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Warlock was six years old and didn’t feel so great. He had gone into the garden with Brother Francis for one of their walks around the grounds, when halfway through, he suddenly stopped walking and doubled over.
“Everything alright there, Master Warlock?”
“Feel sick,” he said as a cold wave of nausea washed over him and made him shiver. A hand found its way onto his back and it passed. He took a deep breath and straightened up again.
“Better again?” Brother Francis’ hand was still on his back and he looked concerned.
“Yeah.”
“Perhaps we should cut the walk short today.”
Warlock didn’t feel like throwing up anymore, but he was still unsteady on his feet. Even the way from here back to the house seemed long now. “Yeah.” He took a few more steps, before leaning into Brother Francis for a moment. His cable-knit jumper was soft against his forehead.
“Or perhaps we’ll have some tea in my cottage first,” he suggested and patted his shoulder. Warlock nodded.
Sluggishly, he followed him to his little house that they had just passed on their walk and lay down on the sofa in the living room when he was told to make himself comfortable. They did that sometimes, have tea over here or hot chocolate in the winter. Sometimes just the two of them, but often Nanny would join them too. Sleeping on the couch was a first for him, though, even when it got boring.
A minute later, Brother Francis returned, carrying two cups of herbal tea and some Digestive biscuits to the coffee table. He looked at Warlock where he lay and frowned. “My, you really aren’t feeling too well, are you?”
Warlock shrugged and was promptly covered with a blanket. His shoes had disappeared too somewhere along the line.
“Here, try to drink a bit. This tea soothes the stomach.” Brother Francis crouched down next to the sofa and helped support the heavy mug that Warlock was holding with both hands, as he took a few small sips. Warlock eased back into the couch and pulled his legs up, letting out a heavy breath.
Brother Francis glanced out the window and then settled into his armchair, book in hand. “Quite right, let’s sit for a while. I’ve been interested in parables lately. Would you rather I read quietly or out loud?
“Out loud.” Brother Francis’ voice was warm and comforting. And he liked his stories; especially if he could just listen to them and wouldn’t have to discuss them.
“Very well.” He opened the book (probably the Bible) and turned the pages. “Rich Fool, Tares, The net… hm, eschatology? I think not.” He murmured to himself until he found something he liked and began to read with a smile.
“There we are. This is a story about love and forgiveness, Warlock.
‘One of the Pharisees invited him to eat with him. He entered into the Pharisee's house, and sat at the table. Behold, a woman in the city who was a sinner, when she knew that he was reclining in the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of ointment. Standing behind at his feet weeping…’“
As Brother Francis read, his accent and the rhythm of his voice seemed to change, making him sound more like a soft-spoken teacher than his gardener. Warlock closed his eyes and let his mind wander.
“… Now, Warlock, the main interpretation I am familiar with says that Jesus already knew the woman had been forgiven by God, because of how much she loved him. That is to say, the woman loved Jesus so much, because God had forgiven her all of her sins and she was grateful. Another interpretation proposes that Jesus forgives her sins, because of how much she loves him and God. What do you think?”
“From experience, neither,” a familiar voice said. Warlock looked up. Nanny had just come inside, but she'd been so sneaky, he hadn’t even heard the door. Brother Francis seemed surprised too; pleasantly at first and then a bit stricken.
“Now, now, dearest. If you remember—” he said as Nanny strode over to the sofa to crouch down next to Warlock.
“I hope you’re not about to quote Lewis at me.*” She gave him a pointed look and Brother Francis raised his hands apologetically.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But I do hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me,” he said and rose to his feet to get her some tea too (or well, some kind of liquid in a mug).
She smiled, just a little, and ran her hand through Warlock’s hair. “Make that a strong cup,” she called after him, before tending to her charge who’d been watching the exchange curiously. “Now, darling, I’d already been worried that man had taken you out on a hike and now I find he’s making you sit through more Bible lessons? I clearly need to have a stern word with him.”
Despite himself, Warlock grinned. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t feel so good, so he let me lie down. And he asked me if I wanted to listen or not and I said yes.”
“Hm… alright, then. I guess you’re off the hook,” she said to Brother Francis, who just came back into the room, handing Nanny her new mug.
“Oh dear, do I even want to know for what?” he said, although he seemed to be in on the joke.
She took a long sip and put the mug down. “Kidnapping my charge, for one. But I suppose I’m here now.”
“Kidnapping, now really.” He shook his head and sat back down, as she held her hand against Warlock’s forehead. “As far as I can tell he has a small stomach bug. I’ve already given him some herbal tea.”
Nanny hummed. “And did you—?” She made a vague gesture.
“Very small one.”
“I see.” She brushed her thumb gently over Warlock’s forehead until he opened his eyes again. He hadn’t even realised they’d fallen shut. “Can you tell me how you feel, please?”
“Sick.”
“Poor thing. And do you feel nauseous or dizzy or tired?”
“Yes, no, kinda.”
“Any pain?”
“My tummy hurts.”
Nanny tutted and stroked his forehead again. “I think you may have caught something in the city. Touched your mouth, probably.” She got up and sat down on the sofa, letting Warlock rest his head on her lap. Her hand found his hair and he closed his eyes contently. “Would you like me to rub your tummy to make the pain go away?” she asked softly and Warlock nodded, cuddling into her skirt. Her hand, still warm from holding the mug, began to rub slow circles around his belly button.
Brother Francis looked over with a smile. “Shall I keep reading?”
“Depends. If you do the Prodigal Son, I’m leaving.”
“Of course not. I wish you were a bit more charitable with your assumptions.” Warlock could hear the frown in Brother Francis’ voice.
“I didn’t assume, I’m just saying,” she said and looked at him. Then she sounded a lot less aloof, more how she’d just spoken to Warlock. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just…”
“It’s alright, I know.”
Warlock didn’t, but it sounded like they’d made up, so that was good.
“How about something else entirely?” Brother Francis said.
“Good thought. Surprise me.” Nanny picked her mug back up with her free hand and leaned back on the couch. “Although no fairytales.”
“Not a fan of the Big Bad Wolf?”
“I rather am, which is the problem. No nuance.”
“Hm, I see, so no Good and Bad sides, yes? I suppose I could do the Grimm one with the sausage**. No baddie there,” Brother Francis chuckled.
Nanny rolled her eyes. “‘Switch jobs and you die.’ Tad bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
“Yes, on second thought, maybe not.”
Warlock, who didn’t know what they were discussing exactly, found their back-and-forth amusing and kind of comforting. As long as it wasn’t affecting his tummy rubs, he wasn’t complaining.
“There, I think I’ve got something.”
“Let’s hear it, then,” Nanny said.
Brother Francis sat back down with a new book. He cleared his throat, turned a few pages and then cleared his throat.
“The Piglet lived in a very grand house in the middle of a beech-tree, and the beech-tree was in the middle of the forest, and the Piglet lived in the middle of the house. Next to his house was a piece of broken board which had: "TRESPASSERS W" on it. When Christopher Robin asked the Piglet what it meant, he said it was his grandfather's name,…”
It took Warlock a while until he recognised the story as ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’; he couldn't remember which one of them had read it to him before, but he liked it. Nanny didn’t interrupt, so she must have liked it too.
In the beginning, Brother Francis turned the book around every few pages to show Warlock the illustrations, but as his eyelids grew heavier that became more and more unnecessary. One could have even argued that by the time his head lolled back, the reading itself had become unnecessary; if it hadn’t been for Nanny and Brother Francis themselves, that is.
Eventually, the story ended and the two adults went back to their usual discussions, clearly under the impression he was asleep. Nanny tucked the blanket around Warlock properly and leaned back, one hand on his shoulder and the older holding her mug.
They were arguing about shaking beer or something. Warlock wasn’t too interested in it, but it was nice background noise. Brother Francis’ old couch had almost swallowed him up, making it so that he would not have been able to get up easily, even if he had wanted to.
“Is he asleep?” Brother Francis asked.
Nanny shifted slightly and for a moment, he thought his cover had been blown. “Hm, he certainly appears to be,” she said. “Oh well, I suppose we’ll stay a bit longer.”
Warlock smiled just a little, but they didn’t seem to notice.