Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (20 page)

"Someday,
someone will take my brother seriously, get her heart broken, and
someone else is going to be executed for trying to put a sword
through him." Or made Iasen's dramsman; wretched thought.
"Presuming, of course, that he's not first found mysteriously
drowned in my wine cellar." Iathor cleared his throat. "He's
been teasing me about finding someone to marry for decades now. That
I'm interested in Nicia as a student is apparently cause for him to
assume he'll no longer risk inheriting my title and
responsibilities."

Peran
chuckled as he opened the door into the lecture hall. "I'd three
brothers. Two younger, one older. At times, our mother threatened to
drown the whole lot of us, like mongrel-sired pups."

"Our
mother never said that," Iathor mused. "She did threaten to
dose father's tea with a potion to blight his seed permanently,
though."

"Heh!
My younger brothers are lucky
our
mother was no alchemist,
then!" The bonesetter opened the door to the library. "Looking
for anything in specific?"

"Yeetl's
book, and anything you've a duplicate of, to start. Healing's not
my
specialty."

Peran
pulled books from the shelves, Dayn taking each of the three volumes.
"No other duplicates here. I could check the basement."

"No
hurry. I'll be by this evening, and tomorrow before lunch. Thank
you."

"They're
guild property. I should thank you for restricting yourself to the
duplicates." Peran waved a hand dismissively.

"What
point in improving my own knowledge if I'm depriving students of the
means to improve theirs?" Iathor nodded. "Good day to you,
Master Peran."

"Good
day, Master Kymus."

On
the way to the carriage, idly flipping through the Yeetl book, Iathor
commented, "Dayn, could you remind me to have more girls than
boys? They seem to be threatened with drowning less often."

"I
think you should discuss the matter of children with m'lady, first,
m'lord." Dayn opened the carriage door.

Iathor
paused, and looked at the young dramsman. "'M'lady'?"

Dayn
handed him the other two books. "Whomever she may be."

Chapter
XX

K
essa
woke to banging on her door, in darkness. Since it wasn't threatening
the latch, she didn't draw her dagger before she went to the door.
"What? Who is it?"

"S'me!"
hissed Jontho from the other side. "Hurry!" He rapped the
safety
pattern.

Kessa
shoved the key around, unlatched the door, and propped up Jontho as
he stumbled inside. "What's wrong?" He wore his anonymous
brown workman's clothes, and carried a shuttered lantern.

"I
need Kellisan, backup. Blighted idiot, acts like he thinks he's a
ship captain – mutineer, more like. He took Laita to a room
and something went wrong. She must've dosed him, but his crew-friends
are there and I can't get to her."

"If
he's a tanned, black-haired man with icy green eyes, I'll scream."
Kessa rubbed her face as she staggered back into the bedroom.

"No,
henna-red and sunburn. Sailor off this afternoon's ship."

Kessa
changed into pants and tunic quickly, yanking her hair into a
horse-tail. Boots, cloak, dagger at her belt, pouch of supplies from
the ledge above the other side of the door, where Kymus
hadn't
looked. (He'd been tracking the sweetflower,
had
to've
been . . .) "Small blessings. I'd been telling
myself Wolf couldn't know Laita, for she's been sick and would've
told me about a black-haired man."

"Who's
Wolf? Name's familiar . . ."

Kessa
got them out, locked the door, and wound her key-string around her
upper arm under her sleeve, so it couldn't strangle her. "Leader
of the 'gray watch,' escaped the guards' trap that got his two thugs.
Yes, truth-potions exist. They're dangerous. Make sure anyone feeding
you one has Purgatorie on hand, and think hard about partial truths."

"Rare
company, Kellisan."

At
least Jontho didn't mutate the childhood nickname he'd given her.
"Blighted watch used me as bait, and Wolf'll likely want
revenge. I went'n yelled at the Lord Alchemist, for the watchmen wore
that badge." Kessa strode down the street. "He took me
along to question the captured ones. This Wolf makes threats, may
have a girl on Kelp Street. Familiar?"

"The
name. Hearing about a 'wolf pack.' Too small for the Shadow-master to
care. Likely smaller than they bark." Jontho's longer legs kept
up with her easily; he was probably wishing her forced swift-walk was
faster.

It'd
been a long time since she'd needed it. "Well, they might bark
at me. How long before Laita's in trouble-true?"

"Whenever
they guess their friend's not still going. Could be something we can
bluff, just their beer talking of how they'll get seconds."

Kessa
muttered, "He'd better've been flashing silver leaves."

"Copper
trees."

"Blight
it, room with me! Find her a safer trade! She's too pretty to work
Kelp Street. Can't you get one of the good houses?"

"She's
scared they'll forbid me to see her. I'm scared they'll sell her
off."

"Find
a
good
house. Tag can look, I can pay . . ."

"With
what moneylender's coin!?"

Kessa
stared ahead bleakly. "My Guild Master. He wants me as his
student. With a stipend. So I can learn . . .
research . . . healing preparations. True alchemy."

It
took a few moments before Jontho put together the pieces. "You
needn't. We're doing fine. She's getting stronger."

"That's
a load of burning manure on a salted field and you
know
it,
Jonno! You've no warm place to winter, nor enough to eat."

"We
get by! Don't bleed yourself out, Kess."

Blighted
recipe hadn't worked anyway. Or her blood hadn't been good enough.
"If not for family, then who?" He groaned; she took it for
victory. "Let's get our sister and go to my shop. I've more food
than I can eat. Don't want it spoiling, so don't argue with me."

"Blight
it . . ." Jontho didn't argue, but lengthened his
stride till she had to trot.

At
least it wasn't still raining. It'd wet the ground earlier, before
Brague delivered the dinner-basket, leaving only slightly treacherous
footing now.

The
tavern-inn wasn't
quite
on Kelp Street. It was two blocks
over, slightly higher-class – but only slightly. Kessa poked
her nose into the common-room, saw the swaggering, drinking sailors
harassing the bar-wenches, collected a glare, repaid in kind, and
closed the door as she pulled back. "Got a rope?"

Jontho
patted his belt in the darkness. "Yes."

"Then
let's see if you can boost me to her window. Can't dose the whole
blighted tavern."

"Window's
in back. There's a guard dog." Jontho led the way.

Kessa
smoothed her hand over the pouch on her belt. "They'll not
likely notice him barking. Is he chained?"

"I
think so, close to the building."

"Let's
see if I can still dose a dog."

There
was a wall, brick with bramble-bushes at the base; likely someone's
hope to make the tavern acceptable to higher-class visitors, who
might put valuable horses in the back stables. Or perhaps they rented
the yard to more expensive courtesans for moonlit summer nights.

Hopefully
they cleaned up the dog dung first.

The
windows above were mostly closed; light leaking from them here and
there. One's shutters were open, showing a candle burning with a
reddish flame. The long-lasting oil that colored it smelled nice.
Kessa'd brewed it herself.

The
dog was chained, barking at the cold night air. It barked louder as
Jontho lowered Kessa over the wall by her wrists, her hands fisted
around her tools, and gave her enough swing to clear the brambles.
Then he dangled the unshuttered lantern for light.

Kessa
bit off the end of the sealed paper triangle. She held the reed tube
in her other hand, a finger over one end.

Some
burglars swore by poisoned darts, or ones dipped in sleep-oils.
Kessa'd thought it stupid to leave any proof besides a sleepy dog.
She poured powder into the reed and took a breath before putting the
reed to her lips. The powder tingled, bittersweet.

The
flaw with
her
method was being close to a raging dog. A
chained
one, here, or she'd not try after years of little
practice.

It
scrabbled stubby claws in the ground, teeth flashing in the lantern's
light. The shadows cut across it weirdly, making it nearly harder to
see than the light was worth. The barking was deafening.

Not
deafening enough to mask the scraping sound of a bad chain-link
twisting open.
Sweet Earth, I hate this.
The dog lunged
forwards. She blew her powder out in a miniature, herbal version of
the guards' sleep-bomb.

The
dog leaped through the cloud and hit her, jumping for her face. She
raised her left arm to defend her throat as she went down, and jammed
the remains of the paper packet at its nose. She'd made Burk knock
her down. Made Tag do it, too. Even made Jontho do it a few times, in
Laita's and his apartment after Kessa'd gone legitimate, just in case
she needed the reflexes.

It
hadn't been so frightening, then.

She
should've wrapped her cloak around her arm, she realized far too
late. It was thicker, better padding than the sleeve that offered no
resistance to dog's fangs.

Her
arm hurt, but the noise was gone to wheezing whimpers, and the claws
scrabbled weakly at her shoulders. She used her other hand to pry the
dog's mouth open, and curled up around her wounded arm.

Jontho
shoved the heavy, unconscious dog off her. The lantern was mostly
shuttered. "How bad?" he breathed.

She
made a left-handed fist. "Still works," she whined back.
"Help me sit."

He
did; she made herself get the stoneware pot of salve from her pouch.
"Open this," she said, and scooped up a glop when he did.
"Pull up my sleeve."

It
hurt, of course. She bit her lip to muffle the sobbing squeaks she
wanted to make. Before she could think about how much touching wounds
hurt, she slathered her arm with the salve.

When
it hit her blood, it burned like fire. She stuffed her other hand's
fingers in her mouth, biting to distract herself.

The
bittersweet taste on her fingers seemed to well up in her stomach,
too. She leaned into Jontho's chest and waited for the pain to go
away. It seemed to take forever. Her heart pounded. Her eyes felt hot
and prickly.

Then
she was just shaking, slightly ill, as she'd been after raging at
Kymus. Her arm felt bruised, but with little dents instead of torn
flesh. "All . . . all better," she panted,
putting the jar's lid back and returning it to her pouch. "Find
my reed?"

"No.
I'll get you a new one. Or look tomorrow."

"Fair
enough. If you don't, you deliver the powder next time."

"Fine.
Think you can get up there?" Jontho pointed to where the candle
burned reddish.

Kessa
flexed her arm. It ached like day-old bruises. "Aye. Get me on
your shoulders."

With
one end of the rope looped around her arm, she clambered onto
Jontho's shoulders, braced herself against the wall, and kept
climbing, cursing the masons who'd built the ceiling so high –
and blessing the mason apprentices who'd skimped on mortar so her
small fingers and toes could fit between the bricks. They were slick
from the rain, and she was glad of Jontho's steadying hands at her
heels.

Jontho
might've been able to climb it, but he was bigger and heavier. And
he'd not've been able to take the dog alone.

Above,
Laita moved the candle and peered out. "Ke-Kellisan?" she
whispered.

"Aye.
Hand up?" She reached and Laita helped her through the window.

Inside,
a lantern hung from the ceiling near the wall. The room smelled of
whale-oil, the candle's scent, Laita's bittersweet "all-pleasing"
perfume, and the exertion of two people doing what people did in
rooms like this.

Laita
wore her dancer-outfit: the one for colder weather, with the layered
skirt of heavier fabric, and the sleeved shirt, though it showed more
belly and chest than was warm.

On
the bed, the man had henna-red hair, silver earrings in the ear that
showed, and sunburned skin. His cheek was nicked with razor-cuts.
From the hair on his back, his normal coloration was light brown,
bleached amber. He was, predictably, snoring.

"Should
I knife him?" Kessa asked, very quietly.

"No!"
Laita folded her arms as she did when frowning prettily. Her voice
was equally quiet. "He just wanted something he'd not
bought . . . And I wasn't selling. He wasn't easy
normally
. But he started insisting, too drunk to see it
wouldn't work. I got your, ah, soothing oil to pour on him."