Edmund's ReturnEdmund stirred slowly. His eyes stung and he itched all over. Seeing a shadowy figure move above him he attempted to speak but only emitted a dry rasp.
“Lay still boy” the voice was deep and gruff , vaguely familiar. Edmund felt the coldness of a flannel being applied to his brow before slipping back into unconsciousness.
Bert sat by the forlorn figure of his nephew and turned over in his mind the events of the past few months. In part he blamed himself for not having seen the signs earlier but Edmund had been so buoyed up when he first started experimenting with poisons.
“Take a look at that Uncle”. Edmund held up the green dripping dagger for Bert to inspect.
“Wait ‘til the Yewians get a taste of it”
Bert didn’t approve. For one thing it lacked honour in his mind and, more importantly to Bert, the poison would tarnish the blade.
“If you worked at the forge like some of us” he retorted “you’d treat yer weapons with a little more respect!”
But Edmund had only laughed and bid a quick farewell before disappearing through the door to try out the freshly tainted weapon.
A small wound had been opened between the two men and it would fester, it would grow.
Over the following weeks Edmund increasingly spent his evenings huddled over his blades with pots of poisons trying different methods of application. The occasional accident seemed no more than a trifling inconvenience at first but as his skill and the strength of the poisons he used increased the smallest of nicks would send him into convulsions unless he could quickly gulp down an antidote potion. However, Edmund found in those few seconds before the effects of the poison were neutralised he had moments of extreme clarity of thought and visions full of vibrant colour and meaning. He wanted more.
Bert was not sure when Edmund had taken to chewing the nightshade used in so many of the poisons he used but the signs became obvious, the blackening of his teeth, the red blotchy rash visible on his face and hands and the clouding of his eyes. It all added to Bert’s disapproval of his nephew’s activities and for his part Edmund grew increasingly irritated at his Uncle’s attempts to turn him away from the poisoner’s craft.
Bert was growing desperate. He could see the slow physical decline of his nephew and yet was unable to reason with him so he took it upon himself to remove the vile paraphernalia from their home smashing it at the anvil or burning it on the forge. As the last vial of poison crashed into the flames and sent it’s acrid smoke billowing up the chimney Bert looked up from his labours to see Edmund silhouetted in the doorway, a green glint flashed from the dagger at his side.
“What have you done uncle?” The voice was a low growl. Bert swallowed hard as Edmund drew his blade
“What have you done?” The question louder, more insistent.
Suddenly Edmund charged letting out a screeching cry as he did so. Bert ducked, dodged the blow and ran for his life.
For some days Bert did not dare return to the house but in the end hunger drove him to it. Without his tools and forge he had no way to make a living and he was not skilled enough to hunt for his food. His knocking on the heavy wooden door was answered by the sound of approaching feet and of bolts being drawn but when the door opened it was the face of a stranger that greeted him.
“Yes, what do you want?” Bert was taken aback
“Want?” he retorted “I bloody live ‘ere”
“Ah, I assume you’re Bert Baxter?” the stranger asked. Bert nodded sharply
“Well then this is for you” The stranger thrust a piece of parchment into Bert hand “and you don’t live here, I do, I bought this place two days ago” a smug grin spread across his face “at a bargain price too”.
Bert felt the blood drain from his face. Lost for any appropriate response he managed to stammer “my tools….I….I….need my tools”. The stranger said nothing but disappeared for a few moments before returning with a heavy canvas bag that clanked as he dragged it across the floor. He threw it down unceremoniously at Bert’s feet.
“There you are” he proclaimed “now get off my property” and slammed the door in Bert’s face.
Still numb with shock Bert opened the note. In a large spidery hand, just recognisable as Edmunds, were two words
“Forgive me”
Bert felt the tears welling in his eyes, picking up the bag he slung it over his shoulder and began to walk. The direction seemed unimportant. He just walked………….
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Bert had never had much belief in fate or the guiding hand of a higher power but if there were such a thing it guided his steps that day. After a few hours walking he had regained his composure and had been mulling over what he was to do next. His first thoughts were to find Edmund but with two days start and no idea where he was heading the chances of finding him were pretty slim. What he needed, Bert decided, was a tracker and for that he needed money. Checking his bearings as best he could Bert turned South towards, he hoped, Vesper, the nearest town, in search of employment and it was on his way there, on the outskirts of town, slumped against the Northern bridge, that he found Edmund, barely alive, delirious and blind.
Bert was gladdened to have found his nephew but could see he was close to death unless he could get help soon. Of more immediate concern was that Edmund still wore the uniform of a Covian scout and Bert was none too sure how welcome he would be in town. Quickly carrying Edmund out of sight, under the bridge, he set about removing his armour and stuffing it into his pack. Once done he picked him up and carried him to the nearest inn.
The next few weeks were a routine of work and tending Edmund. A few coin had bought a bed and some healing potions but it was clear that Edmunds recovery would be long and slow. What was more the inn keeper was a suspicious fellow and, Bert felt, it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together and reported Edmunds presence to the authorities. As soon as he calculated Edmund was well enough to move he packed up their few belongings, bought a horse for Edmund and set out towards a small house he had rented close to Cove. At least, he thought, we shall be safe there.
The journey had taken a lot out Edmund and as soon as Bert had carried him into the house and laid him on the bed Edmund fell into a feverish sleep although he was clearly getting better. Colour was returning to his face, his temperature was falling and the milky clouds in his eyes clearing slightly. After two days Edmund began to stir, at first only remaining conscious for a few moments and occasionally trying to speak but, eventually, he was able to croak hoarsely “Where am I?”
Bert smiled and he squeezed Edmunds hand at hearing him speak for the first time in over a month.
“My boy” he said softly “We’re home”
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