Page 132 of The Knucker King

She pulled the copper knife from her satchel. “The stitches are ready to come out, and then, some exposure to the air would be beneficial to the skin.” She glanced at Margaret. “You may wish to roll some lambskin beneath the wound, just in case. Sometimes when stitches are removed, small droplets of blood follow.” The maid nodded and scuttled over to a coffer. Avice turned back to her patient, brandishing her blade. “Are you ready?”

Benjamin went even paler. “Will it hurt?”

She suppressed a snort. “No, sir. It may irritate you. It is a peculiar feeling, at most.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded his assent. Avice snicked the first stitch and tugged it through. The way her patient reacted, you would have thought he was giving birth sideways.

He threw himself back in the bed with a yelp. “Ouch! You said it would not hurt!”

She shot him a withering look, remembering how still and patient Trewoofe had been when she sewn him up, and removed his stitches. “It does not,” she scolded. “It will hurt if I accidentally nick you while you are flailing like a fish!”

“Do not speak to me that way!” he snapped, settling back into a sitting position.

“I will speak to you how I wish when you are being ridiculous,” she retorted, flexing the small knife in her grip.

Margaret dropped the lambskin on the bed and laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Mister Benjamin,” she said. “Midwife Avice is here to aid you. What can I do to help you keep still while she removes those stitches?”

His expression softened as he looked up her. “Conversation perhaps? As a distraction,” he replied. “I am here alone most days.”

“That is not quite true,” Margaret gently admonished. “I am always here, and Father Peter and Mister George were here to see you earlier today.”

Avice snicked the next stitch and studied her patient’s reaction. He wriggled and twitched but did not throw himself around in the same ridiculous manner as before.

“What did you discuss?” Margaret asked. “That is, if you are allowed to tell us. I understand it was a Moot council meeting.”

Benjamin waved away her concerns. “Just a conversation of what happened to me. We spoke about Mister Jonathan’s involvement the morning the Morgowr took my arm.” He went paler. “The events leading up to it. Whether the attack and storm were a warning from God, then this…” – he gestured to the open window – “…bizarre Spring, whether it is an award or some temptation of sorts.”

Avice listened intently as she removed another stitch. A drop of blood followed the thread as she tugged it free. She quickly placed the lambskin beneath the stump to avoid staining the expensive looking bedding.

“Oh my,” Magaret gasped. “Who could be tempting us do you think?”

Avice’s lips twitched at the theatrics. She was sure the maid was hamming it up for her benefit, to distract her patient while she removed the remaining stitches.

“The devils in the woods, the serpents in the sea and beneath the earth,” he replied dramatically. “Think of Eve and the fruit! The temptation! Could it be like that?”

She bit her tongue.

Never mind that she and Trewoofe had saved them all and given them a veritable paradise. Disregard the fact that she had suffered, before the Knucker’s intervention, to aid the villagers. Their unintended Eden was even complete with berries the size of her fist and apples bigger than her head, immediately solving the issue of sparse larders and cellars. It was as though she had magicked a solution to all her anxieties from the endless Winter during their dance, and the Moot would look on it and call it sin.

She felt hot as she cut away the last stitch. Seeming to sense her building anger, Bramble ambled over and nosed at her elbow. She dropped her hand and curled her fingers into his fur.

“I am done,” Avice stated. In more ways than one.

She removed a bottle of water, a vial of willow bark, and a vessel of yarrow powder from her satchel. She rolled her shoulders and straightened up, easing the stiffness from her neck after being crouched for so long.

“Thank you, Midwife Avice,” Margaret acknowledged with a bob of her head.

She pointed down at the medicines and explained their application to the maid. “I will take my leave now.” Bitterness twisted in her, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to bite back the words she wanted to say. She shoved on her hat and gave a curt nod. “No need to see me out. I will find my way.”

Avice slammed the door behind her and stomped down the garden path. “Did you hear them?”

Bramble trotted behind her, showing himself for all to see, his presence a warning to the villagers. I did.

“I have given them everything: my skills, my time, my dedication, and my agony for all these turns of seasons. We end Winter, we give them food, and it is still not enough,” she snarled. “I really have had enough of this village. The sooner Trewoofe comes for us, the better.”

Avice, what about being in the Underneath? You are fearful of being underground, Bramble pointed out.

“I may get scared from time to time, but it will be better than being here. Anything would be better than being here at the moment!” she replied, squashing the dandelions and daisies with every angry step, earning sideways glances from the villagers as she crossed the square. “I will have you, Ashling, and Trewoofe to help me if I need it.”