Lora of Two Worlds

Shortly after they boarded, the boats could move again.

Passing the Rush lock, someone recognized Leon and Roland standing on deck. A call went up, and the people on the bank waved.

Natural disaster couldn’t steal hearts. Ignoring the people in disaster, that lost hearts.

Leon was moved. The crown’s famine relief felt like alms for the destitute. From the height of the court, they couldn’t see clearly.

The marcher duke here, Eugene Osler, Leon knew him. But in his former life, they’d met only next year, when Osler returned to Augustburg to report. In three short years, he’d taken a war-torn, devastated domain and turned it into one that no longer needed relief, and could even pay a surplus of grain.

This life, would they meet again?

Northward. Soon they’d reach the Dongguang posting house, a combined water-and-land station, managing both canal boats and road traffic.

They’d lost time. The remaining daylight wouldn’t get them to the next station. They’d overnight here.

Moored. Keane and the men began building the cookfire. Lora went with Roland to the posting house to borrow a carriage for an outing.

”Captain, I’m sorry. We’ve only one carriage left. I can’t lend it, if a traveler arrives and finds no horses or carriage, I’ll be derelict. But I have horses. You can ride into town.”

Roland asked: ”How many?”

”Only two to spare.”

Lora looked at the four of them and pouted: ”I won’t go, then. I don’t know how to ride anyway.”

”You’re not going? Then none of us go. It was for you anyway. What’s a county town to see?” Roland was about to wave off the stationmaster when Leon said:

”Since we’ve free time, borrow the horses. I’ll teach you to ride, right outside the station.”

”Our horses can’t be used for that...”

The stationmaster was unhappy. Lending brought in money. Riding around the front gate, no income. And if someone saw and reported him, he’d be cited for negligence.

”You’re lending us the horses you use for county deliveries, not the relay horses. What’s the problem?” Leon tossed ten copper pennies on the counter:

”You’ve been making good money lending these two out on the side. Bring them out.”

The stationmaster hemmed, the price was low. Roland said: ”We’ll ride in the back fields. No one will see.”

The stationmaster went for the horses. Lora said to Leon: ”You scolded him, and then you paid him?”

”He charges others more than that. What I gave is just the price of feed.”

”And how do you know he’ll spend it on feed? Horses can’t complain.”

Leon looked down at her. She had the look of a cat that had caught a mouse. He raised a brow, deliberately deflating her:

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”Finally, something you don’t know. Station horses and boats are inspected every ten days by the county and prefectural offices. If a horse has lost condition, light: a beating. Heavy: dismissal. His whole family depends on his running this station. Why wouldn’t he feed the horse?”

”Fine, you win I.”

Lora laughed, grabbed Roland’s sleeve, and ran for the door.

Two chestnut horses. Glossy coats, well-fed, as Leon had said.

But one of them seemed restive, reluctant to move. Lora noticed: when it stood, it leaned back, weight on its hind legs. She stopped the stationmaster:

”This horse looks off. Have you checked it?”

”Nonsense. It ate a full bucket of oats this morning. Good teeth, good appetite. Nothing wrong.”

The stationmaster didn’t believe it. The station horses were his life. He’d sooner strike a groom than a horse. They were fed oats, not common hay.

Oats were a wild grass in this age. Coarse. People didn’t eat them. But for horses, premium feed. The one downside: too rich. Horses that ate too much could develop problems.

Lora took the reins and walked the horse in a circle. It fought her, repeatedly trying to stop.

”Temperamental. If you ride I, it might buck you.” Roland didn’t want Lora on it.

The stationmaster was puzzled: ”That can’t be. Both horses were raised from foals. Neither has a bad temper.”

When the horse again extended its front legs and leaned back, Lora pointed:

”Look at its stance. And it didn’t want to walk just now. Its front hooves may have laminitis. If it’s not treated soon, within two days, it’ll be lame.”

”Lame”, the stationmaster paled. He called the groom: ”Doesn’t this horse go out for exercise every day? How can it not stand straight?”

The groom bent to feel its legs. The horse snorted and backed away. He shook his head:

”It was fine, eating, walking. Maybe it just needs a rest. If you’re worried, call the farrier-vet.”

The vet was in town, busy helping the county justice inspect and register the oxen that Duke Osler had borrowed and distributed. He might not be free.

The stationmaster hedged: ”Let’s put it back in the stable and wait. A small thing, must we spend money on a vet?”

”This disease moves fast. In three days, if you cut open the hoof wall, you’ll see blood spots. By then, it may be too late.”

In the modern world, a horse would get IV antibiotics. For acute inflammation, Western medicine was more effective. Here, with herbal remedies, Lora wasn’t confident.

Laminitis was the most serious disease of the horse’s hoof. From onset to crisis, two, three days. And it wasn’t just horses. Lora had seen Grandpa treat it in cattle.

Even with IV drugs, some animals didn’t recover well, the hoof could collapse, leaving them permanently crippled.

The groom looked at Lora, then at the stationmaster: ”This fellow knows how to examine it. Why not let him look? If he fixes it, you pay him.”

”Go, go, go, out of the way. Talking money, how tacky.” The stationmaster scolded the groom, then turned to Lora with an oily smile:

”Lord, do the horse a favor, won’t you? It’s only a beast, but it’s pitiable, right?”

Lora didn’t argue. She had the groom tie the horse. Roland and Leon stood by, in case the horse spooked and kicked. Lora slowly bent the front leg and examined the underside of the hoof.

These horses didn’t wear iron horseshoes. Even relay horses used leather boots, not nailed iron.

Lora pressed the frog, the center cleft of the hoof. It was already pinched narrow. The laminae inside were swelling. Caught early, no abscess, no displacement.

She lowered the hoof and told the stationmaster:

”Get two buckets of ice. Stand its front hooves in ice water. Keep them there until the cleft returns to normal, that means the swelling has gone down.”

Ice? The station had an ice well, blocks cut from the river in winter, stored for summer, used to chill wine. Their best-selling item.

Soon the groom brought two buckets of ice water. At first the horse resisted, snorting, pulling. But once its hooves were in the cold water, the pain must have eased. It stood quietly.

”From now on, don’t feed only the expensive oats. Mix in ordinary forage. Today, if you can find a vet, get three doses of medicine for ’five-gatherings pain’, mix it into the feed. That should do it.”

Roland had been waiting for his sister to prescribe something earth-shattering. That was it? He asked:

”No prescription from you?”

”That would be showing off in front of experts. The Empire’s veterinary medicine for horses is already mature. Do you know why the imperial army was so formidable? Not just armor and weapons and soldiers, but the army physicians and horse-doctors. Veterinary needle work has reached a level that will never be matched again...”

She was in full flow, gushing, when she noticed Roland and Leon both watching her with half-smiles:

This time, was it a wandering herbalist? Or a travelling farrier passing the door?