Lord of the Manor -- Section 13

[We're over 30,000 words now for the book. Normally that would mean we're about half-way done. This time? Not so much, I don't think. Still so many exciting things to do and demons to meet! (Besides, Maddie hasn't even called her parents to try to explain what is going on. Or to lie, as convincingly as possible. We'll have to see which.)

[Family reunion stuff is still going on, as crazy as ever. Well, slightly less crazy than ever. So I'm trying to really button down and get moving on the projects that will some day earn me money. Here's today's section. Enjoy.]

    "I'll fetch some snags and a firk to tend to your injuries," said Silver, offering two glasses of water on a new, polished tray. Michael wondered if the demon had some kind of power that let him conjure clean glasses and plates out of thin air. He supposed it wasn't likely, but after what he'd seen in the last ten hours, he was having to mix up his definitions of 'likely' and 'unlikely.'
    As the butler disappeared around a corner down the hall, Michael reached up to feel a cut on his scalp and then cringed as he got a good look at the back of his hand. It had been bad enough in the broken moonlight, but seeing it under electric white light was disturbing. A part of his brain noticed exactly how wide the cut was, another part wondered how much blood he'd lost, and a third decided the bulbs in the modest light fixture overhead must be full-spectrum, because the light was very white. White light. Dark blood. Michael swallowed.
    "Hey," said Maddie. "You okay?"
    "Oh, sure," said Michael. "I used to play rugby back home, so getting beat up is second nature to me. Also football. And kick boxing. This is nothing." He looked over at Maddie, pulling his eyes away from his hand. She was staring at him.
    "Did you just make all that up?" she asked.
    "Absolutely," he answered.
    "Oh," she said. "I thought it was kind of funny, but I didn't want to laugh if...you know...."
    "Don't worry about it," said Michael. "I know I'm small. And I've got all the muscle of a goldfish. But I'm trying really hard not to cry right now, and if I think about ANYTHING seriously, I'm afraid I'm going to crack, so why don't I tell you about the time I climbed Everest?"
    That got a hint of a real smile out of the girl, and Michael decided he liked how the smile looked. In other words, it wasn't just her legs that were nice. In other words, Michael was way too short for her. Inside he sighed, but managed to keep it from showing up too much on the outside.
    "Sure," said Maddie. "Tell me about your trip to Everest."
    "It wasn't just TOO Everest," said Michael, carefully not looking at his hand, or at his left leg, which the air demons had given special attention. "I went to the top. Twice."
    "Twice?"
    "Absolutely. What, you think I'd leave that man there, all alone, with the injuries he had?"
    "Injuries," said Maddie, thoughtfully. "Do tell."
    "Well, it all started with the yak attack," said Michael, watching the story take shape in his head.
    "Yak attack. Sounds like a band name."
    "Not a bad idea," said Michael, "but they didn't have instruments. Just tusks."
    Maddie looked puzzled. "Tusks? On a yak?"
    "Did I say 'tusks?' I meant horns. Antlers. Antler-horns, which is exactly what yaks have."
    "Have you ever actually SEEN a yak, Michael?" Maddie was outright smiling now and Michael charged on.
    "That's what I'm trying to tell you about, but you keep interrupting. So we were maybe five hours from the summit when the yaks attacked with their sharp antler-horns. The Doctor was grievously wounded."
    "Grievously?"
    "Grievously and gratuitously wounded. I begged him to let me take him back down the mountain, but he wouldn't hear of it. He wanted to make it to the top." Michael stopped and rubbed at his nose, which was suddenly itchy. His hand came away with new blood streaked across it. "That's disturbing," he said. He felt something like panic make his stomach quiver, but Maddie came to his rescue.
    "So what did you do with the Doctor?"
    "Right. The Doctor. I strapped him to my back with duct tape. Then, over the protests of my Sherpa guide, I carried my old friend to the top of Everest."
    "That's remarkable."
    "You bet. In fact, in mountain climbing circles I'm known as 'the Remarkable Michael.'"
    "So why did you go to the top of Everest a second time?"
    "I had to leave the Doctor in the igloo I built for him, cutting the ice with my pocket knife."
    "Those must have been very small blocks of ice."
    "That's where my championship Lego building skills came in handy."
    "Unbelievable," said Maddie.
    "No, really," Michael said. "I actually do have decent Lego skills. I once built a model of Thomas Jefferson's home for a school project. Funny how I can't remember its name."
    "Monticello."
    "Oh, of course. Monticello."
    "What happened next?"
    "When?"
    "On Everest."
    "Everest," said Michael. He realized he was looking at his hand again, and it was still bleeding, and he thought he should be putting pressure on it, but he was so tired. Was fighting with air demons supposed to make a person this tired? He'd have to ask Sticks. Where was Sticks? A burst of adrenaline pushed the fatigue back and Michael looked around frantically.
    "What is it?" asked Maddie, looking around as well.
    "Sticks. Where's Sticks? Did he come in?"
    Maddie paused, thinking. "I saw him pull the door closed, and he was inside, but...I don't know where he went."
    Michael sagged back against the wall. "I guess that's okay. He said he doesn't get along too well with Silver, so I guess he took off."
    "Silver?" asked Maddie.
    "The butler."
    "Did you call?" asked the bat-winged demon, standing at Michael's elbow. The boy jumped and hit Maddie's arm with his elbow, hard.
    "Sorry!" he apologized. "I was surprised. I didn't mean--"
    "It's okay," said the girl, rubbing at her arm. "You hit between cuts."
    "Oh, good," said Michael. "Wait, I didn't mean it was good you got cut, I just...good." Michael wished he had learned how to shut up. He knew it was a valuable skill, but his mouth always seemed to run on for at least a sentence or two after he'd run out of anything intelligent to say.
    "Speaking of cuts," said Silver, "I've brought Hem, Seam, and Globule to help with your injuries." The butler indicted the three imps next to him in order with an upturned hand, and Michael realized he was staring.
    There WAS a certain amount to stare at. Hem and Seam looked mostly human--other than being around five inches tall. Hem, a boy, was dressed in a neatly tailored purple suit with waistcoat, while Seam, a girl, had some kind of candy-striped, Goth look going. The really remarkable thing about them, though, was their hair.
    All their hair. Lots and lots and piles and twists and bundles of hair. Hem's fell in modest brown and black braids down his back to his knees, then back up to his shoulders, then in coils around his shoulders, then down to loops around his left arm, and then Michael lost track. He didn't even know where to start trying to untangle Seam's rainbow cacophony of twists and frizzes and twirls and ponytails, dyed every color that he had ever seen hair, and then some. And, sticking into Hem's hair in orderly rows, and out of Seam's hair in unexpected clusters and spikes, were pins and needles. Michael wondered what would happen if he waved a strong magnet in their direction.
    Next to the two imps--were they snags or firks?--was a taller imp, older looking, maybe over a foot tall, dressed in what looked like a wash-rag converted into an oversized bathrobe. He had a cheerful face, bushy eyebrows, and what had to be one of the worst colds Michael had ever seen. The imp's nose was red and runny, and he dabbed at it constantly with a handkerchief that already hung wet and heavy in his hand. The imp, Globule, smiled and winked at Michael, and Michael tried to smile back.
    "Well then," said Silver, "if you could please stand, young Master, then Globule can get started."
    "Started doing what?" asked Michael.
    "I beg your pardon for not explaining," said the butler. "Mister Globule is a firk, first class, specializing in the cleansing of wounds, hands, and doorknobs--in other words, he is clearly an expert."
    "Come now, Master Silver," said the firk in a surprisingly bass voice, his face some mixture of modesty and pleasure. "I clean things, and that's good enough for me."
    "Trust me, young Master," said Silver. "He is up to the task, and one of the most gentle of the firks I have found. After his ministrations, Mister Hem and Miss Seam will take care of the rest."
    "The rest of what?" asked Michael again, not sure he liked the look of the needles sticking out of the girl imp's hair.
    "Some things are better done with little consideration," said the butler. "Please, stand."
    There was a bit of metal in Silver's voice, but Michael would have called it 'steel' instead of 'silver.' He found himself standing, and Globule walked around him, looking him up and down.
    "Not too bad," said the jovial imp, wiping at his nose. "I've seen worse, coming in from discussions with the air demons. We'll have you fixed up in no time."
    "Shouldn't you take care of Maddie first?" asked Michael, caught somewhere between chivalry and a very strong desire to not get poked with needles.
    "Lord of the Manor first, young Master," said Silver. That was the end of that discussion.
    "Now then, little Lord," said Globule. "I think the best way to do this is to have you sit down and hold still. Nothing we can't take care of while you're resting, and that way the little ones only have to climb up for the cuts around your head. But first let me...."
    Then the larger imp hacked, leaned in to Michael's left calf, and spat a blob of whatever comes out of an imp's mouth right onto one of the larger cuts.
    "Hey!" said Michael, lifting his leg away, losing his balance, and bracing himself against the wall with his hands. "That stings! I mean...it stung. Oh."
    "What?" asked Maddie.
    "It doesn't hurt so much anymore," he said. Michael looked down at Globule, who was grinning wide enough for Michael to see the imp's fangs.
    "Firk, first class," said the imp. "Don't get spit like that without quite a bit of practice, not to toot my own horn too loudly." He bobbed his eyebrows up at the boy, then launched another blob of spit at the other leg.
    "Have a seat, young Master," said Silver. "The snags are artists as well, in their own way. Shall we make their job as easy as possible?"
    Michael watched as Seam yanked a long, magenta hair from a twist on the back of her head, threading it through the eye of a wickedly curved needle. Then he realized he was sitting, and then he realized his eyes were closed. All the fatigue he'd felt before pressed down on his chest and weighed his head down. Some detached part of his brain wondered if this was what it was like to faint.