So far the trio had been permitted to proceed without additional delay. They were obviously law-abiding, hard-working Pragans, already burdened with caring for the simple-minded giant, hardly the sort to be out there killing armed soldiers with their fists, or burning Malagon’s galleons in late-night raids.
Hannah remained silent during the interrogations, allowing Hoyt to work his special magic and gain them safe passage for the next leg of their journey. Every time they were stopped, she was conscious that she could get them captured, or even killed almost instantly: her underwear and her socks were a dead giveaway that she was not a local peasant. Hannah had initially made the decision to keep her bra, her panties and her socks because she had no idea what women in Eldarn wore beneath their clothing. She couldn’t face making a trip on foot without socks, and there was no way she was going to hike for untold miles in scratchy homespun wool without underwear. She decided that as long as she never disrobed where anyone could see her, there would be no problem.
Now she was regretting choosing comfort over caution. Every time they were stopped her heart missed a beat: what if they were searched? What if some randy soldier decided to have a tug at her tunic? Whilst her underwear was not especially racy or provocative, it was certainly not from Eldarn. There would be no hiding it – especially not if it rained; Hannah was terrified that her breasts would give them away more than any verbal slip she might make as a wet tunic plastered against her body would display the unnatural ability of her breasts to defy gravity. They might not be especially large or cumbersome, especially not by American standards, but they did benefit from the support of her bra.
Hannah, guessing Malakasian men were no different in that regard to any man in her world, began to hunch over and tug at the front of her tunic every time soldiers approached and as they moved through the checkpoints.
‘What in all the rutting world is wrong with you?’ Hoyt asked in a harsh whisper as a mounted platoon trotted slowly southwards. ‘Appearing to have one intellectually challenged individual is enough for us. We don’t need you playing at loopy as well.’
‘It’s my-’ Hannah struggled for the word as her boots made strangled sucking noises. ‘It’s my – my figure.’
Trying not to laugh as the soldiers cantered by, Hoyt asked, ‘What’s wrong with your figure?’
‘What do you mean, what’s wrong with my figure?’ Hannah hadn’t intended to sound quite so indignant.
‘ Nothing ’s wrong with your figure; that’s not what I meant. Bleeding whores! Do you see those soldiers? Are we having this conversation now?’ There was a slightly frantic tone in Hoyt’s voice. ‘I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with your figure. Your figure is fine… nice even… Demonpiss! What’s it got to do with you acting like a halfwit?’ He turned as the platoon lieutenant rode past and said, ‘Morning sir.’
‘It’s coming up now because, if you haven’t noticed, my figure has a way of presenting itself, especially in the rain, for any man’s enjoyment. Any soldier ’s enjoyment. For God’s sake, Hoyt, look at my breasts!’
Hoyt chuckled. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, but that is something of a neat trick. I know a few women in Southport I’d like you to teach it to.’ The last of the horsemen passed, their mounts churning the roadway into mud. ‘What is it, some kind of corset or something?’
‘Or something, yes, but it appears to work… better. I don’t know how, but it supports more completely than whatever Pragan women wear.’ Hannah was hideously embarrassed, fighting the flush rising in her cheeks.
Churn grunted his amusement at the absurd way his friends were carrying on.
Hannah made another self-conscious adjustment before going on, ‘So, until it stops raining or until I get to a town where I can acquire something more appropriate and throw mine away, I have to resort to rolling my shoulders and tugging a bit at the front of this deplorably hot and itchy tunic you provided me to stop it clinging in such a revealing fashion. So, if that means you have to spin a tale about travelling with two palseated lunatics instead of one, then I suggest you get creative, my friend.’
At that Churn bellowed, a curious belly-laugh that sounded both joyous and somehow tragic, a fanfare blown through a broken tuba.
‘Fine,’ Hoyt gave up and started laughing himself. ‘You deal with your- er, “figure”, and I will come up with a convincing story as to why I’m travelling with a woman whose “figure” is so very pointed in the rain!’
Hannah finally chuckled too, despite her fear that something as stupid and embarrassing as her underwear might get them caught. Then she changed the subject and asked, ‘Tell me more about Alen Jasper.’
Hoyt was happy to comply; he too was blushing by now and the pair of them looked like twin victims of mild heatstroke. ‘Alen. He’s an interesting man. I’ve known him since I was young; I guess I know him as well as anyone. He taught me to read when I was a boy – that might not sound like much, but I was never very good at getting myself to school and without him, I probably would be illiterate; I certainly wouldn’t know anything about healing and medicine.’
‘Is he a doctor as well?’
‘No.’ Hoyt searched for an explanation. ‘When Prince Marek came to power, what, almost a thousand Twinmoons ago-’ He stopped as Hannah looked confused and started again. ‘When Marek took over, let’s say five or six generations ago, he closed all the universities, and over time, the idea of studying to be a doctor was lost. These days our healers all learn through oral tradition. We don’t officially call ourselves doctors, because we still have a sense of what doctors used to be. I’ve learned more than many, but even I don’t have nearly the education they did before the Grayslip family collapsed.’
‘That’s a tragedy. How can a ruler have let his land get so debased?’
‘I have no idea, but there isn’t much I can do about it now. Even if we could get the universities open again, we don’t have any practising doctors, proper doctors, to re-create the teaching programmes.’ He kicked a thick wad of mud off the toe of one boot. ‘There isn’t anyone left alive who knows what we need to learn.’
‘How did you learn?’
‘Alen helped.’ Hoyt gestured for Churn to turn around, then reached into the bigger man’s pack and withdrew a wineskin. ‘He taught me a great deal himself, but more importantly, he gave me books and told me where to find more.’
‘Are books that scarce?’
‘Apart from those we study in school, they’re very rare. I would probably be hanged for a full Twinmoon if anyone found the books I have stashed outside Southport.’
Hannah’s head swam. It was all too much to believe – what kind of place was this? What kind of person was Prince Marek – how could anyone condone such a brutally narrow-minded policy? ‘How did Mr Jasper get so many medical books if he isn’t a doctor?’ she asked.
‘Alen,’ Hoyt corrected her. ‘That’s a great question, because the books he gave me are old. They’re jammed full of medical knowledge and procedures, and they’re eight hundred, maybe nine hundred Twinmoons old. None of them came off any underground or outlaw presses operating in Praga today.’ Hoyt took a drink and passed the skin to Hannah. ‘My guess is that he somehow found a way into an old university library and stole the books.’
‘That doesn’t sound so outrageous.’
‘Well, it is when you think that all our university libraries were razed to the ground when Marek came to power.’
‘They must have missed one.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Marek to me.’ Hoyt was doubtful. ‘But anyway, after Alen gave me the initial collection, he told me where to find more, all over Praga, hidden in dilapidated buildings, forest cottages, cabins along the seashore, all kinds of places. And can you guess what I discovered?’
‘They were all old?’
‘Right.’ Hoyt retrieved the skin and passed it back to Churn, who drank nearly half of what was left before corking it and stuffing it back in his pack. ‘They were all old texts, not illegally printed books or manuscripts from the Pragan underground, but rather, all vintage stuff. Medical journals and leather-bound treatises.’