The Chronicles of Harold the Healer Ch. 05

Harold Moser didn't so much wake up as slowly and painfully return to consciousness. His brain, overloaded by his antics, including two powerful orgasms, first with Leila after they had come back to her home from lunch, then with Leila and Dana as the two of them double-stuffed Dana, had finally said enough is enough and had shut itself off after he'd hit the floor, thanks to Dana's shoving him off the bed to make room for herself. He was flat on his stomach, with his head turned so that his left ear was compressed between his skull and the hard, hard wooden floor of Leila's bedroom. He experimentally flexed his hands and feet, finding to his surprise that they still worked. Moving his arms and legs produced pains as his body suddenly realized that it had been lying on a wooden floor without moving for a substantial length of time. It was about five minutes before he could finally muster the strength and coordination to first roll over and then sit up. He had to lie down quickly when the room spun around, but after it had stopped, he sat up again, more carefully this time. It took another five minutes to finally get to his feet, where he stood shakily by the bed, gazing fondly at the peacefully sleeping Leila, on the right side, and Dana on the left, who were facing each other.

Seeking freedom, he quietly searched the room and found the nice walking shoes, slightly ruffled dress shirt, the deep navy jacket and pants of his tuxedo, and the rich red cummerbund, which had somehow landed on the back of the chair. It was partially hidden under Dana's neatly folded navy jacket and knee-length dress, where she had put them before Leila had relieved her urgent need that had been caused by her appearing on their doorstep just as he and Leila had finished a hard, frantic fucking and had blasted her with a wave of orgasm energy. He found his underwear and one sock, but figured that he'd be better off with a fresh set and quietly padded out of Leila's bedroom and across the hall into the spare bedroom, in which his traveling pack had been placed, was it yesterday? It seemed so long ago.

He extracted the required undergarments from the pack and quickly dressed, including his rather battered traveling hat, whose dingy tan colour did not match his tuxedo at all. He retrieved his staff from where it had been dropped in the hallway when they were en route to the bedroom and, holding his shoes in the other hand, he retreated to the kitchen, where he quickly slipped them on, tied the laces, grabbed his staff in his right hand, and quietly opened the kitchen door with his left.

"Hi, Papa!" piped his daughter Marcie and he almost screamed with surprise. Her right hand was positioned to open the door and her left hand had the key to the lock. Her medium-brimmed white hat, as well as the rest of her four-foot-nine frame, long auburn hair, and her clothing showed ample, grimy evidence of her having been running with the pack of kids that roamed the town during the weekends.

"Hi, Marcie," he managed to say after regaining his composure. Why, oh why, is it that every time he's tried to sneak away somewhere, a woman has caught him? "Shh, Mama and Ms. Dana are having a nap and I don't want to wake them up." He stepped outside and quietly closed the door.

"I went to tell the kids about your award ceremony so that we could spread the word, but we found a kickball at the Potters' place and, well,..." she trailed off sheepishly. "I was going to ask Mama to Clean me so that I could go to Pella's to get my dress," she continued as her father, unable to suppress a loving grin, shook his head.

"Stand over there and I'll Clean you up," he sighed. She moved to the boundary between the small lawn and the garden and braced herself. Instead of having the Clean spell direct the grime to the privy, he decided to let it blow out just to see how much she had accumulated, and the cloud of dust that it generated was impressive indeed. A gentle easterly breeze made it drift over the garden, where it slowly settled and dispersed. "If there were some way to harness your dirt-attraction ability to house cleaning, we could have the cleanest house in town," he said, hands on hips and a patently fake scowl on his face. "Oof!" he said as she collided with him for a big hug, which he returned. She stood back a few steps and looked up.

"Papa, that hat will never do!" she exclaimed, pointing at the broad-brimmed item. "If Mama sees you wearing it with your tuxedo, she will say naughty words to you!"

"Oh, very well, how's about I change the colour to make it match better?" he asked, removing it and then stepping into the shade cast by the house. The sun had moved well into the west by now, as it had somehow become late afternoon. "Here's how you cast the Change Colour spell," he said, placing the offending item on the table and hitting it with a Clean spell, generating more dust. He carefully and slowly made the motions with his hands and fingers and said the words clearly so that she could hear them properly, and a small Window appeared next to the hat. Said Window had a colour palette arranged in a doughnut shape, with a small white circle located at the hat's current colour. "All you have to do is drag the circle around to where you want the colour you want is located," he said moving it with its finger to the blue section, "and then move it inwards for darker or outwards for lighter." Marcie's eyes were wide with fascination as he gave the circle a tap and the hat abruptly changed colour to match with his tuxedo. "Now you change the colour of the hatband to match the cummerbund." Cautiously, she reached out to touch the circle, then moved it to the red section and carefully adjusted it to match. With a tap, the band changed to red and he dismissed the Window.

"Nicely done!" he praised, and she grinned as he put it on his head. "Now, let's get to Pella's before Mama and Ms. Dana wake up. I don't want you to hear the words they will say when they can't find me," he added with a wink as he grabbed his staff and they skedaddled around the house and onto Main St. "When Pella confiscated my clothes," he glowered, making Marcie giggle, "she also took the money that was in my pockets, and I'll need some of that to get something to eat. Since you are the stomach with legs, I assume that you're probably hungry too."

"And thirsty! All that running around works up an appetite," she replied.

"The butcher's shop has some tasty meat pies, if I recall," he said thoughtfully. "One of those should keep our tummies occupied until dinner time."

"Mama gets them all the time," said Marcie as they passed the bakery. Nobody was behind the counter at the moment, so they continued the short distance to Pella's shop and went in. Pella was attending to two middle-aged women at the front of the shop, but Ramon, her husband, and Olivia, her second daughter, were free and descended on them.

"Hi, Mister Ramon. I've come to get my dress. It's almost time for Papa's award."

"Of course. Come with me and we'll get it on you," he replied with a big smile. He, Pella, Olivia, and Sylvia had been refugees from Carcosa after the battle to rid the country of the oppressive Yellow Autarch. Harold had played a big part in their rescue and eventual trip to the Kingdom, but hadn't known where they'd wound up until he'd started visiting Magwitch as part of his rounds as a Healer (later, Senior Healer) of the Order of St. Thrimble. He'd always made a point of visiting them while he was in town.

"When you snatched my clothes, you also got the money in my pockets," he said to Olivia, giving her the benefit of a fake pout that earned a snicker, "and the butcher will be much happier if I pay for the father and daughter snacks that we need to sustain ourselves."

"I'll go get you something, Healer Harold," she replied, turning and retreating to the back of the shop to whatever hidey-hole had his clothes. He leaned against the left side wall and was watching the back of the store when Marcie emerged from the right curtained change area in her blue dress, which was a very similar shade as her eyes, then walked to the middle of the store to look at herself in the mirrors. Her hat was in her hand and he could see that her hair had been braided in the same way as Leila's. He strode over for a better look.

"You look like a million Sovereigns!" he exclaimed proudly. "It's a good thing that I have my staff with me to chase off the boys!" he continued, scowling ferociously and looking around for imaginary boys to whack. Everyone around laughed at his antics, as he'd hoped.

"Oh, Papa," exclaimed Marcie, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes. "I have my own staff and can beat off the boys that I don't want."

"That would be all of them, right?" She nodded, but then got a faraway look and turned a little pink. "Aha! Names! I want names!"

"All you'll get is a meat pie!" said Olivia sternly, giving him a handful of coins, including a bunch of copper pennies, three silver doubloons and a gold Sovereign, which he quickly transferred to his right pocket. "You are not allowed to tease your beautiful daughter about boys! Out with you!" She and then Sylvia began chivvying him towards the door, ignoring his protests.

"Papa, if you think I'm pretty, wait until you see Mama."

"She is absolutely luminous," assured Pella, holding the door open so that he could be propelled out. "And you can't be here when she comes to get it," she added with a look in her flashing brown eyes that promised infinite pain should he dare to cross her that made him shiver involuntarily.

"I hope that she doesn't give you that look, Ramon," said Harold from the sidewalk.

"Only a few times a week," he replied cheerfully. "You look great, by the way."

"Thanks to you," the Healer replied, looking at his reflection in the window. "Thank you very much for everything that you've done, whether I know about it yet or not." He waved and they turned away as the door closed firmly behind them. "OK, let's see if we can get across the street in one piece." They did, drawing curious looks from some of the passers-by, and made it into the butcher's shop, which was three doors north of the General Store.

"Oh, aren't we elegantly dressed," said one of its proprietors, John Mulgrew, from behind the counter. He cupped an ear with a hand, pretended to listen, looked at Marcie and continued, "I think I hear the Sun calling, asking you to stop being so radiant. It's getting jealous. And you clean up pretty well, Healer Harold," he added, giving him a once-over. "I hear that you'll be getting some recognition from your shady past." He was five-foot-ten, with sandy brown hair and sharp blue eyes, a disreputable-looking moustache, a well-fed body build and muscular arms. "I'll bet that you're looking for meat pies."

"They're famous for miles around, John," Harold replied genially. "My lovely daughter and I seek sustenance to get us through a boring and unnecessary ceremony. You have some, I hope?" he added with a worried expression.

"I only have two left," he said, pointing to the large patties of spiced ground beef wrapped in flaky pastry that were behind the glass of the display portion of the counter that separated them. "You wouldn't want to deprive someone of these, would you?"

"You'd better believe it," he replied. "I'd eat your entire counter to get at them if I had to!" Marcie giggled at the image in her mind.

"Two patties coming up." Six coppers changed hands, and the pies were wrapped in napkins and transferred to their new owners, both of whom were doing their utmost to not drool at them.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Mulgrew!" said Marcie with a polite bow. "I can't wait for this!"

"Let's not spread crumbs around this nice clean shop," said her father as they turned to go.

"There will be no crumbs!" she said fiercely, getting laughs from the men.

"We should head towards the park," said Harold as they walked south on the sidewalk, contentedly munching on the delicious meat pies. "There's no point in missing my party."

"Maybe there will be more food," said Marcie hopefully.

"It wouldn't be a party without it," he replied, burping contentedly. "Though how the heck are they going to rustle up a lot in such short notice? Eh, well, I'm sure not that many people are interested in seeing someone get medals and listen to boring speeches."

"Probably not that many," she replied, finishing off her food and burped, following his example. After a quick stop in the General Store for bottles of root beer, which were drained, Cleaned, and placed in the return bin, they found themselves back at the Dewdrop Inn, where they paused so that Harold could Clean their hands. Just as they started to walk again, two figures scurried across the road and hustled up the sidewalk.

"Mark!" exclaimed Marcie, charging and colliding with him for a bone-creaking hug.

"Oof! Marcie, is that you?" he asked, holding her at arm's length. "Wow, you look amazing!" He looked at his father and added, "Healer Har, uh, Dad, you are all dressed up too! How did they get you into that getup? Oh, Stella Weber, this is Healer Harold and my sister Marcie."

"Hi, Marcie," said Stella in a well-modulated alto voice, bending down to give her a hug. "You remember me?"

"You brought in some neat stuff from the smithy to our class for Show-and-Tell two years ago," she replied. That hammer was heavy!"

"It's good to meet you, Stella," said Harold, noting her firm, confident handshake. She was wearing a yellow, short-sleeved blouse that showed off her figure, including her muscular arms and hands, which was tucked into a white dress with wide-spaced red pinstripes with small red flowers between them. Her hair was straight, brown, and cut to shoulder length in an attractive style that framed her oval face and strong jaw. Nicely-shaped eyebrows and a dusting of freckles across her face framed brown eyes that had the bright light of intelligence, but also a slightly unfocused look that was mirrored in Mark's eyes, which were a similar shade of blue with hints of green to both Harold's and Marcie's. He got a mischievous look and, pitching his voice so that Marcie couldn't hear, he whispered, "Somebody got laid."

"You two loved each other," grinned Marcie, her eyes sparkling. Mark and Stella exchanged a glance, found themselves holding hands, and turned red.

"Ah, um, you are very perceptive, Marcie," Mark stammered.

"It felt right," Stella murmured, looking at him. "I knew it would almost as soon as I met you."

"Remember what Leila said about not playing poker with her?" Harold asked, giving Marcie a hug with his left arm. Mark nodded thoughtfully. "I was not kidding."

"I need to get changed into something more formal," Mark replied, looking at his newfound sister with respect. "I have a suit in my room, wherever that is. We'll meet you at the park, if you don't mind."

"I'm sure I'll be easy to find," Harold replied, giving his staff a twirl. "Don't spend too much time in the hotel room," he added with a wink, making him and Stella turn even redder, if that were possible. "Let's go, Marcie. I need to be celebrated." Marcie waved at them and they turned and continued walking south down Main St.

-=-=-=-=-=

"It's hard work being a blacksmith," Mark said as he and Stella walked down the driveway towards the Main Street. A gentle breeze blew air laden with the scents of moist earth, flowers, and growing things and rustled the leaves on the trees. With the exception of the property that contained her house and the smithy, they were surrounded by farmland. The rich soil of the Westlands is the breadbasket of the Kingdom and the farms grow everything from corn and wheat to turnips and potatoes, with even some grapes and wineries in a few places that had microclimates to support them. "What is it that has you learning and doing it, instead of something else?"

"I've often wondered that myself," she replied as they reached the road and turned right. "In a family business, it's unusual if at least one of the kids doesn't take it up. My Dad is in the transportation business, making sure that we all in the area get what we need, and that all that we produce gets to where it needs to go. He's always wondering why it is that the roads around here have never gotten much more than the basic maintenance. At least the ones from the towns to the main highway that leads to Havisham should be properly paved. It would make a huge difference."

"I don't know either, and my Mom is a Civil Engineer who has spent most of her career in the Roads Department. Most of the budget seems to be devoted to building main roads between the larger cities, and little to the country roads and byways. I think that the main problem is that it's really expensive to build a properly stone-paved road, even with Mages to help the process along. I have a younger brother and sister, but they're from her husband Stan. My brother will be entering Mage School this September and my sister will be right behind him next year. Whether or not they'll be Engineers too is anyone's guess at this point. As fate would have it, I wound up being a Healer instead of an Engineer."

"Because of your father." He nodded. "I hope that she's OK with it."

"She was a bit annoyed at first when I scored high in Healing and below average in Engineering in the Aptitude Tests that we have to go through when we first enter the School, but it's an important and necessary profession, so she insisted that I at least take Engineering as my 'Real World' skill. I do OK in the course work, and can see how it's useful, but it just doesn't appeal to me the way Healing does."

"You really impressed my Granddad with the horseshoe that you made. Mom went into the business, but my two brothers were far more interested in logistics and transportation and general book work than they were in the practical, hands-on stuff that I like. I wasn't a particularly good student."

"You are when you're doing something you're interested in. You probably know what all those scary-looking tools on the walls are for, how to keep the forge going, and so on."

"Yes, I know a lot of the practical stuff, but there's a lot of book learning too. That's where I learn why I have to do things the way I do. Metallurgy is a complex science and there's a lot to know. Even making a decent sword or knife is not nearly as easy as you'd think." Mark shuddered.

"Healers don't like swords or knives, or other sharp and pointy things. They cause a lot of the injuries that we have to deal with. That's why our training is mostly in unarmed combat, staff, baton, and the like. Dad is apparently a real wizard with a staff." He paused. "Oops." Stella giggled instead of clobbering him, which was a frequent reaction to his puns. He liked how her eyes shone, and how her lips opened so enticingly when she smiled to reveal her even, white teeth.

"They teach you how to fight too?" she asked curiously. He nodded.

"It works for self-defense, which is always useful, especially in certain parts of the Capital, but also to aid us in concentration and relaxation, which are necessary for doing the spells right. They can help anyone, even an apprentice blacksmith."

"Hmm," she replied, guiding him to a path that led from the road about thirty feet from the small bridge that crossed a creek. It went down an incline and to the right, following the creek downstream for a few yards until they came to a large clearing in the trees that was covered by a mixture of moss and short grass. "Can you show me some of the moves?"

"Sure." He paused and looked up and around at the trees, listening to the whispering of the leaves and the bubbling of the water in the creek, which was about six feet wide and maybe three at its deepest. "This is actually the perfect place to practice. They encourage us to find a peaceful, natural environment so that we can connect with the world around us." They stood six feet apart, facing each other. "I will go through the First Form, whose purpose is to gently stretch and loosen up the muscles. Follow what I do." They spent the next ten minutes with him showing her the moves from each Part, gently positioning her arms, legs, hands, and even feet when necessary. His hands were warm and strong, and his odd blue-green eyes seemed to take on a peaceful glow in the dappled light of the clearing.