Buggeruptober day 7: Giddy
Mal trudged along behind Wolfe, hands shoved in his pockets and head down. He didn’t know if it was something about this town – which looked just like any of a hundred other little towns they had passed through in the last couple years – or if it was his own stupid brain, but the Sight was being weirder than usual today.
Instead of just giving him a headache like normal, the flash and swirl of people’s spirits all around him was making him dizzy. If he looked around too much or tried to focus on anything except the back of Wolfe’s coat a few steps ahead of him, his head spun like he had just been twirling himself up in a kid’s rope swing.
Mal stopped walking and pressed his hands over his eyes for a moment, but it didn’t help. As soon as he opened his eyes again, a worse wave of dizziness washed over him. There was some kind of low fence in front of the building they were passing, and he groped for it to steady himself.
“Wolfe?” he said with difficulty. “I – I think I’m gonna faint.”
He vaguely heard Wolfe exclaim something, but it sounded far away. Everything was spinning around, and his legs didn’t want to hold him up anymore.
The last thing he was aware of before the world faded completely to black was a pair of strong arms catching him as he collapsed.
Wolfe hummed a tune to himself as he walked, absently swinging his violin case in time with the rhythm. This seemed a fine town. Not large enough to do much busking, perhaps, but they had sufficient funds to purchase a meal and a room for the night. If they wound up in a pub that seemed amenable, he might even be able to do some playing for the sheer pleasure of it.
Then he heard Mal’s voice behind him, unsteady and strained. “Wolfe? I – I think I’m gonna faint.”
Wolfe turned sharply. Mal stood a pace or two away, swaying on his feet and gripping the fence railing with a white-knuckled hand. His face was ashen under a sheen of sweat.
“Gott im Himmel!” Wolfe cried. All but dropping his violin, he leapt forward just in time to catch Mal as his knees buckled.
He lowered his unconscious friend to the ground, kneeling with Mal’s head and shoulders in his lap, and frantically checked him over. Pulse steady, breathing shallow but even, no sign of fever… what could have happened?
Mal stirred and groaned. His eyes opened, then immediately squeezed shut again.
“Mal?” Wolfe asked anxiously. “Can you hear me, my friend? What is wrong?”
“Urgh,” Mal mumbled, eyes still closed. “S’all… goin’ round n’ round… bloody hell…”
Wolfe relaxed a little. “Then do not try to sit up yet,” he said, shifting position to make his knees a better cushion for Mal. “Best to stay as you are until the dizziness has passed off, yes?”
Mal’s eyebrows pinched together, reminding Wolfe of the scowl that meant his head was hurting him. “Don’t think it’s goin’ to. Been like this since we came into town. S’why I fainted t’ begin with.”
Wolfe looked down at him in alarm. “You have suffered from this dizziness all morning? What brought this on?”
“I don’t bloody well know, do I?” Mal snapped, sounding more like himself. He still had not opened his eyes. “Lookin’ at spirits is what’s doin’ it, but hell if I know why.”
Wolfe thought quickly. This was clearly not a problem they were going to solve sitting in the street, and Mal’s faint had not gone unnoticed by the passers-by; any moment now some kind soul would come over to offer them assistance, and Mal would hate that.
“Very well,” he said. “Let us find an inn where you may rest while we think this through. If you will permit, I shall carry you so that you need not try to stand.”
“Carry me?! Th’ hell –” Mal involuntarily started to sit up, then groaned and sank back with a hand pressed to his head. “Ugh. All right, fine. Jus’ don’t, I dunno, make it weird.”
Wolfe glanced around for a spot to hide his violin case until he could come back for it, settling on a nook behind some barrels. Then he carefully lifted Mal with one arm behind his back and the other under his knees. He was lighter to carry than Wolfe had expected, and he made a mental note to see that his friend ate more regularly in future.
Mal gripped his coat as tightly as he had the railing, breathing short and fast through gritted teeth. He had gone even paler.
“Mal?” Wolfe asked, concerned.
“M’not – faintin’ – again,” Mal managed. His face was pressed into Wolfe’s shoulder. “Jus’ – got dizzier – when ye stood up.”
“I shall walk with care, then,” Wolfe said. He would have liked to give Mal a comforting squeeze, but that probably fell into the category of “makin’ it weird”.
He set off down the street toward an inn they had passed earlier, carrying his friend as gently as he knew how.
