ‘mess’ was the book he’d last been working from, which was open on the bedside table and half-obscured by pieces of paper with hastily scribbled notes on them. The book, A Concise Dictionary of Middle Egyptian, the most comprehensive dictionary of the ancient language which Thoth possessed, stayed out all the time now. Barely a day went past when he wasn’t harassed by some guard or administrator who thought they’d found a combination parchment and needed it translated.
Tristan had long since been discharged, in spite of the fact that he’d been kept longer than strictly necessary ‘just to be on the safe side’. Thoth had been discharged four times, but always seemed to wind back in here by the time the week was up. It didn’t take much - a slip on the stairs, a knock from one of the other kids, losing his balance when Morveren jumped up at him - and his still-healing bones would snap again. Thoth was used to being in and out of hospital - he had for most of his life - but he’d never been this badly hurt before. He didn’t seem to be getting better. Every time it seemed like he was starting to heal, something else would go wrong.
As if that wasn’t enough, guilt kept him awake at night and, when he did sleep, it was frequently disturbed by pain or bad dreams. He’d spent his fourteenth birthday in the prison under Apeliotes Island. Nimueh had tried to make a fuss of it when he’d come back, even baking a cake, but Thoth wasn’t interested. He didn’t feel fourteen; he felt five. Only an idiot five year-old would drag the Prince of Shaman to his near-death on pirate island.
The door at the far end of the room swung open again, but he didn’t bother looking round. He’d long since learnt the footsteps of all the healers who worked in the castle, but this one was unfamiliar - someone from the academy, then. Dr Gupta came by every week to give him a check-up, although he’d said last time that he’d be sending his brightest apprentice in his place. Thoth didn’t really care who poked and prodded him. He’d seen so many doctors in his life that they tended to all blur together. As the footsteps echoed across the stone floor Thoth finally removed his forehead from the window, leaving behind the imprint of his skin, and turned a little grudgingly. His expression lifted in surprise when he saw who it was.
“You,” he blinked at Danny.
|
|
