Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (4 page)

Apparently
the building's owner had seen more profit in leasing a shop below and
apartments above, and Kessa Herbsman was frugal enough to make do
with what she had. Which, he realized, included no sources of heat
save what might seep down from above. He let the curtain fall back
and asked, quietly, "What do you do in the winter?"

She
stood as straight as any impoverished noble, holding out the twist of
paper. "I use an extra blanket."

"I
see." Iathor came and took his purchase. "I'll ask Master
Rom to have someone get a description of the 'gray watch' from you."
He could not bear to stay; the awkwardness of his hasty proposal hung
between them, added to his unexpected intrusion – and the
shade of his own mother whispering that there'd been no permission
granted for a table-high boy to come into her private room.

Before
he left, though, he added, "I will find you, if you vanish."
In the tangle of memory and embarrassment, he honestly wasn't sure if
that was more promise or warning.

However
she took it, she curtsied silently, hands wrapped in her skirts.

He
made his voice merely polite, saying "Good day, Tradeswoman
Kessa." Then he escaped to his carriage.

Chapter
V

T
he
market square was busy, the usual odors mingling with the smell of
autumn leaves being burned for luck. Kessa doubted anyone'd notice
her unless they were looking for an herb-witch. Still,
she
needed things. Herbs, bird bones, paper . . . Perhaps
a better knife, if she could find one cheaply. She'd more coin now,
and only a half-flower owed to the guild . . .
Is
that fair? He bought it, so the guild should get its portion, but
he's the blighted Guild Master, so . . .
Well, it
left her with over a tree for spending.

A
glint of blond from a narrow alley, shadowed in comparison to the
market square, made her lift her gaze and squint. She shaded her face
with one hand, more to half-hide her eyes. Yes, that looked like
Jontho's slouch, for all he wore a baker's apron, with his hat-brim
pulled down. She moved over to the young man.

"Hey,
Kess-kess-kessalan." She couldn't see much of him, from
sun-glare in her eyes, but it was his clear, deep voice. (Attractive
as the rest of him: blond, blue eyes, and pale as a noble. The
calluses on his hands didn't match any noble pastime, though.)

He
didn't have an odor she could pick up over the sweat and scents of
the market square itself; she'd brewed the ointment to keep dogs –
and keen-nosed humans – from sniffing him out.

Kessa
smiled, looking at him through her hair. "Hey, Jontho. How's
Laita?"

He
frowned. "Worried sick about you."

Kessa
leaned on the corner between sunlight and shadow. "She heard the
watch got me?"

"It
did?" Jontho reached out to her shoulder. Mysterious thin
scratches marked his wrist. "No, 'cause the blighted wretch'd
gone babbling, not just forgetful. You all right?"

"Aye."
She smiled again, tiredly. "Guild officer got me out.
Though . . . I admitted the sleeping potion –
and that someone else must've had a similar idea, so there may be
Alchemists' Guild poking around."

Jontho's
frown got deeper, though he didn't ask why she'd confessed even that
much. "I'll keep low. Kessa, you didn't use some other potion,
did you?"

Kessa
shook her head. "No. But if you mix potions . . .
Well, some potions don't care. Some do. Whatever someone else fed
him, it mixed with mine and instead of helping M'lord Sleepy into
bed, I found myself with M'lord Drooling and Babbling.
Then
he
fell asleep. And someone'd seen me with him."

"Too
blighted memorable, Kesskess."

"Herb-witches
can be, Jonno. Unlike . . . bakers, today?"

"And
chimney sweeps yesterday, and perhaps manure collectors tomorrow."

"So
long as you're not filching watchman tabards the day after." She
ran her fingers along one swoop of her hair, from forehead to base of
neck where the ties fastened it, to be sure it was hanging right.
"Oh, 'ware the gray watch. My guild's taking notice, I think."

Jontho
whistled a low note. "What guild officer bailed you out?"

She
snorted. "So you can move to his territory, or be sure to keep
out?"

"Mayhap
both." He grinned.

"You'd
try
, wouldn't you." She smoothed the other side of her
hair. No reason to lie, she supposed. She didn't have to tell
everything, even to Jontho. "My Guild Master himself. Don't ask
me why the Lord Alchemist was rescuing an herb-witch."

Jontho
started choking exaggeratedly; Kessa ignored him, adding, "Mayhap
he was just checking that the guild stipends were getting to the
right guards, and decided to take an interest."

"Kessa!
Sweet Rain and Earth! And you
confessed
to him?"

It'd
been stupid. She could've claimed total innocence. She'd not had to
give any truth, not really. Surely he'd have brought her out just the
same, and fed her, and taken her home? Surely. She grimaced. "I
don't discount truth potions, Jonno-bro."

"Was
it . . . hard, to keep us out of your story?"

Kessa
slid her basket down her arm and held its handle with both hands.
"You know me. Put just 'bout anything in my mouth without harm."

"Feed
it to Kess; she'll survive anything."

"Aye,"
she agreed. "Now, how
is
Laita? Does she need any more
healing brews? Dry tea?"

He
shook his head. "No, she's still got till the end of the month
on that. And she's getting her strength back. Should be working again
in a fiveday or less." He tried to smile again, but it was wan.

"I
wish she'd a better trade." Beautiful, sickly Laita. Kessa
added, "Or get a proper patron who'd take care of her."

"And
her brother, too?" Jontho shook his head. "Not everyone
goes straight, Kess."

"It's
not that hard," she muttered at her basket.

"You
were in debt to that blighted 'M'lord Reus' for years! And handing
him potions on the side to pay the 'interest'!"

Kessa
glowered directly at Jontho. "She could try. She's free of the
blighted wretch now, and even the Lord Alchemist himself doesn't
think Darul can be cured. Help her get a steady patron, and out of
those wretched taverns, before she gets sicker than I can mend."

Even
her crèche-brother flinched from her unconcealed eyes, looking over
her shoulder instead. "Kess–" He broke off. "Watch
coming." He faded back down the narrow gap between the
buildings.

It
was better not to draw notice by glancing nervously over one's
shoulder. Instead, she twitched her head, shaking her hair back into
the two curves that shielded her face. (If she'd Laita's curls, the
style would never've worked. Her straight hair almost looked elegant,
she fancied.) She wanted to follow Jontho through the alley, but
that'd look too suspicious. Either they'd leave her be, or . . .
not, and she'd have to drop names.
Iathor Kymus, Lord Alchemist
and my Guild Master.

Kessa
hated being so beholden to the man, even when he wasn't there.

She'd
made it half-way across the market square before the pair of watchmen
showed up to either side of her. She didn't recognize them from the
group who'd taken her to the prison, in that chill, pallid dawn, but
one (freckled, with fine red hair on his bare forearms) had a
Weavers' badge on his watchman's tabard. The other (tanned and
light-brown beard she'd glimpsed through her hair) was a Stonemason's
man. They smelled of light sweat, from brisk walking in the sun.

The
Weaver-paid guard touched her shoulder, then her basket, hanging from
the crook of her elbow. "You an herb-witch?"

No
reason for that question in that suspicious tone, unless he'd heard
of her arrest. And, blight it, no reason for her to walk to the
prison
again
and wait for some guild official
again
,
and (she nearly twitched to think of it) risk it might be the Lord
Alchemist
again
in a dark cell, remembering his crazy
proposal . . .

No.
If she had to use the distasteful weapon, best to use it for the
kill. With luck, her Guild Master might never find out. "I'm
Kessa Herbsman, yes. My Guild Master's investigating the matter
himself. He's given his word that I needn't be kept in the prison for
the time being." She half-lidded her eyes, almost looking up,
and kept her back straight. It gave clarity to one's voice.

"Matter?"
the Stonemason-paid guard echoed. "Pech, what's this?"

The
redhead didn't quite stammer, but his tone suggested it was a near
thing. "M'cousin said they'd taken a half-breed poisoner, this
morn. I thought . . ."

"I
didn't poison the entire prison and escape," Kessa said. "My
Guild Master brought me out. He didn't say I was confined to my shop,
and I've errands. By your leave, watchmen?"

The
tanned guard said, "The local Alchemists' officer is Master Rom,
Pech. We'll check with him."

"May
I go?" Kessa pressed.

Pech
seemed uncertain, but the Stonemason's man waved at her. "Keep
out of trouble, herb-witch. You know you're not likely to hide from
the watch."

"Nor
to try," she agreed coldly, with a short curtsey before striding
off.

Chapter
VI

S
topping
at Master Rom's office had helped settle Iathor's roiling thoughts.
Rom'd not been aware of the arrest, of course; that lost notification
was why Iathor'd gone to make a point. Rom'd had Kessa's records,
though: three years since she'd come from some tiny village, taught
by Herbsman Chiftia. (He'd have to ask the Herbmaster about Chiftia's
skill. Rom'd been impressed by Kessa's competence, not Chiftia's
name.) Rom'd been surprised that Kessa might've even half-poisoned
anyone.

Quiet.
Pays her dues, always informs him if they'll be late, and has partial
payment even then.
No family Rom knew of – which irritated
Iathor briefly. It would've been simpler to negotiate with the girl's
father . . .

Rom'd
not known she'd already produced a passable masterwork. And certainly
hadn't realized Kessa was . . . tolerant to alchemy.
Nor had the large man known of the gray watch; he'd been suitably
appalled, promising to send one of his apprentices to get
descriptions from her.

Iathor'd
stated his intent to take Kessa as a student (the traditional way to
handle journeyman prodigies) and set out for the next necessary stop,
hoping the tradition-minded Rom wasn't guessing
how
alchemically tolerant the herb-witch was. It wouldn't do to alert
those who might seek to coerce Kessa into . . .
anything.

Arriving
at the hospice saved him from brooding over the chaos a rogue immune
could cause.

The
Alchemists' Guild-funded hospice was red brick, two levels high. The
basement was a utilitarian workroom for the brewing of healing
elixirs and salves. The ground floor held rooms for patients and
healers both, as well as a small lecture hall, and the upper level
was used for patients and storage. Iathor remembered when it'd been
built: one of the last projects of his father, and one of the first
of his.

Iathor's
messages had raced ahead of him suitably; when his carriage arrived,
an older bonesetter and an apprentice alchemist (a girl, unusually)
greeted him in the entry room.

While
the apprentice curtseyed, tongue-tied, the gray-haired bonesetter
said, "Welcome, Master Kymus. I'm Peran. This is Nicia."

Master
Peran was a bit older than Iathor, without benefit of Vigeur to keep
his hair from shading out of dark blond into gray and silver. Iathor
shook hands with him. "Good to finally meet you, Master Peran.
Master Isio speaks highly of you. Nicia, I hope you're being useful
here."

"She
is," Peran said, across the girl's stammers.

The
Bonesetters' Guild and Alchemists' Guild had officially neutral
relations, despite the obvious advantages of alliance. Bonesetters
could be touchy and arrogant, as could alchemists, rarely tolerating
the other's mistakes. From explosions to synergy, the results of
combining bonesetters and alchemists depended on the individuals in
the mix.

Peran
wouldn't have accepted employment at the hospice if he detested
alchemists, but from his brisk manner, neither did he think them
spirit-inspired geniuses. "We've gotten the man from his
sister's home. He's docile enough, but I've an apprentice in his room
just in case." Peran snorted. "Or just in case someone
decides to silence him more effectively. They'd have had a better
chance at his sister's."

"Was
she troubled to release him to the hospice?" Iathor asked.

"I
wasn't there, but the journeymen who helped your Master Aleran didn't
mention any troubles. I imagine the notion appealed greatly once she
found someone else'd pay for it."