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“It's just a little blood, happens when you've been beaten to a pulp. It ain't the first time, and it will pass.”

She made a noncommittal noise, since he seemed to know more about this than she did. The less said about it, the better.

The experience had cured her from ever wanting to be a doctor. There seemed to be a disgusting amount of body fluid and stench involved.

He read her disgust accurately. “At least I can sit up,” he reassured her. “It's better than peeing the bed.”

She grunted, repulsed by the thought of the cleaning that would entail.

Grumbling, she settled on a makeshift bed in front of the fire. The innkeeper had scrounged up a thin straw mattress and mostly clean blankets; hers were wet and muddy. They hung from the wall pegs, dripping stinky mud. She’d try to get the blood stains out tomorrow.

She dropped instantly into sleep.

...

Morning was horrible, but that wasn't special. Mornings were always horrible, particularly before she had tea.

At least the common room had calmed down. There were fewer people, and most of them were subdued or preparing to leave.

She was itching to go. She'd stayed far too long as it was. She just had to make arrangements...

The landlord stared at her. “You can't leave your goblin here. I'm not a nursemaid!”

“He can sit up and talk...”

He cut her off. “I don't care. I don't have time.” He was curt that morning; probably wasn't a morning person, either.

“I'll pay you,” she said through a tooth clenched smile. “You like money.”

“Oh, no! I'm no fool. There's not enough money to deal with snot and blood and shit. You deal with it.” He waved his spatula at her.

She put a half gold piece on the counter. He looked at it. Looked at her. “No.”

Her nostrils flared. It was a fortune. “Easy money, mister.”

His eyes narrowed. “I'm not nursing a goblin. Get out of my kitchen!”

She grabbed her gold and breakfast tray and flounced out.

She grumbled over her pile of fried potatoes, lamb patties and leftover cornbread. The innkeeper liked money, or he wouldn't be in business. Why wouldn't he let her pay him to take care of the goblin? He must be scared.

She scowled at the goblin in question. His battered, scary face looked back. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes more bloodshot? She'd given him the redfly eyedrops first thing that morning.

It should have been done last night, but she'd been stupid tired and had forgotten.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She finished eating and brought the tray over.

The gobbling noises were the same as the night before. He managed to pee on his own this time, along with other things. She got to dump the chamber pot, though.

The innkeeper was right. Half a gold wasn't enough money, and here she was, doing this for free. Sucker.

Since she was dumping the commode, she casually glanced at the sheep cart she'd parked near the compost pile. It looked undisturbed, as expected. No one was going to mess with an empty cart in this weather, especially not one parked by a rank compost pile.

A glance at the sky revealed thick dark clouds. It was going to rain buckets at any moment. At least she had a roof over her head.

The sheep was in a corral under a shed, eating his head off. There was nothing to do, so she went back to her room. Maybe if she fed the goblin more medicine, he'd heal faster and she could leave.

.....

Artur stared at the blurry ceiling. He'd recently been rethinking his life. Being attacked by bandits was deeply ironic considering his origins. As he lay there temporarily (he hoped) blind, and dependent on a grumpy angel, he considered his transgressions.

He was a bad man. Born into a family of murderers and thieves, he'd killed on command and fought for his brutal father's approval. He'd rebelled in his early twenties, and it nearly cost him his life.

Only a twist of fate had kept him from dying, beaten to death by his brothers.

In the years since, he'd learned that trade was far more profitable than banditry...although sometimes there wasn't much difference between them.

He'd made a name for himself, started other businesses. He had a nice house now and a vault full of money, but he was still a killer.

Perhaps this was a redirect. He wasn't delusional. It's not as if he could make up for his past. But maybe he could do things differently going forward.

He heard Julep come inside and shut the door.

“What happened to your eyes?” she demanded. “They're swollen shut!” There was a clatter as she quickly ditched the chamber pot and washed her hands.

She leaned over him. “Can you open your eyes at all? I’d heard that the redfly medicine could do that, but I didn't think it happened often...unless that was a bad batch?”

She touched his cheekbone, just under the eye, and gently pried his lids open. He could barely make out her blurry outline.

The light touch surprised him. She'd been quick and rough washing him last night, and brisk ever since. The gentleness was new. It must mean she was worried she’d actually done some damage with her rough doctoring. “I'm sensitive to it. It should get better in a few hours, tomorrow at the latest.”

She made a dissatisfied noise. “I'm going to rinse your eyes. The medicine should have done its job by now. I think it would be best if we washed it out. It would help if you could hold your face over the basin.”

It was agonizing, but he managed to hold the wash basin in his lap while she splashed his face. They managed not to get water everywhere.

It was worth it to get the burning goop out of his eyes.

He lay back down and she wandered over by the window, by the sound of it.

“Thank you for helping me. I’d be dead right now if not for you.” He paid his debts, and he owed her a huge favor.

There was a long pause. “Maybe.” She thought about it for a moment. “Probably,” she admitted.

When she remained silent, he said, “My name is Artur Bloodhand.” Somehow, they'd skipped right over introductions. He ended up with her name, but couldn't recall giving her his.

She didn't say anything. She was difficult to engage. Was she afraid of him? That was common enough. It was surprising that she’d helped him, if so.

“Do you have a family, Julep?”

“That's none of your concern,” she said sharply.

Definitely scared. Time to be smooth. “I didn't mean to alarm you. I'm trying to find a way to show my appreciation.”

It took a moment for her to answer. Grudgingly, she said, “It was the right thing to do.”

He wondered if her parents had taught her that. Funny, his parents had taught him the exact opposite. Mercy wasn't something goblins valued. “Why haven't you left?”

There was a crack of lightning followed by thunder. Rain began to hammer the roof. “It's raining,” she said dryly.

He laughed softly. It hadn't been raining this morning. She'd stayed for him.

Before he could say more there was a loud knock on the door... and then it burst open.

A lean, fit goblin rushed in as if he were interrupting murder. He saw Julep and dismissed her, and then he spied Artur.