The Rewards of Kindness

The first I learned of the events I have previously written was when I heard Hawk
screaming, more from sheer terror than pain. Belle and I were just sitting down to a leisurely
breakfast of cornmeal mush sweetened with maple syrup, some fried ham, and a pot of coffee
when we heard the unmistakable cry of a person in pain.

Both of us jerked upright as if we'd been shot, exchanging glances of surprise and
concern. "Did you hear that, Father?" Belle demanded. "It sounded like someone in mortal
agony."

I had already risen to my feet, my immortal senses quivering. "Let's go and see what
the hell's making that noise," I said and in two strides I was out the door and jumping down
the stairs of my wagon. Bella followed almost on my heels.

The scream was repeated and I headed in the direction it had come from, somewhere
up the line from my wagon. Before we'd gone past the chuck wagon, a flustered Marissa
appeared in front of me, her eyes bright with alarm.

"Loki, you've got to help me. Hawk fell off his horse and broke his arm and that
jackass Dr. Boswell's threatening to cut it off. He says the arm's too badly broken to save."

"He's threatening to what?" I repeated, astonished at the callousness of the doctor in
even mentioning such a thing in front of a child, much less threatening to do it. "Where is
he?"

"In Boswell's wagon. This way." Marissa pointed then we followed at a dead run.
"I tried to tell Boswell that he couldn't do such a thing, an acrobat needs his arms to perform,
but he wouldn't listen. And Marco and the rest are gone into town and so is my father. I was
going to get Johnny, but then I saw you. Maybe you can get him to see reason."

Hawk's yells had brought Don Pedro and Mrs. Bailey to investigate, but none of them
were as quick as I was in reaching the doctor's wagon. I all but outran Marissa at the last,
jumping right up the steps and flinging open the door, making the whole wagon shake.

I took in the room rapidly, there was a table, a chair, and a black bag from which Dr.
Boswell was extracting something shiny and pointed. He dropped it when I entered, staring
at me as if I was the devil himself.

Hawk was crouched in a corner, shivering and crying, his eyes glazed like that of a
wild animal caught in a trap. He cradled his arm in his opposite hand. "Help!" he sobbed
when he caught sight of me. "H-he wants to cut off my arm, Loki! Please, please don't let
him."

"What the blazes are you doing to the kid, Boswell?" I snarled, my eyes sparking.
"Surely you know how to set a broken bone, don't you, with your fancy Harvard degree?" I
moved around the table, putting myself in front of the stricken youngster.

Boswell straightened, looking quite annoyed. "How dare you come into my home
unannounced, Sigurdson? This is none of your affair, I'm the physician here, so just move
along and let me tend to my patient."

"No!" Hawk screamed. "You ain't gonna cut off my arm, you stupid gadje!"

"Hush," I ordered softly. "No one's going to cut anything off you, Hawk. I promise."
I returned my gaze to the portly doctor, who was standing like an indignant pig before me in
his black frock coat and trousers, his shirt stained with food and what was undoubtedly
whiskey. In fact, the fool reeked of strong spirits.

By this time Belle and Marissa had entered the wagon too, pale but determined to aid
me. I didn't need their help however. I was more than capable of dealing with this idiot son
of a donkey's ass. "Have you even examined his arm, Doctor?" I said, my voice rich with
scorn. "Last I heard, amputation is only used as a last resort, on a battlefield where you can't
spare time to set a bone properly."

"What would you know about it, Mr. Magician? I'm the doctor, not you." Boswell
blustered. "Now step aside and let me do what I'm paid for. The little half-breed bastard bit
me when I went to look at his arm."

"Was that before or after you told him you were going to cut it off, you drunken sot?"
I growled. "Look at you, sir! You're so drunk you can't even stand up straight, much less
diagnose reliably. You're a damned disgrace, Boswell."

"Now see here, sir . . ." Boswell cried, and made as if to go around me.

I grabbed hold of his shirt and lifted him off the ground.

"No, you see here, you miserable excuse for a human being. You're not fit to treat
a crippled donkey much less anyone else. Now get out, you drunken oaf, before I throw
you out." My fingers itched to throw a spell on him, give him the ears of an ass or the tail of
a pig or the head of a sheep, but I reined in my temper by the slimmest of margins.

Boswell twisted in my grip. "You can't do this!" he squealed feebly. "This is my
home, he's my patient, you rude ignorant lout! I demand you release me this instant."

I did so, but I spun him around and shoved him towards the open door of the wagon
before he could protest. "Out! Tell it to someone who cares," I growled and practically
knocked him down the steps. Then I slammed the door shut and bolted it.

"How on earth did your father ever hire such an incompetent ass?" I demanded of
Marissa.

"I don't know," she said, and lowered her head as if ashamed.

But I had no time for her then, for all of my attention was now focused on the
trembling boy in the corner, half curled in a ball with his injured arm cradled close to his
chest. I stalked, soft-footed as a cat, around the table and kneeled before him.

"Hawk. Look at me, son."

Slowly, hesitantly, he did, his eyes wide and bright with tears, fear flickering in their
depths. "Is—is he gone?"

"Yeah." I helped him to his feet. "Come over here. I promise nobody's going to cut
off your arm. But I need you to relax and let Belle take a look at your arm, okay?"

He began to shake again. "Will it hurt?"

"Not a bit," my daughter chimed in, giving him one of her famous smiles. "In fact,
you won't feel anything at all if you let my father hypnotize you with his ruby pendant."

I catch her eye and nod slowly, for I was just thinking of a way to get the kid to calm
down so she could examine his arm without him getting hysterical. Of course, the ruby
pendant wouldn't actually hypnotize him, it would serve as a focus for his attention while I
slipped into his mind and put him to sleep with a spell.

Hawk gave me an uncertain look, but he sat in the chair when I told him to. Then I
took the ruby pendant from around my neck and hold it out at eye level in front of him. Then
I began to swing it back and forth like a pendulum. "Look at the ruby, son. That's it. Now
keep looking, look deep into it. See how it sparkles? See how the light catches it and makes
it glow like fire? Good. Now as you look into the ruby, you'll feel your eyes growing heavy.
Let them close." I intoned, keeping my voice to a low soothing hum. While Hawk was
focused on the ruby, I slipped my mind into his and wove a sleep charm into his mind.
Within seconds he was snoring gently. Then I tapped into the nerves in his injured arm and
gently shut them down long enough for Bella to examine and set the arm.

"Will he really stay asleep?" Marissa asked softly.

"Yes. And he won't feel anything either," I said. "Belle's more than just my
assistant. She's also a pretty decent healer."

"I know enough to see that this isn't even a serious break," Belle said, examining the
boy's arm. "It's a greenstick fracture, Father. One of the simplest kinds to mend. And to
think, that—that dumbass would have cut his arm off!"

"Can I do anything to help?" Marissa asked.

Belle told her to get some bandages and splints out of the doctor's bag and while she
was doing that, my daughter set the arm. Marissa returned with the splints and Belle splinted
and bandaged the arm and put it in a sling. She also sent a brief healing pulse into the injured
limb, knitting the bone together so it would heal quicker than normal. I knew if we'd been
in Asgard she would have simply healed it all the way with magic, but we couldn't do that
here.

"There. All done." She announced.

I released the pain blocks on the child and picked him up, careful not to jostle his arm.
"I'll bring him back to his vardo, he should sleep for a few hours and then wake up. Belle,
do you have any pain reliever I can dose him with? That arm will be hurting by then."

"I can get some from our supplies," she said, and departed to do so.

I carried the sleeping child outside, ignoring the hostile glare of the doctor and the
curious ones of the cook and the dog trainer. Marissa followed, closing the door behind her.

We said nothing on the way back to the Flynn wagon, though I sensed that Marissa
was bursting with questions. But she waited until we were inside the wagon, away from
watching eyes and gossipy tongues, to ask them.

I set the sleeping child down on his bed, placing the splinted arm carefully outside the
covers, which I tucked up round him. Then I drew the curtain which separated the sleeping
quarters from the rest of the dining area and returned to where Marissa was seated on a chair.

"Is he asleep still?"

I nodded. "Out like a light. And he'll stay that way for a good while. I'm going to
stay here until Esmerelda and Rowena return, so I can explain what happened." I seated myself
opposite her, resting my hands on the table top.

"I feel as if I'm to blame somehow," she admitted, her sky blue eyes filled with regret.
"I was practicing there when he came in with Banner, I should have stayed and made sure he
wasn't up to anything. But I was so busy concentrating on the rest of what I had to do later
that I didn't think and I left him alone."

"You can't blame yourself, Marissa," I said calmly. "Accidents happen, especially
to kids his age. He's a born daredevil. Reminds me a bit of myself way back when."

"Oh? And how many bones did you break, Mr. Sigurdson?"

"Not one," I chuckled. "But that was due to luck, not for lack of trying. Besides, as
Belle said, this wasn't a bad break. It could have been a lot worse. I've known people to
break their necks falling off a horse."

"Yes. That's one of the dangers of my profession. But I learned long ago how to fall
off and not injure myself seriously. It's one of the first things a trick rider learns. But there's
always an element of danger. It's why not many women will be bareback riders much past
their twenties, because the older you get, the harder it is to avoid an injury that could kill or
cripple you."

"Stunt riding is a game for the young and reckless, huh?" I teased, giving her a slow
smile.

"You could say that, I suppose." She shifted in her seat. She was still wearing her
exercise outfit, tights and a large tunic-like shirt that came down to mid-thigh. Her dark hair
was pulled back into a tail that reached the middle of her back. "I didn't know magicians
knew so much about medicine."

"Normally we don't," I said slowly, not wanting to reveal too much. "But I'm an
exception. I used to be a doctor back in Norway, before my wife died and I decided to turn
to magic as a way to forget her loss. I taught Bella some of what I knew, and she's a better
instinctive healer than even I am."

"Was it because you couldn't save your wife that you stopped being a doctor?"
Marissa queried, then went red. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. It's none of my
business."

I waved off her apology, though I couldn't help noticing that the blush brought an
attractive hint of red to her cheeks. "No offense taken, Marissa. For that's pretty much what
happened. Belle was just a little child when my wife died, so she doesn't really remember
her. And being a physician is a demanding occupation, and I had a daughter to raise by
myself, so I decided to leave my practice and become a traveling magician," I improvised
quickly. Sometimes I lie so well I nearly believe my own lies. "That way I could escape my
memories and take my daughter with me wherever I went. I find it just as rewarding as being
a doctor, and I don't have to worry about patients dying on me."

Marissa cocked her head a little, considering what I'd told her. "That makes sense,
I guess. But I think the way you handled that self-righteous ass was wonderful, Loki. Dr.
Bozo—that's what we call him behind his back—had that coming for a long time. He only
said that to poor Hawk cause he's a half-breed, and the good doctor thinks his sort aren't
worthy of decent treatment like the rest of us white folks," Marissa declared, her voice rich
with scorn. "Him and Mr. Tims consider Indians and half-breeds the lowest form of life on
earth. Says they're savages without human feelings, no better than animals. Mr. Tims once
said to Marco that he oughta have given the boy away rather than raise him as a member of his
family, since a half-breed was a stain on his honor."

I bit back a laugh. "I can imagine what Marco said to that." For the Rom acrobat was
an easy-going individual save when his family was insulted and threatened. Then, look out
world!

Marissa flashed me a conspiratorial grin, like an eager child with a secret. "You
should have seen him, Loki. I thought he was going to grab him and shove him in the cage
with the tigers, he was that mad. He told Tims that he had the heart of a jackal and the
courage of an ant to even suggest such a thing, and the next time he said anything like that,
gadje or no gadje, Marco was going to beat him senseless and stake him out in the sun until
he learned to keep his mouth shut. He scared Tims so bad that he nearly wet himself right
there. And when Tims tried to complain to my father about the irrational people he
employed, Pa told him that a wise man keeps his opinions to himself and a fool blabs his
mouth all over the place and that was the end of it. I don't think Tims ever forgave Marco
for humiliating him like that, or Pa for sticking up for the Flynns." She scowled. "I don't
trust that snake Tims as far as he can run and he can barely run a mile, he's so lazy. I've told
Pa time and again to get rid of him, but he says Tims is so good with the accounts he doesn't
know where we could find another willing to travel with us."

While Marissa was speaking, I had been eyeing her covertly from beneath my lashes.
She was not the kind of woman who made men stop dead in the street or point at her from
afar. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, in fact she was refreshingly ordinary.
Her hair and her eyes were her best features, she had the most arresting pair of blue eyes I'd
ever seen and her hair was a deep sealskin brown with tiny reddish highlights in it. Her skin
was a light bronze color from being out in the sun and her body was firm with muscle from
all the acrobatics and riding. But she was not beautiful like the women of Asgard, though
there was something undefinable that drew my gaze.

I felt myself heating up with a desire I'd not known since Sigyn and I had parted ways
long before. I tried to ignore it, telling myself quite firmly that the very last thing I needed
was to develop an infatuation with a mortal woman, especially one I'd never see again once
I'd snatched Gungnir and disappeared. But my heart has always been a most wayward
creature and it took great delight in ignoring my head.

We continued to chat amiably for the rest of the hour, and I told her some amusing
stories of Norway and the customs there and she in turn swapped tales of her own experiences
traveling across the prairie until Esmerelda and Rowena arrived home. I told them what had
happened and both of them assured me they would take care of Hawk now and thanked me
profoundly for my timely intervention.

In fact, the whole family was so grateful that Marco declared Belle and me honorary
members of his household and said we had an open invitation to the vardo. That simple act
of gratitude and kindness, done so casually, touched me more profoundly that any gift of gold
ever could have. Always before, my efforts at healing my fellow immortals had been given
grudging respect at best, and not once had any save Baldur ever said thank you for my help.
Yet here was this itinerant Gypsy who lived out of the back of a wagon showing more honest
gratitude than any of those who'd once called themselves gods.

Even Matthew Turner praised my quick actions and Belle's neat handiwork, making
Dr. Boswell grumble like thunder and cast baleful looks in my direction when I wasn't
looking. Not that I need the praise, I did what I did because I felt it was right, but it's always
nice to be appreciated. Such are the rewards of kindness, I thought later on that night as I lay
in my bed.

For some reason I found myself thinking of Jesus, who had gone about healing people
and was often feared because of it as well, yet he continued doing so because he felt he had
to. Kindness has its own reward in heaven, he'd said once to me.

I fell asleep dreaming of a shining light and out of it stepped Marissa, who held out
her hands to me and then embraced me like a long lost lover.

I woke sweating, the covers twisted about me, and my arms clasping nothing but air.
Cursing myself roundly for a besotted idiot, I untangled myself, summoned a cool wind to
banish the sticky heat that hovered over me like a shroud, then went back to sleep, resolving
not to think of Marissa as anything but a fellow performer. I'd protected my heart too long
to risk it falling in love with a mortal. Such a match was doomed before it ever began.
I was here to rescue the spear, not to go courting a bareback rider, no matter if she
made the forgotten places in my heart beat insanely. Such a love could not last. We were too
different and she could never know the truth. A relationship built on lies is like a house built
on sand, it will collapse at the first big wave. I was too smart to be caught in that trap, I
thought smugly.