Chapter 30. Interlude

'Pippin, love,' Diamond says helplessly, bending over her beloved.

'Don't touch him,' I say, rather more sharply than I meant to, and she looks at me in confusion. Modulating my voice, I add, 'The slightest touch causes him great pain, my dear.'

She takes a shuddering breath, her hands suspended just short of his skin.

The Thain's eyes are screwed tight shut; he has pulled his contorted leg close to his chest, in effect tying himself in a knot of sorts. His breathing comes in gasping moans that tear at the heart.

I think of draughts, strong draughts, draughts that send one off to sleep for hours, days, draughts that must be carefully administered, so powerful that they can slow the breathing, even stop the heart. The prickling of my skin mocks my thoughts, and I think of Mardibold, badly burned some years ago, and how difficult it was to give him relief without inadvertently causing his death.

'Can't you give him something?' Diamond whispers, still hovering, and apparently thinking my thoughts after me. And now the door swings open to admit Sam and Merry-- blurs at the corner of my vision, and I hear, vaguely, through my fierce concentration on the problem, a muffled exclamation from one of them--but my eyes do not leave the Thain, and I am no closer to a solution.

I shake my head. 'No, not with this kind of pain. It's nerve pain, nothing will touch it. I'd have to give him enough to knock him out, and that could stop his heart in the state he's in.'

'That might be an improvement,' Pippin says through gritted teeth before another agonising spasm robs him of speech. It is a heartening sign, actually. He is still with us, still aware of his surroundings. I look up, to see Mayor Sam, his face sleep-creased, hair tousled, eyes filled with confusion and alarm... while fear flashes in Master Merry's eyes, though he quickly wipes all expression from his face and enters the room with confidence in his step. Whatever the battle, he is ready to fight.

A scrap of elusive memory floats in my brain as Master and Mayor move to the bed. Diamond repeats my warning about not touching the Thain.

Merry stops short, and then he places his hands on Diamond's shoulders as she hovers helplessly above her husband, and whispers reassurances in her ear.

I close my eyes, in pursuit of that fleeting memory, and clench my fists in my concentration. Yes, I remember now. The tightly contorted muscles, the agonising spasms... Old Rosie once treated a case of the muscle fever, a very rare malady indeed, and thankfully so! Most die of it, their muscles robbed of function, and their breath fails them. Sometimes one will survive, coming out of the fever at last with a withered leg. But Rosie pulled one young lass through, on instinct alone. She told me herself, later, that there was no known treatment for the malady, and she didn't know what prompted her to take the course of action she'd pursued, except that she could not bear to see the child's suffering.

I may be mad, and yet... Knotted muscle is just that: knotted muscle. I know how to deal with such. I swing to confront the Mayor, grasp his arms to pull his horrified gaze from the tormented figure on the bed, give him a shake to make him look at me. 'Build up the fire.'

Merry looks to me, hope rekindled in his eyes at my decisive tone. 'Fill the kettle with water, get it hot,' I tell him.

He nods, takes up the little teakettle, and gives Sam a jab in the ribs. 'The fire!' he says. 'Quick!'

The twins' minder, Arabella, is still standing frozen, her face twisted in her distress at the scene before her. She might as well make herself useful. I grasp her shoulder and give her a shake. As her eyes turn to meet mine, I snap, 'I want a basin and clean cloths, quickly!' All scatter, and I nod, satisfied.

'And I?' Diamond says, still hovering over her husband. 'What can I do?'

'Talk to him,' I say. 'It may do some good. Sing... something.'

Diamond begins to croon a lullaby, her voice catching in her throat. Sam soon has the fire burning vigorously in the little hearth, and Merry puts the kettle, brimful, on the hob and comes back to the bed, putting his hands gently on Diamond's shoulders. Sam, his face white, stands aghast on the other side of the bed, staring down at Pippin, whose limbs are a-tremble from strain, though otherwise he has not moved.

Diamond reaches the end of her song and sinks down on the chair beside the bed. Looking up, she sees Samwise. 'Sam?' she says. 'Samwise, are you all right?'

He shakes his head, and I see the tears standing in his eyes. 'In the name of all that's good,' he breathes. 'What have I done?'

It seems forever that we stand, waiting. The old song about the watched pot runs incongruously in the back of my mind, a jarring counterpoint to the nursery tune Diamond is crooning.

At last I see steam rising from the spout, and seizing a cloth I lift the teakettle from the hob and pour the steaming water into the basin, adding the cloths that Arabella is holding. When I look up, I see Sam and Merry exchange glances, and I remember Pippin telling me of the King and his healing hands, and something to do with steaming water and steeping leaves. Not tea, though.

'This is something I've used in the muscle sickness, to ease the spasms,' I tell them. I don't tell them that I've only used it once, and that when I was not yet a proper healer, but was working under Rosie's direction. 'It might help here.'

I take up a hot cloth, nearly scalding my fingertips, let some of the excess drip into the basin, gingerly wring it out and turn to the bed. 'What...?' Diamond says, rising from her chair, and she puts out her hand as if to stop me as I begin to wrap the still-steaming wet cloth around the twisted leg. It is difficult, to work around the Thain's tight grasp, and I know that the touch of the cloth and my hand is causing him additional pain, but I repeat my actions until the entire leg is wrapped in hot cloths, from groin to toes.

When finished, I look up to meet staring eyes on every side. 'Put more water on to heat,' I say. These cloths will cool, after all, and we must keep re-soaking them, keep applying heat to the muscles, force them to relax under the onslaught of wet heat. Merry jumps to fill the teakettle with the last of the water in the pitcher, and Arabella goes to waken Sandy--for that hobbit must be asleep, for a wonder--to fetch fresh buckets of water.

'You'll burn him,' Diamond protests.

I chuckle, though I feel no humour, and adjust a loose cloth. For some reason a firm touch is less painful than a light one, or so my own skin tells me. 'He's already burning, he says... we'll fight fire with fire.' I look up to meet her eyes, still staring at me. 'Don't worry, Mistress, I'm being careful. If it's cool enough for my fingers, it won't burn him.'

The little teakettle is steaming again before the cloths are cool. I pour the boiling water into the basin and immerse fresh cloths. I replace the cooling cloths on the leg with these. The revealed skin is fiery-red, as if I am truly scalding the hobbit, and yet I cling to the memory of what was done, once before, in a shadowy kitchen while a mother sobbed and a father, silent and grim, kept the fire bright and the water simmering.

'Keep singing,' I say to Diamond. 'Talk to him. Distract him.'

She sings snatches of old songs as the battle continues.