Chapter 11
"This won't take long," Lord Barborough said. "I simply wanted to know how you've fared with the servants."
I wished I'd spoken to Balthazar more. If anyone had suggestions for what I should tell Barborough, it would be him. "It's been difficult, my lord. The servants are busy and unwilling to talk to me."
"Did you search your patient's room?"
"Yes," I lied. "I found nothing to indicate where she lived before working for the palace."
He shifted in the saddle and stared over my head into the forest. "What about the captain of the guards?"
"What about him?"
"Don't be coy, Miss Cully." He shifted his weight again and his useless arm slipped. He nudged it with his other hand, not loosening his grip on the reins. "You two are…friends."
"Yes, though not the sort of friend you're implying."
His eyes widened at my brazenness.
"I haven't seen his chambers," I went on. "I don't even know where he sleeps at night."
"In the room next to the king," he said.
"If you know where it is, perhaps you should search it."
"Perhaps I will. He might be the sorcerer. After all, he has access to the entire palace and is close to the king. And if I were a sorcerer and needed to disguise myself as a man, that's the form I'd choose. Don't you agree, Miss Cully?" His voice was oily, his smile slippery. "Yes, I believe you do." He eyed me closely then chuckled.
I walked off. To my surprise and relief, he didn't try to stop me.
"You must question the servants more thoroughly," he called out. "I want to hear of your progress next time we speak. Otherwise, you know what will happen."
I heard him leave in the opposite direction. I followed the path through the forest until it met the village road, only to be stopped again by another rider. This one was a much more welcome sight.
"I see you're taking the long, slow way home," Dane said, dismounting.
"Not that long or slow," I said.
"We parted hours ago." He frowned. "Your hair's damp."
"I stopped for a dip in a pond."
His gaze raked my length and back up again. "Your clothes are dry."
"Not all of them."
His brows rose and his gaze roamed over me again. It felt warm enough to dry me completely. "Did anyone see you?"
"Only Lady Miranda Claypool."
His brows shot up higher. "How did you convince her to go into a pond?"
"I didn't have to. She convinced me. She's more wicked than she lets on."
He smiled—a good sign considering the dark mood I'd left him in. He also didn't seem in a hurry to leave. Whatever had taken him from the palace must have been dealt with.
"Have you been to Mull?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"That's confidential," he said.
"Ah, so I will assume it was very important work to keep everyone safe," I teased.
"Just everyone at the palace. The village is out of my jurisdiction." His horse tossed its head and stomped its hoof, eager to be off again. "If I tell you to be careful, will you become angry with me again?"
"Again? Dane, I wasn't angry with you ever. Frustrated, perhaps, but not angry."
He didn't ask me why I was frustrated. Part of me wished he would so we could bring the situation to a head, but mostly I was glad he didn't. It was better for my heart if I didn't hear the reasons for his rejection.
"Good," was all he said.
"I'm glad to see you here," I told him. "It saves me a journey back to the palace to report on my meeting with Lord Barborough. I saw him just now, on my way out of the forest." He didn't seem surprised so must have known the Vytill representative was nearby. Perhaps that was why he was heading back to the palace from the village—he'd followed Barborough. "He pressed upon me the need to question the servants."
"Pressed?" he echoed.
"He reminded me of the consequences if I fail."
"Damn it." His horse shifted and he stroked its neck to calm it. "Next time, tell him one of the maids told you she was born in Freedland and came to Glancia for a better life. She applied for a job as maid, when she heard the palace was being built, and was accepted. A week later, she started here. The palace had just been completed."
"Where did she apply?"
He thought for a moment. "Tilting."
"I mean, at an office? How did she hear the new palace needed staff?"
"A friend told her, and she had heard it from another friend. Be vague so he can't verify your statements, but give him enough to make it believable."
"I'll try to sound convincing."
"Hopefully his threat to tell the king about your visits was an idle one, but I don't want to test him."
"Have you been following him?"
"That's also confidential."
"Fine, I won't ask again, although I will assume you've been following him to learn his movements and who his friends are."
"People like Barborough don't have friends," he said. "They have associates, people they use to get what they want." He must have thought me troubled because he added, "Don't worry about him, Josie. You feed him your false information and I'll feed him mine."
"All right." I stroked his horse's neck too, my hand close to Dane's. His fingers stilled. I felt his gaze on me, but when I looked up, I realized he was the troubled one. Despite his attempts at a lighter mood, something worried him. "What is it, Dane? What's wrong?"
He hesitated then said, "I found out that Barborough has been stirring up the locals, whispering in certain ears to fuel the dissent that's been simmering for some time. If we're not careful, it'll boil over and Mull's sheriff won't be able to contain it. That'll play nicely into Vytill's hands."
"What can we do?"
"You can stay safe in your house, especially at night. I'll find a way to curtail Barborough's influence. Understood?"
"Understood. I have no intention of leaving the house at night anyway."
He eyed me carefully. "That was surprisingly easy. Are you sure you're Josie Cully and not a sorceress?"
"Ha! If I were, I'd choose to be a princess and look like Miranda."
His eyes brightened with his smile. "If you're fishing for compliments, I'm not giving any out today."
Perhaps I had been. He could have obliged by giving me just a small one. Once again, we were back to being awkward when everything had begun to return to normal. I could have kicked myself.
"Speaking of the king," I said, very aware that we had not been. "I saw him with Lady Morgrave. They came to the pond as we were leaving. They didn't see us."
One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "Let me guess. They were swimming naked too."
"I was not naked. Nor was Miranda."
He pressed his lips together but couldn't quite dampen the smile.
"Yes, they removed their clothes to go swimming," I said with a lift of my chin. "Miranda and I crept away before we saw much. But it does prove that they are now enjoying one another's company in private. You suspected, didn't you?"
"I knew. Theo discovered them together last night. He was annoyed that he had to find somewhere else to sleep."
"Poor Theo."
"Don't feel sorry for him. He slept in the room vacated by the Claypools. It's a very nice suite and he had it all to himself."
"What do you think will happen now that the king has a mistress?"
"Difficult to say. I'm not familiar with the protocol, nor am I sure how attached he is to Lady Morgrave. The relationship might be fleeting, or it might be serious enough that she chooses his wife for him."
Imagine his poor wife having to contend with her husband's mistress. I felt sorry for the future queen. At least Miranda was safely relegated to a small room with the other lesser nobles, although she must be careful not to attract his attention again. She was beautiful, kind, and witty enough that she could do it without really trying.
"I'd better go," he said, gazing over my head in the direction of the palace. "I'd give you a ride home but—"
"I know, it would be awkward."
"Actually I was going to say I have to get back for a meeting with my men."
"Oh. Right. That'll teach me to open my mouth."
He laughed softly. "I know it's a little strained between us right now, but I don't want it to be."
"Nor do I."
"Can we still be friends?"
"Of course," I said. "Nothing need change."
"I agree."
The thing was, I wanted it to change. I wanted to take our relationship from friendship to something more. Clearly, Dane did not.
The problem with living alone was that an entire day could pass without speaking to anyone. I could have spent hours making medicines in the kitchen, if only I hadn't run out of spices. There were enough locally grown plants in the larder from my foraging expeditions, but the more exotic required a trip to the market.
I checked my purse and counted out enough ells to cover the expense—no more. I then added another five ells for food. It left my purse precariously low.
The day had begun hot and promised to grow hotter without a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind. Another dip in the palace's pond would be nice, or a paddle in the shallows at Half Moon Cove. Thinking of that beach only brought back memories of meeting Dane there and seeing the scars crossing his broad back. That pleasurable time would forever be tainted with the sickening sight and the pain of discovering my father's body afterward.
Some of the food stalls were beginning to close before the heat ruined what little produce they had left. I should have come earlier before the best fruit and vegetables were sold. What remained were the bruised, the wilted, and yesterday's leftovers. I picked the freshest and paid the exorbitant asking prices. The grocer couldn't even look me in the eye as I handed over the ells. I'd known him all my life and he must be aware that my livelihood had diminished after Father's death, yet he still charged full price for a handful of nuts and a collection of vegetables beginning to turn brown.
"Ridiculous, ain't it?" rasped a voice in my ear; the voice of someone I didn't want to meet today.
"What's ridiculous, Ivor?" I asked, moving away.
"The cost of this filth." He picked up a limp leek from the cart and waved it in the air.
The grocer glared at him. "Put that down, Morgrain."
"You should be ashamed of yourself, charging Josie those prices."
"She pays the same as everyone else. I don't discriminate."
"You're greedy."
"Get going, Morgrain. Stop stirring up trouble."
I walked away, not wanting to witness an argument between them and not wanting to be anywhere near Ivor. He followed me to Mika Tao's spice stall, however, hovering like an annoying fly as I made my purchases.
"What do you want, Ivor?" I finally asked as I placed the parcels in my basket.
He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Can't I just have a friendly chat with a friend?"
"Shouldn't you be at work?"
"I'm on my break, and if my employer doesn't like it, he can shove it. A man's allowed to have a break on a hot day and not lose his job."
True, but I doubted his break was long enough that he could wander around the market. I wasn't interested in hearing Ivor whine about the problems Mull faced, but I was interested in hearing more about the meeting he attended with Ned Perkin in The Anchor. Perhaps I'd encourage conversation, after all.
"I agree," I told him as we walked slowly together through the market. "I hope your employer is a reasonable man."
He snorted.
"Speaking of which, there's someone new that I've seen lately in Mull who seems to be important." I stopped beneath a large tree at the edge of the market. Its shade offered welcome respite from the heat. "You know everybody and everybody knows you, so I thought you could tell me his name."
Ivor's chest swelled. "What's he look like?"
"Mid-thirties, brown, windswept hair. His right arm doesn't seem to work very well."
"Aye, I know him. He's a lord, advisor to the king."
"King Leon?"
He chuckled. "Well it ain't King Alain, is it? Course, he might have advised him at the old castle in Tilting before he died. I don't know the lord's name. He wouldn't say." He glanced around then leaned in. "He says he wants to be anonymous on account of his position."
"How did you meet him?" I asked.
"He came to The Anchor and started asking around about the palace and servants, where they're from, that sort of thing."
"But if he's an advisor to the king, shouldn't he already have that information?"
"Because he's a lord and one of the king's men, most won't tell him their problems. He says he wants to help them by getting to know their struggles—and ours too—and he can't do that unless he knows more about them and us villagers. He seems like he wants to help, like he really wants to understand the working man and woman and improve our lot. Everything he learns, he passes onto the king and the other advisers in their policy meetings."
"What have you told him?"
"About the servants? Nothing. I don't know anything about them. Me, Ned and others have told him about our own troubles, and the problems Mull is facing right now since The Rift cut off The Thumb. He seemed real interested, so we invited him to sit in on a village meeting. Why do you want to speak to him?"
I considered telling him who Barborough was really working for, but decided to leave it to Dane. It might not be a good idea to let Ivor know that I was in Dane's confidence.
"I want to petition him about allowing women into the colleges, specifically the medical college," I said. "Since he's an advisor to the king, perhaps he can suggest it in a meeting with the king."
Ivor laughed and shook his head. "That ain't never going to happen. You should worry about what can be changed, not what can't."
"A stroke of a pen on a piece of paper can change it," I said hotly.
He held up his hands. "Don't get mad with me. It ain't my fault. Besides, what's wrong with being a midwife? Why do you have to be a doctor too?
I opened my mouth, to tell him everything that was wrong with his statements, only to close it again. Debating with Ivor Morgrain about a woman's right to study at college was like trying to make water flow upstream. It was a wasted effort.
Ivor squinted into the sky. "I have to get back to work. Meet me for a drink later at The Anchor."
"I can't."
"Why? It ain't like you got anything better to do."
"There's an expectant mother I have to look in on."
"Come after."
I sighed. "Ivor, I'm not meeting you for a drink. Not tonight or any other night. I'm sorry but—"
His hand whipped out and grabbed my wrist. I gasped as pain shot up my arm. "You owe me for telling you about that lord."
I tried to pull free but his grip was too tight. With my blood circulation strangled, my hand began to throb. "I owe you nothing. You gave me that information willingly."
"Nothing's free, Josie," he snarled, teeth bared. "Not around here. Merdu, you're such a naive fool."
"You're the fool, Ivor," I snapped. "If you wanted payment, you should have negotiated beforehand. Oh, and by the way, the lord with the limp arm is Lord Barborough and he's not an advisor to King Leon, he advises King Philip of Vytill."
The shocked look on his face was worth the cost of revealing what I knew. Dane had wanted to tell Ivor, Ned and the other Mullians that Barborough wasn't on their side anyway. I no longer cared if Ivor knew I was in Dane's confidence. I no longer cared what Ivor thought about anything.
"Now let me go," I snarled. "You're hurting me." This time when I pulled, he released me. I shook out my hand to re-invigorate the circulation and hurried back through the market, where people still milled about, hoping the prices would drop on the older produce.
A glance over my shoulder proved Ivor had left. I slowed and let out a shuddery breath. That was twice he'd become angry with me and lashed out, hurting me. There would not be a third time.
I was still shaking with fury and indignation when I received a visitor soon after arriving home. Remy, the child from The Row, blinked up at me on the doorstep. He looked healthy yet very thin, like most children from Mull's slum.
I invited him in for tea and a bite to eat, hoping the flat oat cakes in the tin were still edible. I kept them for visitors, but I'd had so few callers lately that they were probably stale.
"Thank you, Miss, but I can't. I got to bring you back with me." He took my hand and tugged.
"What's wrong? Is it your mother?"
"No, Miss, it's our neighbor. She's having a baby but it got stuck. My Ma says you can get it out."
"I'll fetch my pack."
The women of The Row usually delivered their own babies with the help of neighbors, or sometimes with no help at all. My father had attended a difficult birth there on at least one occasion in my stead. He'd not liked me going anywhere near the lawless neighborhood. I had not told him about the time I'd been chased into it, when I'd met Remy's mother. It had been better for his peace of mind that he remained ignorant.
Despite the bright sunny day, the light was duller in The Row, and the thick air smelled fouler than usual, as if a blanket smothered the houses—if the lean-tos and derelict buildings could be called that. Remy led me along the main thoroughfare, the original row, where the whores eyed me with barely disguised animosity. Last time, they'd driven me deeper into the complex web of lanes, but this time they didn't threaten me. Remy's determined step seemed to reassure them that I wasn't going to steal their trade.
We passed few men, but those we did see watched me like they either wanted to have their way with me or steal my pack. Two followed us. They were big men, built like they were hewn from rock, certainly not starving like the others.
"I'm a midwife," I told them, clutching my pack to my chest. "There are only forceps in here and other tools of my trade. I deliver babies," I added, because they showed not a flicker of understanding.
I followed Remy into a familiar lane. It was the one in which I'd lost my money and a crayfish that I'd intended to cook for dinner. Remy climbed through a hole in the wall of a building that looked as if a strong breeze would shatter it. I squeezed through and continued on through another hole to a small room where the air was so putrid I gagged.
I covered my nose and mouth and allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. What I saw made me want to immediately leave again. Going by the two mattresses and a trunk, the room was a home, but there was no other furniture. Two children, younger than Remy, sat beside a heavily pregnant woman lying on one of the thin mattresses. Their clothing hung off their thin frames and their hands, feet and faces were filthy, their hair matted. Some of the smell probably came from them. They watched me through frightened eyes until Remy spoke to them in soothing tones.
Remy's mother, Dora, sat with the woman, holding her hand. She was about to speak when the woman screamed and writhed on the mattress.
"Remy, take the children outside," I told him, kneeling near the pregnant woman.
Once they were gone, I lifted her skirts and felt her protruding belly. The baby was in the correct position, thank the goddess. With such poor light, I couldn't see if it was crowning, but I could feel.
"My name is Josie Cully," I said when her pain subsided.
"I'm Marnie," she said between pants.
I smiled to reassure her. "You haven't dilated much, Marnie. How close are the contractions?"
"Not very, but they're painful." She spoke well, as if she'd had a good upbringing with some education, unlike many in the slums. "My back and hips are sore."
"She can hardly move," Dora said. "She's been bed-bound since she came here two weeks ago."
"You're not from Mull?" I asked.
Marnie shook her head. "Vytill. Port Haven on The Thumb. My husband had a good job there, operating a crane on the docks. We had to leave after The Rift."
It was an all-too common tale these days. "He doesn't have work here?"
"Not yet, but he's hopeful." From the tone of her voice, she'd lost all hope.
"That's where he is today," Dora said. "Looking for work. Any kind of work. The crane companies aren't hiring right now."
"No one's hiring," Marnie bit off. "Not Vytill folk, anyway. I wish we'd never come here. I wish we'd stayed in Vytill. He might not have work but at least we'd have a better roof over our heads than this, and we'd still have our savings."
"Did you spend it all to come here?" I asked.
"We had to give it up at the border. We had to pay the Glancia authorities to live in this country, and what was left was confiscated by the Vytill authorities. They say it was Vytill money, earned in Vytill and should stay in Vytill. It'll just go to the king's coffers. All we had left was that trunk with some clothes, brought here on a cart. We sold the cart, but the money's almost all gone now."
I sat back on my haunches. "You can't even keep your own money?" It hardly seemed worthwhile to come here at all, yet so many of them poured across the border.
"My husband wants work, Miss. He only knows how to be a crane operator, and docks are the only places that have cranes. He didn't want to stay in Vytill and learn a new trade. There aren't many jobs there anyway, except mine work and that's a fast way to an early grave. So we came here. He thought he'd get hired straight away, on account of his experience, but it's too late. All the jobs are gone."
"There's plenty of construction down by the docks," I said. "Could he find work as a laborer there?"
"He's trying but the men of Mull got the best jobs and the first wave of immigrants from The Thumb got the rest. Now, there's nothing left, only scraps for beggars." Her face crumpled and a silent sob wracked her. "We have nothing here," she said through her tears. "What hope is there for our children?"
Her tears turned to those of pain as another contraction ripped through her. It lasted several excruciating moments. By the end of it, she was sweating and panting and crying again.
Dora handed her a cup but I took it from her. I smelled it then tasted a drop. It was clean and I gave Dora nod. She had heeded my earlier advice about the need for fresh water.
"Can you do something for her pain?" she asked in her soft, fragile voice. It was easy to forget how young she was, since Remy was eight, but she couldn't have been much older than me.
"You say it hurts your hips and back?" I asked Marnie as she drank deeply.
She nodded. "We walked here."
"All that way? In your condition? Merdu, no wonder you can hardly move."
"When they got here, her husband had to carry her inside," Dora said.
"If it weren't for Dora," Marnie said, taking Dora's hand again, "I don't know where we would have slept these last nights. She saved us."
I felt Marnie's hips and found the dislocation. It was surprising the pain hadn't caused her to pass out. The birth would be excruciating.
I pulled out a bottle of Mother's Milk from my pack and measured two drops onto a spoon. I didn't like using the strong pain reliever on pregnant women, as it was important they knew when to push, but Marnie's condition left me no choice. I couldn't let her go through childbirth if there was an alternative. I measured out precisely the number of drops and no more. Too much would make her throw up as the effects wore off, but more importantly, it was my last bottle. The liquid was complicated to make, the ingredient list long, and some of those ingredients were rare and expensive. I couldn't afford to make another batch.
"This will take effect very quickly," I told her as I spooned it into her mouth. "Your body will feel numb and you may feel drowsy, but try not to succumb to sleep. I want you awake so you can push when I tell you."
Slowly Marnie's body began to relax. I knew the moment the full effects of the Mother's Milk had taken hold because she released Dora's hand and sank into the mattress. With the mother calm, I was able to place my ear trumpet to her swollen belly and listen to the baby's heartbeat. It was strong and steady.
"Were your other children born quickly?" I asked.
"They took their time." She even managed a smile. "They're still like that. Still dawdlers." She glanced at the hole in the wall.
"I'll fetch them," Dora said, rising.
She returned a moment later with the children and Remy. Marnie reassured them and told them to be good until their father returned.
"Can I send them on an errand with Remy?" I asked. "It'll give them something to do."
Marnie hesitated. "They're young."
"Remy will take care of them," Dora said. "He's very responsible."
"It's not far," I reassured her.
Marnie nodded.
"Remy, take the children to the house directly opposite where I live," I told the boy. "Tell the woman who answers that I sent you, and that I'd like her to give you something to eat."
"No, no," Marnie protested, trying to sit up and failing. "Your neighbors shouldn't be bothered with our troubles."
"They won't mind. Besides, the family owes me dozens of favors. They've never paid for my father's medical services."
Dora encouraged the children to go. Marnie protested but it was unconvincing, something I'd counted on. No mother would put pride before her own children’s welfare. Meg and her family would see that all three were well fed and probably washed too. Meg's mother would give the clothes off her own back for a child.
My own stomach growled. It had been some time since I'd eaten, but at least my last meal had come that same day. Marnie and Dora probably hadn't eaten decent food for some time. Either they didn't hear my stomach or they politely ignored it.
"It's not healthful for you or the children to stay in here all day and night," I said, taking a proper look around the room. A little light filtered through the cracks in the roof, but those cracks would not be a blessing when it rained. "You need light and fresh air."
"It's safer in here," Marnie said.
Both women cast anxious glances toward the hole in the wall, no doubt worrying that their children had left The Row without incident. While it was a dangerous place for outsiders, The Row tended to leave their own alone, so Dora once assured me. Seeing their anxiety, I wasn't entirely sure if that was true now.
With the Mother's Milk taking effect, I talked to Marnie about life on The Thumb between contractions to keep her awake and pass the time. The conversation naturally progressed to the stark differences to her life in Mull. It wasn't just the poverty they faced here, and her husband's frustration at the lack of work, there was also the animosity from the Mullians.
"He's been spat on, shouted at, sworn at, and had to run from an angry mob once," she said, almost in tears again. "Every day he goes out, I worry he won't come home, or if he does, he'll be battered and bruised. The Row might look like a nasty place, but he feels safer walking the streets in here than out there in the so-called respectable parts of Mull."
"The Row is filled with migrants from The Thumb," Dora said. "And those who were here before The Rift know what it's like to have nothing, and be despised for it. We're all the same in The Row, and The Row protects us, in a way."
"The locals are afraid of losing their jobs." Even as I said, I heard how hollow the argument sounded. "But you're right, there's no excuse for how you're being treated."
"Why don't your lawmen do something about it?" Marnie asked, rubbing her belly. "Why don't they stop it before it gets out of control?"
"There aren't enough lawmen to stop them," Dora said.
"Then employ more. That way you give jobs to those in need and keep everyone safe."
"This village spend more than it has to?" Dora snorted. "There are a lot of things the governor could have done to feed and house the needy but he hasn't lifted a finger."
"Doesn't your king live nearby? Wouldn't he want peace in the village? I would think he'd worry about an uprising."
She was right but I wasn't sure if King Leon was aware of the situation in Mull. Dane certainly was, and I had to assume he informed the king and his advisers.
The children returned, sporting clothes that had probably once belonged to Meg and her brother before they grew out of them. It was just like Mrs. Diver to hold onto them for sentimental reasons or for future grandchildren. The children's faces and hair were also clean, and each carried a pack of provisions that they eagerly showed to their mothers. I finally sent them out again as Marnie's contractions came closer together.
Her husband arrived shortly after the birth of his son. Despite his exhaustion, he cradled the newborn gently and quietly sang him a song from his homeland. I left soon after, with a promise to return to check on mother and baby.
I was speaking to Dora outside when Marnie's husband squeezed through the hole in the wall. He was tall and had probably once been well built but his clothes now hung loosely from his wiry frame.
"Take this as payment," he said, pushing one of the packs at me.
I shook my head. "You can pay me when you find work."
He looked relieved. "I will. Thank you."
"In the meantime, if you need any medical assistance, come to the house with the sign of two cupped hands. Dora and Remy know the way. I'll give you credit until you can afford to pay me. Unless it's a midwifery issue, don't tell the authorities."
It didn't matter if he paid or not. I couldn't let children go without medical help. Besides, it would give me something to do and give me a reason to brush up on my doctoring skills.
He walked with me out of The Row, his presence acting as security. From there, I headed home alone. Clouds blocked the moonlight and darkness blanketed the village. The air was dense with the promise of rain, and I was soon sweaty from my brisk pace. It would be a warm night, not conducive to sleep, particularly for those of us who didn't dare leave a window open.
It wasn't late, and I expected to see others out on such a warm night. But no couples strolled hand-in-hand, no one hurried home after working late or drinking at the taverns. The hushed silence felt as thick as the air and just as expectant.
Then I heard it. A shout, followed by several in response. Another shout, louder, then a crowd's roar. Drums pounded in a rhythmic marching beat while others clanged in random, tuneless thwacks.
The drums and shouts drew nearer, rising and falling like the tide. I paused, unsure whether to continue home or see what was happening. My curiosity warred with common sense and common sense won.
Or would have, if I hadn't met Ingrid Swinson.