Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (22 page)

"It's
a thought. Or a percentage of the debt," Iathor mused. "Anything
else?"

"Not
that I can think of. Back into the rain for me."

"If
you'll come to the kitchen, I can offer you bread or a pastry,"
Iathor offered.

"Sweet
pastries?"

"I
suspect so."

"
Good
ones?"

Iathor
led the way. "My cook is a skilled woman."

"Is
she married? No, best taste the pastries first . . ."

Iathor
chuckled.

When
the pastries were deemed quite good enough for a proposal, Iathor
watched Tania laugh and tease back – and felt peeved that
his
proposal had gotten flat confusion instead of flattered disbelief.

Chapter
XXII

K
essa
shivered against the hospice wall, catching her breath, and wished
Laita and Jontho'd stayed longer. But
Just a few hours, and we go,
Laita'd insisted, though she'd fevered in the night. At least they'd
stayed long enough for Laita to drink another cup of feverbane and
share the breakfast basket . . . If not long enough
for Kessa insist that, if Kymus was such a fine catch (as Laita'd
suggested over the first cup of feverbane) perhaps
Laita
should seek him as a patron.

Kessa
pushed the hospice door open and tried not to drip. She asked the
watching bonesetter journeyman, "Is Nicia around? It's not
urgent."

"Probably
down in the basement, ah . . ."

"Kessa
Herbsman. May I?"

"Uh,
aye. You were with your Guild Master t'other day, weren't you?"

"Yes.
Thank you." Another use of his title to smooth her way. It still
rankled.

She
hung her cloak near the door with the others, and didn't look down
the hall towards Darul's room. (He'd no longer flinched at her gaze.)

Kessa
slipped into the well-lit, warm basement that smelled of herbs and
preparations, like mulled bittersweet wine. Journeymen and
apprentices moved around the tables, including the one Kessa was
looking for.

Kessa
waited as the younger girl, wearing herb-witch green and brown with
an alchemist-gray apron, finished measuring out grains of powder –
metal-salts, from the care she took. Then Kessa came over, using a
sidelong glance so her hair veiled her eyes. "Nicia?"

The
apprentice looked up. "Oh! Kessa, right?"

"Yes.
Um . . . Can I help?"

"Pass
me the fork-root jar?"

Healing.
True alchemical healing; probably the same recipe she'd used on her
own arm last night. "Of course." She handed the jar over
and watched Nicia take careful, packed spoonfuls from it. Her steady
hands were the color of fresh-split pine in the basement.

Three
spoonfuls. Yes, and now . . . The mint. Kessa slid
that jar over as Nicia closed the fork-root one. Earthstar petals
would be next . . . there, on the end of the table.
Then the fleshpetal root-oils, straw-colored in a glass bottle. The
moon-sulfur tincture, bluish in its vial, was last.

The
recipe was the same. Kessa could've done it herself, though by rote,
not knowing why moon-sulfur last and smoke-metal salts first. She
wiped at her cheeks; rainwater, dripping from her hair, surely.

As
Nicia stirred the mix, she said, "Can you make the flour-paste
carrier? There's a mixing bowl on the other table."

"Of
course." The carrier was easy: flour and clae-cleaned water,
stirred to paste.

"It's
nice to work with, well, a girl," Nicia confided, moving closer.

Kessa
glanced over; Nicia was stirring intently. Kessa said, "I know.
Once outside pure herb-witchery . . ." She
flicked her gaze around the room; the other three journeymen were,
predictably, young men with alchemist gray predominating in their
clothes.

"Exactly!
Um . . ." Nicia leaned her hips against the
table. "I put you to work . . . Did you need
something?"

"Well."
Kessa's lips twisted wryly, briefly. "What would it cost . . .
If I could bring ingredients, or buy them here? To make something? I
haven't equipment for anything but herb-witchery."

"Hm!
I'm not sure. Shouldn't be more than costs. What do you need?"

Kessa
bounced the bowl gently in her arms, as she folded the paste over.
"Some of this, actually. And . . . I need to
research something. For fevers. What– what's
normal
, to
treat a fever alchemically?"

"Mmmm,
Lesant's Seventh." Nicia added, "Lesant was number-crazy.
He numbered every potion he invented, tweaked, or filched from
someone else."

"It
just lowers the fever?"

"Essentially.
The person needs to rest, though, or the fever'll come back with
fatigue. If you use one dose of Seventh, and a Balyn's Curative the
next day – though your patient'll be dead asleep all day
afterward – it should fix everything but blood-poison, and
that can be diagnosed from the red streaks on the skin."

I
want to kidnap you.
"What would those cost?"

"You
know someone that sick?" Nicia sounded worried. "Most
people'd rather stay awake. The potions taste nasty, too."

"In
this weather . . . I'm afraid the fever'll turn into
the wet-chest cough."

"Oh
dear, you've a point. Um. Someone who can't afford a good place to
stay?"

"Or
the potions, normally," Kessa whispered.

Nicia
set her mix down and took the bowl of thickened paste from Kessa. "We
can spare one of each. It's hard to make less than ten doses at once.
If you'll help me, we should have new ones steeping by tonight, and I
can give you two we have already. Unless it's urgent?"

"Not
that urgent. I can help."
And learn.

"Good.
Pour this into the paste?"

Kessa
took up the other bowl, smelling of mint, and started sliding the mix
in. Nicia folded it over, covering each glop of alchemy with a layer
of paste. Once it was all combined . . . Five seconds
stirring one way. Five the next. Five stirring toward herself,
scraping the bottom and folding it up. Five stirring away, and start
over again. Kessa hummed a drinking song, one stir for each verse.

"Oh,
that's a good timer," Nicia said, then, "Sorry, shouldn't
interrupt."

Kessa
smiled. "It's fine."

It
smelled intensely bittersweet once it was well-mixed; it'd be more
potent after warming a few days. Nicia set it into a rack near a
fireplace. "Now for Seventh and Balyn's. Can you stay?"

"Till
midnight, if need be."

"Shouldn't
take
that
long. Let's get the recipe book."

"Wise,"
Kessa agreed, following her to the library.

Nicia
frowned at the shelves, finally taking a crumbly, old text. "I
don't know where the recopying's gotten to," she complained. "It
wasn't in the basement . . . Oh."

"Oh?"
Kessa asked. That hadn't sounded like Nicia's usual cheer.

"Master
Peran said he'd lent spares to the Lord Alchemist."

Since
when'd Nicia said the title so flatly? "What's wrong? Surely he
didn't take back his offer to teach you . . ."

Nicia
looked up guiltily, and they both looked away, though Kessa'd been
using her hair as a veil. The apprentice said, "Why– why would
you think something's wrong?"

"When
I was here last, he was 'Master Kymus.'" Kessa scowled, careful
not to direct it at the girl. "He's not been harassing
you
,
has he?"

"No!"
A pause. "He . . . wouldn't. Would he?"

"Who's
been saying otherwise?" He'd not threatened Kessa, who'd yelled
at him. Did he prefer to intimidate meek apprentice-girls?

"Um."

Kessa
risked a glance, and saw Nicia looking down at the book, blushing
lightly. Kessa asked, "Um?"

"The
Lord Alchemist's brother visited, yesterday. Said . . .
he wanted to see the girl his brother fancied."

"I . . .
think you should tell me about this. Wait here." Kessa went to
close the doors to the lecture hall and the library itself. She
pulled out the chair farthest from the latter door. "Sit."

Nicia
did, holding the old book. Kessa dragged out another chair for
herself. "Now tell me what his brother said."

As
Kessa'd hoped, copying Laita's "older sister" tones
unlocked the apprentice's voice. "Well . . . That
the Lord Alchemist . . . had been . . .
wild, when they were in Cym, studying alchemy. Stayed out on
month-end days in taverns and brothels. Was even called back to
Aeston by his father, for running so free! That he had a fancy for
servant girls, sworn to the family. And every fiveday or so, he stays
all night at . . . at one of . . ."
Nicia turned bright red, staring at the table.

"The
unusual
brothels?"
The Cat and Birch . . .

Nicia
somehow blushed even harder. "With. Um." She made a vague
gesture. "A-and his brother said, I should know so I could
k-keep up with–! Er. And not faint. Or something."

"Did
this brother offer you private lessons?" Kessa asked dryly.

"N-no!
Nothing so impolite! I was in the basement; there were other people.
Not that he'd have been rude anyway, I'm sure!" Nicia said
hastily. "Anyway, he asked how I'd met the Lord Alchemist. Then
he went to look at that poor man. I told Master Peran that Master
Iasen was here, and went back to work." She took a breath, and
nearly wailed, "I couldn't bear to face him later. Do you think
it's
true
?"

The
last "him" being the elder Kymus, probably. Kessa shrugged.
"I've heard a few rumors myself, about such places and him. On
the other hand, if he's not been thrown out, he keeps to the rules
and only does what he's paid for."

Nicia
stared at her. "How– how do . . ."

"I
didn't grow up in the merchant part of town, Nicia," she said
gently, looking at her knees. "I picked up a lot before I got
myself apprenticed. The good places don't let their women get hurt.
At least, not so's they can't work later." Kessa tried to make
her voice matter-of-fact instead of frightening. "Even with
healing potions, they'd have kicked him out someday. Could be he
prefers the other side of the coin, at that."

"Ew."

"Less
scary."

"I
suppose
. It's just . . . He's so brilliant. How
could he visit . . . places like
that
?"

Again,
Kessa shrugged. "You could ask him. Indeed . . ."
She grinned. "Could ask him when
I'm
around. I'd love to
hear his answer."

It
sparked a giggle from Nicia. "But . . . why?"

"Why'd
I like to hear it?" Kessa took a chance. "He thinks I have
some tolerances. He wants me for a student, too."

"Oh,
that's wonderful! If he's not secretly horrible, that is. We could
work together! When I'm allowed, I mean."

Kessa
was startled into a smile and a glance through her hair at the
younger girl's bright grin. "I should insist he teach us both.
Then even if he's a blighted cad, we'd chaperone each other."

"But
if he's a cad . . ."

"He'd
still be brilliant. You can learn, even so."

"Oh."
Nicia thought about it. "I never . . ."

"You've
probably always liked your teachers."

"Yes.
Mother . . . Yes." Nicia took a breath and laid
the book on the table. "Here, let's find the recipes and make
the doses and
help
someone."

Kessa
squinted at the pages. The ink faded through a range of browns, a
black nearly as deep as her hair, and a bluish hue. The pages were
mottled, as if someone'd brushed weak tea across them. "What
inks did they use?"

"This?
Probably wine with boiled wood and tree-galls, or soot mushrooms. You
mean the colors?"

"Yes."

"Oh,
that's the restorative. The inks in older works fade, and the job of
copying, before something grows too illegible . . .
It's difficult. Some of the master-copies are on vellum in the guild
library, but most alchemists scribble on paper and never bother to
put them into an archival form."

Alchemists
liked to lecture. Kessa wondered if she'd pick up the habit. "Someone
found a way to make ink darker? To help make good copies?"

"It's
also why Incandescens Stones are so bright, Mother says," Nicia
agreed. "The pages decay, so the books have to be recopied
anyway, but this makes it easier."

I
wonder what copying jobs pay? But those'd take good reading and
writing . . .
Thieves should spot valuable papers,
but Tanas hadn't thought a beautiful courtesan needed more than
cyphering. Laita could dance, sing a little, cook a few breakfasts,
and other things Kessa barely let herself think about . . .
But her reading came from her siblings' poor teachings.