all right?”
Close up he looked even worse. There were faded bruises on his face, and his hair, normally obsessively neat, was matted. He peered at her, looking slightly bemused, and then shook his head. “No, no, not really. I mean, I’ve been better. I mean—” He made a half-laughing, half-coughing sound. “Eluna’s dead. I’m broke, I’m unemployed, and also—excuse me a moment.” He walked past her and lurched away through the door leading to the balcony. They heard him vomiting, and then he returned. He almost fell over in the doorway, and Gern and Bran took him by the shoulders and led him to the table. He sat down in the chair and slumped forward onto the table, groaning.
“I’ve also—also—also, I’ve drunk enough cheap wine to kill a horse,” he added, to no-one in particular.
Flell had found a jug of water by the hammock and poured some into a mug. She had to put it into his hands for him. He downed it and then dropped the mug on the floor, where it broke.
He stared at the pieces and then suddenly started to cry. “Oh gods, I’m s—I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean, I—” He huddled down in his chair, face in his hands, sobbing brokenly.
Flell put her arms around him, and he clung to her pathetically, shuddering all over. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Arren, it’s all right, it’s all right, I’ve got you.”
Bran patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’s all right, mate. We’re here for yeh. I’ll just—” He glanced at Gern. “I’ll get some more water.”
They kept their distance, both embarrassed, and Flell held on to Arren until he started to calm down, which took a while.
“I’m sorry,” he said, between sobs. “I re—I really—I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Gods, I’m so pathetic, I—I’m an idiot, I’m a stupid gods—godsdamned idiot.”
Flell didn’t let go of him. “It’s all right, Arren,” she said, again and again. “It’s all right. You’re not an idiot.”
After that his sobs died down, and he drank some more water. “I need to lie down,” he said eventually.
Flell helped him to his hammock. He slumped into it, legs hanging over the sides, breathing heavily. He tried to shuffle himself further toward one end, but then slid back, wincing. “Thanks, Flell.”
Flell crouched by him and touched his forehead. It was hot and clammy. “Gryphus—Arren, you’re a mess,” she said.
He turned his head slightly to look at her. “Am I?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the innocent inquiry in his voice. “Yes,” she said. “You’re a mess.”
Arren closed his eyes. “I suppose so. I’ve been . . . drinking too much. I ran out of food, and—and—and . . .”
Flell took his hand in hers. “It’s all right. Just rest.”
His hand moved slightly. “I don’t . . . I don’t feel . . . well.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said, standing up carefully. She turned to Gern and Bran; they were watching silently and gave her imploring looks. Flell took her money pouch from her belt. “I need you two to help me,” she said. “Go and buy some food.”
“Won’t be many places open right now,” said Bran, taking the pouch.
“I know somewhere,” said Gern. “C’mon.”
The two of them departed. Flell closed the door behind them and sighed unhappily.
Arren had fallen asleep. Flell touched him lightly on the forehead, brushing away a few loose curls. He stirred slightly, his face creasing, and she covered him with a blanket and set about cleaning his home. She left the bowl of water untouched and found another one in a cupboard, filled it from the rain-barrel out on the balcony and used that to wash the dishes. After she had dried the dishes and put them away, she went into the stable, where she found that all the hay had been removed, leaving it bare and rather depressing to look at. A keg of wine stood against one wall. It was indeed cheap, and half the contents were gone. She carried it onto the balcony and poured the rest of it over the edge. Then she returned to the house. The floor was covered in dirt, and the shattered pieces of the broken mug were still lying by the table. She found a broom and cleaned it up as well as she could, and then opened the front windows to let in some fresh air. It was an improvement, at least.
Thrain had been exploring the corners, and now she wandered back. Flell bent