Turbinio

Pot Marigold Essence

You would fall asleep on Johnny's shoulder for hours, and even though you knew he wouldn't mind, you apologized. Your voice was weak from crying and your face was now hot and congested. You stood up, keeping your back to Johnny so he wouldn't see your sorry state, and looked down the street for any sign of Gyro.

It was now snowing just enough to cover the ground white as flour on a mill floor, but that worried you. You didn't like to think of Gyro alone in that hectic city with the constant presence of danger hovering over everyone. Nothing could guarantee that a terrorist would not arrive and kill everyone there. Even if you believe that Gyro would be the last to die at the hands of a terrorist.

It was relatively close to dusk and Agno had already settled on Johnny's lap to spend what seemed like the whole day there.

The sun was still shining on the horizon and, with luck, you saw the distinct figure of Gyro standing over Valkyrie, his hat covered in snow and his cape fluttering in the light city wind. His shadow was dense over the road, or what was left of it, which was completely covered by a thick layer of snow.

Gyro managed to get three rooms on the outskirts of town. As soon as he entered the barn, he asked you to get your bags and leave Cadichon and Agno hidden in the barn with water, food, and enough thick blankets to keep them warm. This time, Johnny had to give you another ride, but he didn't mind; he also offered to help you carry your things. You were taking only enough to spend two days in an inn, because you didn't intend to expose yourself in any way.

If you were dead, you would have to be as discreet as a ghost. Anyone would recognize your mule from a distance, as well as your wagon and even you, if you didn't know how to camouflage yourself well in the crowd – and God knows you can't do that.

The afternoon chill was falling fast at that time of the year and your heavy cloak was hardly sufficient protection against the sudden gusts of icy wind that harried you in the open spaces of the city. As if he realized this, Johnny began to hold Slow Dancer's reins so that his arms would protect you from most of the cold.

You were torn between horror at that day and excitement at the idea of finally being able to sleep in a real bed and maybe bathe in water warmer than the springs in this place. With your thoughts racing like fleas, you felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the freezing air running down your spine.

The inn was far from being as fancy as the halls, but it seemed comfortable enough. The rooms and the restroom were on the second floor, while the first floor was reserved for breakfast or lunch if requested. You three were the only guests. In this climate, fancy hotels with heating systems were more desirable than traditional inns.

You got off the horse and entered the inn. Johnny quickly put himself in his wheelchair and Gyro escorted you as if you were a wounded and scruffy horse. You felt like a cold, hollow shell. The words babbled by Gyro and Johnny echoed somewhere in the empty pit of your stomach. Your first reflex was to sit down on one of the chairs, hoping that the place worked as a restaurant. To your surprise, Gyro had already ordered a pot of tea to save you time.

Until then you had avoided looking at them, but now you raised your eyes and found Johnny staring intensely at you. His face was livid and carefully impassive; it had the same expression as when you were lying on his shoulder. You tried to smile politely, but the corners of your mouth wobbled precariously.

There was a small stained-glass window high up on the wall beside your table. Green and blue shadows floated across your skin, reminding you of a tavern, and you fervently wished for a drink. But you kept this wish to yourself, figuring that neither man would let you drink in this condition. Knowing that you were deplorable made you particularly angry.