She knelt next to the fire and began to unpack the food he’d brought. Feeling conspicuous, Keifon crouched at a respectful distance and silenced the urge to apologize. It wasn’t more, it wasn’t better, he couldn’t bring enough. He reminded himself that it was something. It was a start. It was more than most residents of Wildern had brought this morning. He’d do what he could and leave it be. Agna had told him a Nessinian adage, long ago: The sick doctor heals no one. It would do them no good if he bought so much food for them that he couldn’t pay his part of the rent. If he thought he was doing this out of empathy, not guilt, he’d have to remember that. He wouldn’t have wanted some charitable stranger in Ceien to sacrifice their well-being for him. It wouldn’t have helped.
Of course, the person he was then was different from his present self. Was that what he meant to prove?
“Thanks for the food,” Keiva said. “I’ll pass it around.” She handed his empty bag back. “That’s what we do here, and I suspect why Gaf sent you this way. We look after our own, especially if the churches don’t sit well with them.”
“I see. If there’s anything I can do — I can stop by any time.”
“Hm, well, for now, just introduce yourself and I’ll vouch for you. People’ll have to get to know you first. We can always use an independent doctor.”
“I-I’m not a doctor yet,” Keifon said. “I’m still training. Though I’ve been practicing with the Benevolents for two years, with the Golden Caravan.” He shut himself up. He was caught between wanting to convince her that he was competent, and trying not to overstate his status. He could still be useful to them. That was what mattered.
Keiva stood, dusting her knees. “If you have half an idea what you’re doing and no intentions of setting the constabulary on us, that’s all we’ll ask.”
Keifon settled the empty bag on his shoulder as he stood. “I can do that, ma’am.”
“Well then, you’ll do for our purposes, won’t you. Let me introduce you.” Leaving the piles of food, she waved him on.
He made his way around Keiva’s camp, introducing himself and hearing what each person had to say. He was thanked and cursed, spit on and leered at, heard a dozen life stories and retold his own. When Keiva began to hand out the food, she convinced him to take an apple, which quelled the pain in his stomach for a while. He went back to talking, until he’d at least tried to speak to everyone. The angle of the light under the bridge suggested he ought to get back to Agna’s house. Keiva walked him to a better spot to approach the camp, out of easy view from much of the canal walk. She filled him in on what the camp needed, without obligation, of course. Keifon committed it to memory and planned out his next trip as he listened. He said goodbye and climbed up into the afternoon world. His friend had opened her home to help him. He would pass along her generosity however he could.
Agna: Seventh Healer
The hospital’s shifts were nine hours long, measured out by the clock tower in the courthouse halfway across town. From the western side of the base, they could hear the bells on the hour, and the pages ran a circuit through the corridors to announce shift changes. Agna arrived early in the staff room on the second floor, where she had been assigned a cubby for her belongings. She poured a cup from Ettore’s vaunted coffee supply and dropped a couple of copper coins in the collection box. As her coffee cooled to a drinkable temperature, she scanned the chalkboard and the notice board next to it on the wall. Their schedules were mapped out in chalk, and beside it the notice board held announcements about staff training, offers to split carriage fees to other cities, and advertisements for apartments for rent and kittens free to good homes.
About half of the notes were in Nessinian. Agna crossed the room to look over the cubbies again, furtively scanning the names. Agna, Ettore, Fulvia; those she knew. Giada, Rubina, Gaspare, Lorenzo. Fulvia had rattled them off the other day, when Agna had toured the hospital — seven healers in all. Two healers had been assigned here in each of the last three years, before her voluntary arrival. So all of the Nessinians had been assigned to the same lounge. She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended.
She examined the notes and the scrawls along the edges of the chalkboard. A countdown tally had been written at the bottom of the chalkboard: Torie 4 yrs ugh!!, Fulvia 2 yrs, Renzo 2 yrs. The others — Rubina, Gaspare and Giada — hadn’t filled in their totals. Interesting. Perhaps they were on their way out, though she suspected Fulvia would have mentioned that in her tally on the first day, in the most blatant manner possible. Perhaps they had better manners than to advertise their eagerness to leave their posts.
Agna sipped her coffee, supporting her elbow in her other hand. On the notice board, among the hospital’s announcements, they had posted estimates of the time and money needed to get packages to the major cities in Nessiny. A nearly blank sheet of paper said Anyone interested in forming a rugieri team? I found a field where we can play. Sign up here! A commentary ran down another page of paper in alternating handwriting, with a pencil stub dangling next to it on a string.
Think anyone in town would be interested in Nessinian language lessons?
Have you tried the theaters? They might want to do an opera in the original language.
I can’t sing to save my life….
I didn’t ask you! Good idea, though. Not much call otherwise. With only 6 of us here…
Agna’s throat felt tight around her next sip. They were a little community, echoing the Academy, eager to return. She might have come from the same place they did, but she might not fit in with them anymore — if she ever would have. She didn’t have Rone to introduce her anymore.
Switching her mug to her other hand, she picked up the pencil and rolled it between her fingers. Only a few minutes left before her shift. Standing in her healer’s robes, waiting for the proverbial bell to ring, she felt like a younger version of herself. But she wasn’t at the Academy anymore. And she needed to stay here for a while longer, to earn enough money to keep them afloat. She couldn’t count down her time here the way they did on the board, missing the present in favor of the future.
She reached up to the page about language lessons and added a line: Seven. Pleased to meet you.
* * *
At night she lay awake in her new bed, feeling at first as though she were suffocating in a straw-scented, rustling cloud. Keifon’s schedule had rotated to the evening shift, and so the apartment was quiet when she went to bed. After healing people all day, she was too exhausted to jump at every creak the house made, but she lay awake endlessly. The rest of her room was barren, apart from her backpack leaning up against the wall. She tried to familiarize herself with the shadows until she fell asleep.
After her shift the next day, she made a detour to the cabinetmaker that the furniture store had recommended. It wasn’t far from the gallery, in fact, tucked between one of the theaters and a restaurant. The wooden sign read Wei Cabinetry, garlanded by fanciful branches in half-familiar shapes — Yanweian characters, if she wasn’t mistaken. The proprietor was likely to be one of Keifon’s countrymen. Despite herself, she felt her heartbeat pick up speed as she pushed the door open.
The doorbell’s jingle interrupted a rhythmic hammering sound. At the counter, a young Kaveran man set down an arm-length section of wood trim and a pointed carving tool and dusted his hands on his canvas apron. “Good afternoon.” The hammering continued somewhere near the back of the shop.
“Hello,” she said. “The man at Exceptional Furnishings recommended this shop to me. I’d like to get a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, please.”
“Aha, thank you, Mr. Luma,” the woodcarver said. His voice was calm almost to the point of monotone, with an accent that Agna couldn’t quite place. “Do you have an idea of your specifications or your price range?”
“Well, regular, I suppose. On the large side for the wardrobe, maybe. As for the price, affordable but not insulting.”
He cracked a thin smile. “Any preferences on orn
amentation?”
“None in particular,” she said. “We’re only just beginning to outfit our house, so there isn’t much to match.”
The woodcarver brushed shavings from a pile of papers on the work table and scanned a list written on one. “New in town, then?”
“Yes, I’ve come to work as a healer for the Benevolent Union. And open an art gallery, eventually.” She studied the unfinished section of wood trim on the table as he flipped through the pages. The carving was still rough, but the shape of a braided cord had begun to emerge from the grain. “…Actually,” she said, “the nearest framing contact I have is in Laketon. Have you ever made frames for paintings?”
“I have, in fact.” As he sized her up, Agna realized that the hammering had ceased. A head popped up from behind a half-built cabinet in her peripheral vision, and she and the woodcarver turned. The carpenter set down his hammer on the unvarnished side of his project and leaned his forearms on either side of it, a posture that strained the plain muslin of his shirt around the shoulders. Agna’s mouth went dry. She could see the commonalities between his features and Keifon’s, aside from the dark eyes and amber skin of the Yanweians. That explained the name of the shop. She focused on that, and not on the line of his arms, or the smile he flashed in her direction. It was hard to see particularly well, anyway. Or think.
“Do it, Whale, you know you want to.” His accent was milder than Keifon’s, melted into the Kaveran pronunciation. “Hi, by the way. Tai Wei.” It seemed wrong to hear her best friend’s cadence adulterated and coming out of a stranger’s mouth. That had to be why she felt so strange.
“Uh,” she said. “Hi. Agna Despana.”
The woodcarver might have rolled his eyes a bit. “Whalen Arvanest. May I finish?”
The carpenter spread his hands. “By all means. I’m only encouraging you.” He picked up his hammer and disappeared behind the cabinet. Agna pulled more air into her lungs. It smelled like sawdust and varnish and pine inside the shop. It was also too warm, and she was a blasted idiot.
“As I was saying,” Whalen the woodcarver said, “yes, I’ve done some frames. Generally on commission, so we don’t have any in the shop, I’m afraid. Some of them are on public display in the Benevolent Union’s base, which you said you work for…?”
“Yes — yes, actually, I’ll have to see them. Which pieces were they framing?”
Whalen pulled a pencil from a jar on the work table, and they worked out a list of the frames he’d made that were available for public viewing. Three were in the base, including one in Agent Shora’s office — she’d try to catch a look at that one if she got a chance — and one was on display in the library. Agna pocketed the list, and was almost sorry to return to the topic of wardrobes and drawers.
When she returned home, she left Keifon a note on the kitchen table, still the only bit of common furniture in the house. Bought a wardrobe for me and a dresser for you. You owe me 20 unions. No rush. She spun the quill between her fingers, fighting a strange, sick feeling. They’re from Wei Cabinetry, next to the Dawnlight Theater. I think their woodcarver is on board to make frames for the gallery someday! Not the point. It wasn’t the frames she saw endlessly in her mind.
She dipped her pen. Check out their work sometime, it’s something.
The next day, she dropped her satchel on the kitchen table and headed to her room to change. Her next stop was the bathroom, and as she splashed water on her face, she noticed that a simple side table had been added to the room. It held their folded towels and the two canvas bags that contained their soap and hairbrushes. A small square of paper lay on its corner. Agna picked it up.
Used. Little shop just off the market square. Now I owe you 18 unions, 3 head.
Agna chuckled and picked up her towel.
Over the next week, Keifon’s honorary debt had dwindled to seven unions, and the apartment had gained two wash stands with pitchers and bowls, a ceramic baking dish, a fistful of whisks and spoons and spatulas, a bedside table for each of them, and a rather nice grate to pull across the fireplace. As his final move, Keifon put down a deposit on a couch from Exceptional Furnishings and told her the details of the payment plan. They’d have it in six weeks, after they were paid by the hospital a few times, and could parcel out enough money to cover its cost.
On the day that the wardrobe and dresser were to be delivered, Keifon was scheduled to work the afternoon shift again. When the knock came, Agna swallowed her nervousness and answered the door. Whalen the woodcarver was shorter when he wasn’t perched on a stool. He was hardly taller than Agna herself, which was unusual for a Kaveran man. Behind him, Tai the carpenter and a third man carried the chest of drawers through her back gate.
“All right,” Whalen said, “you said there were stairs involved.”
“Yes — yes, right here. But that’s it, once you get up them.”
Whalen poked his head through the door, sighting up the stairs. “Hm. We’ve done worse. Now, if you can move anything out of the path between here and the final placement, please do so.”
“Right.” Grateful for the chance to disappear, Agna flew up the stairs and began to slide the kitchen table and chairs out of the way. She paced along the hall while the men climbed the stairs, barking and swearing at one another, but not, she noted, knocking into the walls. They were being careful. If only she weren’t so weak — not that she could do much about that now. If only she and Keifon had been allowed to swap shifts. He might have been some use to them, and maybe he would have gotten a chance to talk to Tai the carpenter. If she were to guess, Tai seemed somewhere between her age and Keifon’s, in his mid-twenties. Maybe they’d have things in common to talk about. What, she didn’t know — it wasn’t as though she could find out. So, what do you like to do? Because I have a roommate who’s single and likes music and playing sports and obsessing about not being married yet. You should talk.
Agna charged down the hall to make sure her belongings — or lack thereof — were all in order in her room. The last thing she needed was to have her underwear lying out on the bed. With a silent apology, she opened Keifon’s door and glanced around, but everything was in perfect order as usual. She waited in the empty living room as the noise from the stairs approached.
There was a two in three chance that Tai wouldn’t even be interested. More, she supposed, because even if he were one of the third too, Keifon might not be his type. Or vice-versa, going by Edann, Keifon’s supposed friend from the caravan. Edann was a slight and caustic Achusan — more like Whalen than Tai. And aiming Keifon at Whalen wouldn’t solve anything. It might make things worse, in fact. She could imagine the two of them hanging around, trying to be friends. Torturous.
“Excuse us.”
She started and leaned around the corner. Whalen waved from the kitchen doorway. “We’re almost there, just have to maneuver around the corner here.”
“I see. Good. All right.”
“Where are we headed from there? Through here, down the hall?”
She raked her fingers through her hair. Tasks. Yes. “That’s right, and then it’s the second door on the left. The wardrobe is for the second door on the right.”
“Aha.” He stepped through the door into the kitchen and nodded at the pushed-aside table and chairs. “Exceptional?”
“What?” The furniture store. Right. “Oh, yes. We’ve been traveling with the Golden Caravan for the last two years, so everything we had was portable. We’re starting from scratch here, really.”
“I see. That’s quite an undertaking.”
Agna laughed, relieved to get some of the tension out of her chest. “You don’t know the half of it. Right after buying this place, and starting work at the hospital, too. My roommate has been picking up most of the things we need.” It sounded like complaining, not to mention dependent. She switched directions. “I’m sorry everything has to be dragged up the stairs. The gallery will be on the first floor.”
“Eh, like I said, we’ve don
e worse. It’s easier to move the larger items in if we have a clear path.” A thump and a curse made him turn toward the stairs. “Hey. What did we say about professionalism?”
The carpenter’s voice was strained. “We didn’t talk about crushing my hand against the — the mei ya daru wall.”
“Are you all right?” Agna called. “I’m a Balance healer. If you’ve hurt anything…”
“Urgh. Let us get this thing through. Maybe.”
“Come on, man,” their helper said. “You’re bleeding. I’ll get this up onto the landing.”
Whalen wheeled into the doorway, hands on his hips. “You’re bleeding? God’s blood, you moron, get in here.”
“No pun intended,” Tai said weakly, but appeared in the door in a crouch, holding up the listing dresser at a drunken angle. As soon as its feet cleared the landing, Whalen pulled him off and took his place, bent almost double to hold up half of the dresser. He and the third mover began to maneuver the dresser through the door as the carpenter stumbled into the kitchen. Agna swallowed hard; he was cradling his left hand against his stomach. She’d gotten out of her shift about an hour ago, and her energy hadn’t been tapped out when she left. She could handle this. The healing, at any rate.
“Come over here, have a seat. I’ll take a look.” She pulled two of the chairs away from the edge of the kitchen table, took a seat and smoothed her hair as Tai dropped into the other chair. She tapped the table between them. He cursed in Yanweian again as he laid his arm palm-up on the table.
Agna’s mouth twisted. “I also speak Yanweian, by the way. That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“You what? Seriously?”
Distractions were golden; she’d learned that from Keifon on their travels. She could never use his methods in a thousand years, flirting with patients like he did. She could, however, chat about something unrelated, just to draw Tai’s attention away from his hand. “My roommate is Yanweian, from Eastwater. We’ve been learning one another’s languages. Can you move your fingers? Touch them to your thumb one at a time, like this, please.”
The Healers' Home Page 7
