"Yes, but—you are going back, aren't you? You'll let me come? And I can take your clothes, now, and get Sevri to wash them—"

"No!" It came out harsher than she meant it, and Suli looked worried. Not frightened, Paks noticed, but worried.

"But—"

"Sevri has her own duties—she's not a washing maid. I'll do it; any soldier learns to keep her own gear clean." Paks could see that this was not pleasant news to Suli. She nodded, remembering her own feelings during training. "I told you before, Suli—being a warrior's not what you thought. Most of it is like this—cleaning gear, and keeping weapons in trim, and practice. If you don't do it yourself, you can't be sure it's done right."

The girl nodded, and leaned against the wall, evidently planning to stay until she was tossed out.

"Your own sword, for instance," said Paks severely. "Have you inspected it yet? Is it clean? Have you taken care of any nicks or dents? It's the grange's sword—you should return it in perfect condition."

Suli reddened, and pulled it from the scabbard—sticky with drying blood and hair.

"Go clean that," said Paks. "When you've got all the blood off, then polish it, and clean the scabbard. If you leave all that muck in the scabbard, then—"

"But how?" asked Suli. "It's inside, and—"

Paks took the scabbard and looked. Unlike hers, this was a simple wood casing, pegged in several places and glued along the edges. The upper end was notched for attachment to a belt.

"You're lucky. This is all wood. Take some wet grass or sedge—sedges are better—and tie them to a limber switch, and scrub inside with that. Then run clean water in and out of it. That should do. Set it in a cool place to dry—don't put the sword back inside, or it'll rust. If it smells clean tomorrow, you're done. Otherwise you may have to take it apart."

"Seems a lot of trouble, just to get a bloodstain off," grumbled Suli. Paks glared at her, sure now of her ground.

"Trouble! You don't know what trouble is, until you leave something to rot in your scabbard, and then nick yourself with dirty steel." She remembered the surgeons talking about wound fever, and poisoned weapons. "It's the way some tribes of orcs poison weapons, Suli. Store 'em in rotting flesh and blood." She was glad to see the girl turn green and turn to go without further argument. "Check with Ambros at the grange later this evening—you'll need to pick up another scabbard, and he can tell you where and when to meet us."

"Yes, Paks," said Suli, subdued.

Paks had just finished cleaning up, with her wet clothes hanging behind the kitchen, and her wet hair still chilly on her head, when Hebbinford came to tell her the gnomes wanted a word with her.

"Why?" she asked.