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"Looks like the lad had himself a late night," Forde said, grinning. "If I
didn't know better, I might have thought he'd been out getting his coals
hauled at some nearby gaudy. But there isn't one and he hasn't."
When Ryan looked across he saw that Dean was fast asleep again.
He lay on his side, his hands delving between his thighs for warmth, knees up
to his chest for the same reason. His eyes were tightly shut.
"Hey, come on, son," Ryan said loudly, kneeling on the wet turf and shaking
the boy again by the shoulder. "You waiting for breakfast in bed?"
"Is it time to get up already, Dad?" The words were slurred and barely
audible. "Seems like I only just got into bed. Feel triple tired. Can I have a
few more minutes?"
"No!" Ryan replied loudly, and with more than a passing touch of anger. "You
can't."
Krysty had been walking by, carrying a copper pot of water from the small pool
that lay just beyond the fringe of trees. She paused and laid down her burden.
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"He looks pale, lover."
Ryan hadn't really noticed. In the first light of dawn, most people tended to
look pale and slightly soiled, their skins sagging and waxen from the night.
"Suppose he does." He touched Dean on the forehead with the flat of his hand.
"Doesn't feel fevered."
"Seems like I've just run ten times round a plowed field," the boy moaned.
"Get up and have something to bridge the gap between backbone and belly,"
Mildred suggested, kneeling beside Ryan, staring intently into Dean's face.
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"Yeah," the boy replied, managing something that started off as a smile, then
sort of lost its way on the road.
With an an obvious struggle Dean sat up, swaying from side to side as though
he had an ague. Mildred put an arm around his shoulders to support him.
Forde joined the group, his cavalry sword trailing in the wet grass, his boots
damp to the tops. "Got an invalid, have we? Can't have that."
"Sorry, Dad," Dean said. "I'spect I'll be better once I'm up and had some
food." Ryan helped him to his feet, holding him firmly just below the elbow.
"You know I had a triple-sick dream last night."
"What was it?" Krysty asked quickly.
"Sort of like being wrapped in a big blanket of fog. But I couldn't breathe
properly. And I was growing smaller and smaller. The room I was in was getting
bigger, and the window with the moon behind it was getting farther away. There
was someone or something behind the window that was dangerous to me.
Next thing I knew was you shaking me, Dad." The boy took a slow, deep breath.
"Feeling better now.
Think you can let me go. Yeah, definitely better."
Ryan took a cautious step away from his only child, watching him with
continuing anxiety. He glanced across and caught a similar look of concern on
Mildred's face, which did nothing to make him feel better.
The woman moved to stand close to Dean, making him open his eyes wide, telling
him to put out his tongue and cough a couple of times.
The boy obediently did what she told him.
"You haven't got any nasty pains anywhere, have you?" she asked.
"Bit of a headache and I feel a bit sick. But I'm sure I'll be all right."
Ryan noticed that Mildred was checking both sides of his throat with some
interest, as if she was looking for some specific symptoms.
Finally she patted Dean on the shoulder. "Just growing pains, I guess. Go sit
by the fire and take it easy until we get on the road again."
They all watched him walk away a little unsteadily and squat by the fire,
holding out his hands to warm himself.
"Well?" Ryan said to Mildred.
"Well, nothing. Can't find anything wrong. No swollen glands. No temperature.
Pulse is a little bit slow, but he's only just woken up."
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"Why were you looking so carefully at his neck, Mildred?" Krysty asked.
"Checking his glands. Mumps. Glandular fever. That kind of thing."
"Was that all you were looking for, Doctor?" Doc pointed the ferule of his
swordstick accusingly at her.
"I beg leave to call that statement into question, if I may."
"What're you on about, you old peckerwood?"
"Were you not looking for marks on the lad's throat? Perhaps for bite marks?"
"Maybe I was. But there weren't any."
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Forde straightened. "Vampire bats that had been sucking the lifeblood from the
boy?"
Mildred sighed. "All right. Everyone's a smart ass, it seems. Yeah, something
like that was a possibility.
No more than that. But there are no marks so it's not that."
They all broke up to go their separate ways. Jak and J.B. hadn't been a part
of the conversation and were both coming back from the trees together.
"Sky's clearing," the albino called.
While everyone else went about their business, he sat by Dean, who had rolled
up his sleeve and was peering at a small mark in the crook of his elbow.
"What's that, Dean?"
"Don't know, Jak," the boy replied. "Looks like something must've bit me in
the night."
Chapter Nine
After a bowl of steaming-hot vegetable soup, Dean seemed to recover some of
his natural vitality, though
Ryan still insisted that his son should ride in the bed of the wag driven by
Johannes Forde.
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"Rest of us'll walk," he said.
"I can walk," the boy protested.
Ryan pointed at him, his face stern. "This doesn't come under the heading of
something we can talk about, Dean. You ride. Probably not far to this ville of
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