“This is a slaughterhouse.” Bettany stuck out an arm to prevent the others from entering.
“It is out of the sun, and private. Do you want to strip in front of everyone, all eyes on you?”
“No.”
Pearl’s pleasant expression did not waver. “Lord Agalar is showing you more respect than you will get from anyone else here.”
Respect! Bettany wanted to scream the word until her throat was raw, but she managed to scrape out a hoarse whisper. “What difference does his respect make to us?”
“I expect you already know the answer to that. A lord’s protection offers many advantages in this world.”
Two people came into the chamber carrying a dented copper tub and several buckets. Like Pearl, they wore their hair in the elaborate braids that marked them as Shipwrights, a seagoing people known to hire themselves out as mercenaries and thieves to the highest bidder. Like Pearl, they carried themselves with easy confidence rather than servile submission.
Pearl said, “Beauty, I am putting you in charge. I will stand guard at the door so no one bothers you. Everyone strips, washes their body, then washes their clothes and puts them back on. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Will any of you give me trouble?”
Bettany considered Montu-en and the other two boys, the two laundresses and three cleaning women, the cook’s assistant and the water and scullery girls. Over the years her mother had taken each in, giving them shelter and food in exchange for work. But then she’d been abandoned and betrayed by the man she trusted and loved—Bettany’s father. She and Bettany’s three sisters had been taken away to serve their new masters, the lords of Garon Palace. This portion of the household had been condemned to the mines, from which there was no escape, no future, nothing but anguish and the final release of death.
Yet she could not get that mocking “Beauty” out of her head. Because as much as it annoyed her, it had also given her a repugnant idea.
“We won’t give you any trouble. Will we be taken to see the doctor again?” She thought of how clean his face had been, the unexpected lapis lazuli color of his eyes. He seemed terribly young for a doctor, not much older than she was.
“Yes. After you are clean I will take you all back to be examined by him.”
Pearl was right. He was the only chance remaining to them.
“All right. We’ll do as you ask.”
* * *
They returned to the doctor’s house at midday. It was so hot that walking such a short distance under the sun dried their wet clothes by the time they reached the shelter of his porch. Montu-en and the others were allowed to sit in the porch’s shade. Nobody bothered to guard them. They had nowhere to run.
Pearl entered the doctor’s office with Bettany beside her. The chamber was furnished with a high table laced with straps, a lacquered red cupboard, two chests, a side table with medical instruments laid out neatly on a tray, and several chairs.
The doctor was alone in the chamber, writing at a desk. He glanced up. His eyes went wide, and he set down his brush and said, “Who is this?”
Pearl had a surprisingly mischievous grin. “Beauty.”
“No!”
“You chose better than you meant,” Pearl added with a chuckle. “It surprised me too.”
He picked up a dry brush and twirled it through his fingers. He had such an agile, coordinated grip that Bettany could not take her gaze off the play of his hand.
Finally the brush halted, and he set it down decisively. “I am Lord Agalar. What is your name?”
She wanted to keep her voice calm but the anger exploded. “Why should I share my name with you?”
“Why would you, a prisoner and a slave, speak so brashly to me? I can easily have you punished.” He tapped the desk as if his fingers were thinking for him. The frown on his lips suggested she’d gone too far. Her sisters’ gifts—Maraya’s calm rationality, Jes’s sullen but effective scheming, and Amaya’s beguiling pleas—were not hers. She always charged too far too fast and got caught over the line. For herself she didn’t care but she had to remember for whom she was responsible and what she owed to her mother.
“My apologies, my lord,” she began, trying desperately for a more composed and diffident demeanor.
He raised a hand, lifting the forefinger and then the middle finger to join it like a doubled warning. “That tone doesn’t suit you.”
She stiffened, wanting to shout that her tone wasn’t any of his business, but she managed to clamp her lips shut over the words before they erupted.
With a sharp sigh, he pulled a hand through his short hair, mussing it, then noticed he was doing it and immediately settled the hand on the desk. He gave Pearl a nod and she considered it a moment, then left.
He glanced around to assure himself they were alone. “Let me tell you something, Beauty. Unlike most people I meet, I am not a fool. And neither are you.”
“What do you mean?” She kept her tone flat, careful to make no assumptions.
“On such a long journey the guards who are escorting slaves, especially slaves who are helpless women and children, will act as they wish. So besides making yourself stink so badly by smearing feces over your skin, you also rubbed yourself and all your companions with the leaf of a plant or an oil that causes a rash and blistering. Did you use nettle? Leaves from the varnish tree? Perhaps the shrub that pharmacological textbooks call red poison?”
He knew. The doctor knew. And he had to pretentiously parade his knowledge before her just to gloat before giving them up. A sick dread crawled up her throat as she tried to bluff anyway.
“It’s the fire curse.”
“Perhaps a disease called the fire curse exists. But this isn’t it. Did you smuggle along a supply of leaves or oil and reapply it to your skin at intervals? Or is the plant commonly found along the paths and roads you walked? It was a dangerous gamble. I’ve seen people die from blisters turned to suppurating boils.”
Without the rash to protect them, they were doomed. Maybe the earth itself would open into a great cleft to swallow them all. Wouldn’t it be better to tumble for eternity into a bottomless abyss? You could relax into your endless fall, sure that all that awaited you was more of the same.
Despite her yearning, no extraordinary cataclysm erupted.
No one was going to save them. She had only one last gamble, however distasteful.
As if she had spoken—maybe a shift in her posture betrayed her—he sat straighter, expectantly. His brows raised as if he was already surprised.
Through gritted teeth she said, “I have a proposition to make to you.”
3
Lord Agalar—the real Lord Agalar—would have been offended by the clumsy proposal, but he was so ashamed to witness her desperation that he had nothing to say.
She went on in her harsh voice. “You have grooms, drivers, and guards among your entourage. Also Pearl, who seems to be your cook and administrator. But I see no clerk’s table.”
“Clerk’s table?” Where was she going with this?
Her scan of the room was impressively comprehensive, even a little dismissive. “In Saryenia physicians are accompanied by apprentices and assistants, not just by servants. So if you want people to realize you are an experienced and skilled physician, then you should take me on as your assistant.”
He grabbed one of his many handkerchiefs and pretended to cough into it, hoping to hide the blush that flamed up his cheeks. Her unexpected beauty and furious gaze had thrown him into so much confusion that he had horribly misinterpreted her use of the word “proposition.”
She went on, pressing her case just as if he had objected. “Maybe it’s because you are so young, but I should warn you that here in Efea the Saroese lords only respect people who come accompanied by a large entourage.”
With as much nonchalance as he could muster, trying to restore his control of the situation, he lowered the handkerchief. “If that is so, why have I been welcome
d in all the mining settlements?”
“No one cares if a charlatan administers medicine to criminals as long as his services come cheap.”
Does she suspect? How could she possibly know?
She was still talking, oblivious to his erratic pulse. “It’s clear you’re no charlatan, but that doesn’t mean you know everything about medicine in Efea. A local assistant can benefit you in many ways.”
Now he wanted to smile at her boldness. “Can she, indeed?”
“Yes, she can.” She did not simper or plead, just sliced right through to the muscle. “The plant that caused the rash is none of the three you mentioned. The plants available here in Efea may not be the same as the ones in your distant home. Where did you say you came from?”
“The port of Nerash, on the Fire Sea.”
She studied the papyrus on which he was notating an account of yesterday’s operation, starting with the details of the crushed limb and ending with the death of the injured man. She seemed to hesitate, then went on.
“Seven of your nine servants are Shipwrights, but you and the two guards don’t wear Shipwright braids. By looks you clearly aren’t Saroese yet your account of the operation is written in the Saroese language. Meanwhile the notations you’re making in the margins are in a language I don’t recognize. It stands to reason that you are from somewhere far away and would not have extensive knowledge of Efea.”
Her astute observations struck too close to home. He pushed back his chair, set his feet up on the desk, and crossed his arms. “You’ve changed the subject, Beauty. You were propositioning me, I believe.”
She closed her hands into fists.
“Well?” The way she unsettled him made him push back.
“All I’m saying is you could use an assistant who is knowledgeable about the medicinal plants available here in Efea.”
“Are you such a person?”
“I am.”
“What would you use to treat a cough?”
“Hibiscus in hot water, inhaled by the patient. Or licorice root.”
“A headache?”
“Coriander seeds. Its oil can be rubbed on the skin to alleviate aching muscles.”
“Stomach and intestinal discomfort?”
“Cardamom, or caraway. Gum of acacia.”
“Heal a contaminated wound?”
“Honey soothes tainted cuts and gashes. Henna also works to scab over wounds.”
“To treat a blistering rash from a poisonous plant?”
She paused, seeking the trick in his question, then answered, “Heaven’s wand, which the Saroese call aloe. If the skin becomes swollen and red, then treat in the same way as a contaminated wound.”
“Can you read and write?”
“Yes, in both Saroese and Efean.”
Her confident replies impressed him, not that he was going to let her know that. “Where did you learn this valuable knowledge?”
“From my mother.”
He slapped his feet onto the floor to ground himself. My mother.
Robbed of voice, he touched the bone ring on his little finger, the one carved with intertwining snakes.
She glared at him as if daring him to deride her mother.
When he said nothing she tugged nervously at the simple linen dress she wore. She must have been wearing it beneath the loose cloth he’d first seen her in, because this garment was woven to fit in a style common among the Efean locals, like a sheath to a knife and definitely flattering to her tall, curvy frame. Although she had the pinch of hunger in her cheeks, a look he recognized all too well from his own early life.
Abruptly a gush of breathless words poured from her.
“My mother taught me a great deal about herbs and medical care. I can act as your assistant and take care of household tasks for you, like washing clothes and tidying your chamber. And… and…”
Here, at last, came the offer she didn’t want to make. Her hesitation made his skin crawl with disgust. He hated himself for being witness to her misery. He struggled for an interruption, anything to stop her from saying what he knew was coming next. Of course he knew. His mother had lived this story when he was growing up. But he couldn’t get words out. His voice had vanished.
She braced herself, tone thick with a revulsion she couldn’t disguise. “I will do whatever you want or need or wish, my lord, if only you will spare my companions from… from…”
“Enough!” The words came out sharper than he intended but entirely in keeping with Lord Agalar’s manner. “You will accompany me on my afternoon rounds. If you prove your worth, then I will employ you. You will receive a place to sleep and two meals a day. If you prove your worth.”
“What about my companions?”
Her courage and loyalty made him want to praise her, but she had to believe he was Lord Agalar in truth. The three most precious lives in the world depended on his performance.
“Your well-being and that of your companions hangs by the thread of my favor. If I approve of your skills, I will tell Lord Eorgas that your companions all have the fire curse and must remain under my care until such time as I pronounce them cured.”
He paused, leaving her an opening to ask what would happen if she wasn’t skilled enough to pass his test.
She merely nodded to accept the challenge.
He had Pearl bring porridge, bread, and barley beer which Beauty took to her companions who were sitting in the shade of the porch. He pretended to write but he couldn’t help watching. She had a precise way of dividing up portions and handing them out, accustomed to such mundane work. She wasn’t a smiler—she and other women merely exchanged resigned looks—but she offered a pat on the head to the four children and spoke to them with words that made them relax.
Pearl hadn’t left. Standing by his desk, she said in a low voice, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course I know,” he snapped.
She snorted, gathered up his breakfast tray, and went out.
Sunny strolled up to loom over the desk. “Taking on a concubine wasn’t part of your instructions, murderer.”
“Keep your voice down. My instructions are to facilitate the capture of a gold shipment. Yours are to aid me—”
“Mine are to make sure the gold—and you—are delivered to my employer. And when that’s done I plan to kick that arrogant sneer right off your face.”
“If we don’t succeed, I’ll be dead, and if I do succeed, your employer will pay me what I’m due and release me from our contract. So spare me your tiresome and predictable threats.” He raised his voice to make sure it attracted the attention of people passing outside. “Go at once to Lord Eorgas’s steward. Tell him I will arrive at the hospital for my rounds soon. I expect everything to be ready, just as I like it.”
With people looking, Sunny had to leave on the errand just as if he was really Lord Agalar’s loyal guardsman.
When Pearl returned, Beauty followed her from the porch back into the office. The small meal had already lifted some of the ashy grayness from her dark complexion.
“I’m ready, my lord.”
“You may assist Pearl in assembling my medical bag.”
As Pearl began arranging vials of oil and tiny pots with tinctures and bags of herbs into the bottom tray of his leather bag, Bettany leaned closer to study where Pearl put each item and in what order the medical tools were arranged on the upper tray. But a shift of weight from one foot to another precipitated a clearing of the throat, and she set hands on hips and sighed.
“Have you no red slipper, my lord? It’s useful for the stubborn coughs people get when they’ve breathed too much dust or sand. There isn’t any lady crown, which soothes skin that is cracked and bleeding. I saw it growing beside the road on the way here.”
“Is this meant to impress me?” he retorted, still annoyed by the confrontation with Sunny.
Her sidelong glance was almost hidden by the way she swiftly turned her face away from him when she realized he was l
ooking at her. “I merely remark on local plants that might be of use to you, my lord.”
Pearl met his gaze with a pointed one of her own, and returned to her work. She fitted the upper tray onto the lower one and covered the upper with a leather flap. Without being asked, Beauty picked it up by the handle.
“Pearl will carry the bag,” he said. “You will carry my scribe’s box. I expect you to record my observations and treatments in the logbook I keep.”
“Of course.”
He couldn’t help but approve that she checked each of the rectangular tray’s drawers to make sure the proper writing tools were available. He had once done the same for the real Lord Agalar, and he found that her presence as his clerk and assistant did make him feel more official. More lordly.
Their first stop was a stone barracks with twenty beds but only five patients—skilled laborers who worked for pay. He observed Beauty’s reactions as he examined a healing gash, two stubborn scaly skin rashes, a cough that kept bringing up blood, and a man recovering from jaundice. She didn’t hesitate to wipe blood from the chin of the coughing man with a scrap of linen cloth. Her writing as he dictated a description of each patient’s condition was briskly notated and easily readable.
Just as he finished dictating, the pompous fraud of a man who was the official mine doctor hurried in. Dotas had a self-important swagger, a petulant whine, and a blotchy red nose.
“I heard you were come, Lord Agalar. I thought we had an agreement you do not examine my patients if I am not present.”
“I did not want to disturb you, Lord Dotas. It takes some time for the effects of repeated heavy drinking to wear off the next day. I am sensitive to your complaints of headaches and enduring nausea.”
The other man huffed and puffed but could not defend himself. His gaze fell on Beauty. “What do you mean by having this Commoner in your retinue, Lord Agalar?”