“In spades,” Quinn admitted.
“Can’t fault you for that,” the man said. “My name’s Orval, but most everyone calls me Red. I used to have red hair, back before it all fell out.”
“I’m Quinn.”
The healer washed the wound first with water, then he poured strong alcohol over the wound. The burning was intense.
“That’s strong stuff,” Quinn said.
“It’s only for medicinal purposes. Pure grain alcohol. I don’t flavor it or age it. It cleans wounds and helps keep the flesh from rotting.”
Next he mixed a poultice using oats and some other herbs to make a thick paste. Once he had it mixed, he used a curved needle to stitch the wound. Then he plastered it with the poultice and wrapped the leg with a long white bandage.
“That should fix it up. I’d like to take another look at in the morning though, just to make sure there’s nothing more serious happening.”
“That’s fine,” Quinn said, as he pulled his pants back on.
He fished out the coins from his small purse and handed them to the healer.
“Ah, well that’s kind of you,” he said. “Why don’t we take two of these to Ned over at the Seaview Inn? It’ll be enough for some supper and ale, if that suits you. You can bunk here tonight if you don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“That’s very kind,” Quinn said.
“It’s no trouble,” the healer added. “I’ll be glad for the company and to not have to eat my own cooking for a change.”
Quinn leaned on the older man’s shoulder as they walked to the inn. The small village was built along the coastal road. There was a small quay with several fishing boats moored to the ancient-looking pilings. The Seaview Inn was almost exactly like every other inn Quinn had seen as he traveled up the coastal road. It was a rectangular building with a lean-to stable. There was a second story with rooms for guests. The larger first floor consisted of a large common room, kitchen, and store rooms, as well as the innkeeper’s quarters.
“Red, you’ve got a patient,” said the innkeeper happily when they entered.
“One who paid in coin,” the healer said happily. “We’ll have supper and ale, if you don’t mind.”
The innkeeper held out his hand, and Red dropped in two coppers. The man hurried away as Red helped Quinn onto a bench. The healer sat opposite from Quinn and chatted amiably while Quinn took in the room. There was no fire in the hearth, but the room was lit by candles in two large chandeliers that hung from the room’s high ceiling. There were several long tables with benches on either side. There were several guests in the room, mostly older fishermen from the looks of them. Across the room, slumped against the wall, was a familiar face. Wol was glaring at Quinn.
“Do you know that man?” Quinn asked.
Red had to turn around in his seat to see who Quinn was pointing at.
“No, can’t say that I do, why?”
“He’s one of the outlaws who tried to rob me.”
“Oh,” Red said, dropping his gaze.
“Do you have a constable in this village?” Quinn asked. “Any kind of law?”
“Not here. The coastal road villages pretty much look after themselves.”
“I’ll be right back,” Quinn said.
“Wait, where are you going?” Red asked in alarm.
“I’ve got unfinished business with that man,” Quinn said, getting up from the table.
“But you’ll bust your stitches, and get that wound bleeding again.”
“I doubt it,” Quinn said, as he hobbled away.
The room grew quiet as Quinn approached the man. He was still leaning against the wall, and he didn’t move when Quinn drew close.
“Looks like you found Dalson’s boot knife,” the outlaw said quietly.
“Yes,” Quinn admitted, “and he found that curved knife of yours. I think you should leave.”
“No, I’m staying,” said the outlaw.
“Get out, now,” Quinn said. “Don’t look back, just keep riding. If I find you waiting on me I’ll kill you.”
“I said I’m not leaving, and you can’t do anything about it. I haven’t done anything to you, and there are witnesses here who will back that up.”
“I doubt it,” Quinn said coldly. “Now, get up.”
“No,” the man said, sounding like a petulant child.
Quinn struck so fast the outlaw didn’t even have a chance to move. Quinn hit the outlaw square in the chest. It wasn’t a powerful blow, but the outlaw screamed in pain, doubling over and cradling his chest, struggling to breathe. Quinn put his hands on the table he was standing next to and kicked Wol in the side of the head with his good leg. The outlaw was knocked senseless, and Quinn searched him for weapons. He found a small utility knife and a dagger tucked into the top of his boot. There was also a small money pouch with half a dozen copper coins. Quinn took the knives and coins, then turned to the innkeeper, who had watched the confrontation from the door of his kitchens.
“Has he paid you?” Quinn asked.
“No,” the innkeeper said.
“Did he bring in any belongings?”
“Just the clothes on his back.”
“What about his horse?”
“It’s in the stable.”
“Any saddle bags?” Quinn asked.
“No, just a saddle and blanket. My boy took care of the horse and gave it good rubdown and some oats.”
“Three coppers be enough to cover that?”
“Sure,” the innkeeper said.
“Good, I’ll take the horse,” Quinn said. “Throw some water on him and send him out.”
“What if he tries to fight me?”
“He won’t,” Quinn said. “His breastbone is broken, or at least bruised. It’ll hurt him to breathe for a while I suspect, but that’s what happens when you assault innocent travelers.”
“Hear, hear,” said a few of the men in the room.
“Good riddance, then,” said the innkeeper.
Quinn noticed the other men in the room raising their mugs of ale or nodding respectfully to him as he hobbled back to his table. The innkeeper had fresh bread, a crock of butter, and mugs of frothy ale waiting for him.
“Well, now, you’re not a man to trifle with,” said Red. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man felled with one punch. It didn’t even look like you hit him very hard.”
“I didn’t. When they attacked me today I threw a knife at him while he charged me on his horse. The knife butt hit him in the chest and nearly knocked him out of the saddle. He abandoned his partner after that.”
“He’s lucky to still be alive,” Red said. “That knife could have killed him.”
“That was the intention,” Quinn said. Then he waved for the innkeeper’s son to come over as Red took a bite of bread he had just smeared with a thick layer of butter.
“Can you go to Red’s cottage and fetch back my horse? Give it a good rubdown and some oats. I’ll be riding out in the morning,” he said, flipping the boy a coin. If you can have them saddled and ready for me, with their hooves picked and clean, I’ll give you another.”
“Yes, sir!” said the boy, before hurrying out of the inn.
They spent the rest of the evening talking. Several of the local villagers joined their table, including the innkeeper, after having the outlaw dragged out of the inn. Quinn learned that the coastal villages were not doing well, since most of the shipping vessels had not been seen for weeks. He told them about the witch in Lodenhime and his journey to stop his son from being lured back there with Mansel.
They enjoyed a meal of fish stew. There was more bread and much more ale. On the walk back to Red’s cottage the two men leaned on each other. The next morning Red unwrapped Quinn’s leg and washed off the poultice. Then he sniffed the wound again.
“No sign of putrefaction,” he announced happily.
Then he applied another poultice and rewrapped the wound.
“I’m sure it’s painful, but there’s no danger of infection, I wouldn’t think,” Red explained. “Leave the bandage on for five or six more days and don’t get it wet. Then wash off the remains of the poultice and have someone remove the stitches. If you don’t have any foot races, you should be fine.”