by R. L. King
“And what about this Tanissa? Why did she decide to come here and heal people instead of living in one of these miraculous floating cities?”
Jena shrugged. “She doesn’t talk about it much. I don’t think she likes to discuss her past. But she seems to feel more at home among our people than among the Talented. We’re grateful she does.”
“All right, I won’t ask.” Already, Stone was growing tired again. “I don’t want to keep you from your job too long. One more question?”
“Of course.”
“When I was listening to the doctors talk earlier, one of them mentioned something about ‘here in the slums.’ Was she referring to the town in general, or something else? When I was dumped here, I didn’t see any sign of people, vehicles, anything—and the buildings looked destroyed.”
She picked up the water pitcher from the bedside table and filled Stone’s glass. “It feels strange talking about things that everyone knows. I almost feel like you’re playing some kind of joke on me.”
“I promise you, I’m not,” Stone said. “I hope all of this will come back to me—but it’s very different where I’m from. I grew up in a—sheltered area. I really do appreciate your answering my questions, as daft as they may sound.”
Silence filled several more seconds. Jena looked at her hands in her lap, then back at him. “The place where you were found—almost nobody goes there anymore. The town used to be much larger, back before the war.”
“The war?” Stone sat up a bit more, surprised. “What war? When was it?”
She gave him another suspicious look. “How can you not know about the war? I don’t care where you’re from—everybody knows about the war.” She stood, suddenly looking more nervous than before. As she snapped off the lamp, Stone saw a mask fall over her expression, too. “I’m sorry—I really do need to get back to work. I’ll be around if you need anything.”
Stone didn’t try to convince her to stay. He recognized that look: it was the look of someone who’d let the conversation get away from her, and had now realized she’d said more than she intended to.
He sipped his water as he watched her depart, going over what she’d told him. So he’d been right about the Talented being the mages, and Temolan being the city where he was attacked.
But a floating city? Possibly more than one? That seemed too impossible to believe. Stone was a powerful mage—at least back on Earth he was—and on his best day, with a fresh infusion of power, he might be able to levitate a large car. Based on what he’d seen Harrison do, he thought the man might manage a bus, or even a train engine. But an entire city? Even with a whole fleet of mages at Harrison’s power level working together in a ritual, the energy required would be astronomical. And that was just to get it up there—unless they lifted it into orbit, something had to keep it up there. In spite of himself, his magical curiosity couldn’t help reasserting itself. Did magic work that differently here? Was the native power level that much higher than on Earth, that such things weren’t just possible, but commonplace?
The speculation was pointless, though. Nobody was going to tell him, even if he found someone to ask. Here he wasn’t a mage. He had no powers—he was nothing more than one of the “Dim.”
Gods, what an insulting term. Back on Earth, mages referred to the nonmagical as “mundanes,” which some of those in the know considered mildly demeaning, but it was nothing compared to this. The fact that magical people here called themselves the “Talented” and others the “Dim” told him quite a lot of what he needed to know about how society worked here.
So many questions. His conversation with Jena had left him with more than it had answered. Where was he now, and what was this “war” she’d mentioned? It sounded as if large portions of the population of this place had died in it, leaving the ground-level cities in ruin. What kind of war had it been? How long ago?
He thought of the area where he’d been dumped—of how deserted it had been, and of the strange two-headed wolf-things with the glowing jaws. Had the things been some kind of mutants? Had the war been nuclear? It didn’t seem as if this world had that kind of technology, unless the mages were hoarding it.
But no—at that point, a much more likely answer came to him. He sat up straighter, wanted to call Jena back over and ask her, but he didn’t. She was already suspicious enough of him without making things worse. For now, he’d have to make do with his speculation, but based on the bits and pieces of information he’d gleaned so far, it seemed like a fairly likely one: whatever and whenever this war had been, it hadn’t been nuclear.
It had been magical.
8
Two more days passed before Stone felt well enough to get out of bed for longer than quick trips to the bathroom or brief walks around the ward.
During that time, he didn’t gain any other useful information, despite his attempts to question Jena and the female doctor, Byra, whenever they came by to check on him or bring him something. Both continued to treat him with brisk cheerfulness, but every time he asked any questions about the world or its workings, they either deftly changed the subject or suddenly remembered something else they needed to do. He didn’t even bother trying to ask the other doctor, Milas, anything—the man never worked with him directly and seemed to be actively avoiding him.
He spent most of his time falling in and out of light dozes. Apparently television didn’t exist in this world (or at least not here in the ward), and since the translation spell he’d cast didn’t extend to printed matter, he couldn’t read anything even if they gave it to him. That meant, without anyone to talk to, his restless mind decided its best course of action was to shut down and let him heal in peace.
When he was awake, he tried to listen as much as he could to the conversations around the ward, hoping to pick up useful information when they didn’t think he was paying attention. This strategy worked to some extent: he found out that the unconscious man in the other bed had been unresponsive for weeks and they didn’t think he’d ever wake up, and the woman who’d been snoring the night he’d talked with Jena had been the victim of some kind of work accident. The doctors discharged her the following day with her leg swathed in a bulky white cast.
Two more patients arrived the next day: an angry young man with a collection of bruises and bloody slashes, and a girl with a high fever. Jena and another similarly-dressed man—Stone figured they were probably this place’s version of nurses—installed the two of them in beds at opposite ends of the ward, and the doctors worked over them. Pretending to be asleep, Stone found out that the young man had gotten into an altercation with someone else at a bar (at least they have bars here, he thought with some satisfaction) and the child’s mother had brought her here as a last resort when her own attempts at care had failed. He dozed off at that point, and by the time he awakened again the young man was gone.
On the third morning, he awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulder. “Mm?”
Byra stood next to him. “Good morning. How do you feel?”
He did a quick evaluation. “Not bad, all things considered. Tired, but the pain’s mostly gone.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She checked his temperature and his pulse, noted something on his chart, and stood next to the bed. “You’ll be happy to know that I think we’ve done everything we can for you here, so we’ll be sending you on your way today.”
“On my way?” Normally, getting discharged from a hospital would be good news. Now, though, it occurred to him for the first time that if he left here, he had nowhere else to go.
“You can’t stay here forever,” she said gently. “We’ve been unusually light on patients, and the weekend’s coming up, which always means more. We don’t have enough beds to keep you here once you’re healthy.”
He sat up. “I’ve nowhere to go.” He looked down at the light pajama-style pants he wore as his only garment. “I don’t even have any other clothes, unless mine survived.”
“They didn’t, unfortuna
tely, except for your boots and belt. But I think we can find you something to wear.”
He took a couple of deep breaths as he tried to get his thoughts in order. He must have been more out of it than he thought—he had spent literally no time thinking about what he’d do when he got out of here. He had no money—did they even use money here?—and no way to earn any. He didn’t know the city, he couldn’t read the signs, and aside from Byra and Jena, he knew no other people here.
“I—I’m not sure what to do,” he admitted. “Do you have any suggestions? Do I owe you for the care here? I don’t have any money.”
“Patients here pay what they can,” Byra said. “Don’t worry about that. But you’ll need to find a job and a place to stay. You can check the newspapers for job listings, or sometimes merchants will put signs in their windows.”
Stone looked at his hands, feeling suddenly frustrated and ashamed. Here he was, a respected professor at one of the most prestigious universities on Earth, and he couldn’t even read a fast-food menu in this world. “I—” he began, surprised at how difficult it was to make the admission. “As I told you before, I’m not from this area. I can speak your language, but…I can’t read it.”
Byra sighed. “All right. All right, you stay here for now and I’ll ask around. A lot of people in the area owe us favors, so maybe I can find someone who can give you a job and a place to stay. Temporarily, anyway. Do you have any skills that might help you?”
“Unfortunately, nothing that doesn’t involve reading.” Or magic, he added to himself.
“Don’t worry—I’ll find you something.” She pointed at his chest. “My advice, though, is to keep that tattoo covered, and don’t say anything to make people suspicious. If they think you’ve got anything to do with the Talented, they won’t want to take a risk with you. Just keep your head down and don’t talk too much—at least until you get more familiar with the area. It’s for your own good.”
Stone wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to do that—he had to get started looking for Harrison soon—but for now she was probably right. Best to get more familiar with the world outside this ward before he made any waves. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate the help.”
“Of course. I can’t just put you out on the street—I don’t think you’d do very well, to be honest. You don’t seem the type who’s used to living rough. Jena will bring your breakfast soon, so stay here and I’ll let you know what I find out.”
She returned two hours later. Stone had finished a breakfast of oatmeal and eggs and was sitting up in bed, watching Jena and the other nurse as they made their rounds, when she came in carrying a bag. “Good news,” she said when she reached Stone.
“You found me a job?”
“I did. Faran at the butcher shop needs someone to sweep up and make deliveries.” She paused, watching him in expectation.
“Er—all right. Thank you.”
“You don’t have an objection to that?”
“Is there some reason I would?” He tilted his head, feeling he was missing something.
Her gaze lingered on him for several more seconds. “Most of the Talented find red meat distasteful.” She shook her head as if clearing a thought. “Anyway, never mind. The job doesn’t pay much, but Faran says you can use the spare room in back of his shop.” She looked apologetic. “It’s not much, but everyone’s belt is tight around here. I was lucky to catch him—he was going to hire someone else, but he’s taking you on as a favor to us since we patched him up last year when he slashed his arm.”
Beggars couldn’t be choosers, Stone supposed, and at least making deliveries would get him out in the world where he could start inquiring about Harrison once he got his feet under him. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And please give Tanissa my thanks as well. I’d still like to tell her in person if I can.” He had more than thanks in mind: as one of the Talented, even one who spent most of her time away from those like her, she might be his best chance of finding Harrison.
“I’ll let her know. I’ll give Faran a call if she stops in, and if he can spare you maybe you can come by.”
“Thank you.” Another piece of information gained: they had a way to make calls here. So they were that technologically advanced, at least.
Byra held up the bag. “I found you some clothes—they might not be a perfect fit, but I think they should be close. Go ahead and get dressed, and then we’ll see how you’re doing and get you out of here. Come out when you’re ready.” She pulled a curtain around the bed and departed.
Stone swung his legs out of the bed and experimentally stood. Traces of the old lightheadedness remained and he still felt weak, but given the shape he’d been in a week ago, he couldn’t complain. He ran his hand through his tangled hair, then traced it along his jaw, feeling heavy stubble. More than just about anything right now he wanted a proper shower and a shave, but that could wait until he got where he was going.
He investigated the bag, spreading the clothes on the bed to examine them. They looked used but clean: two rough, long-sleeved shirts—one green plaid, one faded blue; a shapeless brown jacket; dark blue workman’s trousers with a patch on the left knee; two pairs of basic white boxers and socks. The styles were similar to what he might see on Earth, but subtly different enough to remind him he was on another world: the shirt had no collar, for example, and fastened with hooks and loops instead of buttons, and the trousers buttoned rather than zipped. He couldn’t read the words stitched on the tags inside them.
Moving as fast as he dared he donned the clothes, choosing the blue shirt. As Byra had thought, none of them fit him quite right: the shirt and jacket were little too large, and the trousers a little too short. At least he had his own boots, which was something. He didn’t have access to a mirror, but that was probably just as well, since between the clothes, the scruffy week-old beard, and the wild hair, he was sure he looked like a badly-dressed scarecrow. Good thing Byra already got you a job, he thought wryly, wondering what kind of impression he’d make on a potential employer looking like this.
He put the remaining clothes in the bag, then pushed the curtain aside and looked around for the doctor. She wasn’t there, but Jena was. “You’re looking better,” she said, smiling. “You’ve got some color in your cheeks.”
“I’m feeling better, thanks to everyone here.” Almost all of the bandages were gone and the bruises from his ordeal had faded by now, though he could tell he’d lost weight.
“Come on—I’ll take you to the doctor. I hope everything goes well with you.”
He followed her out, realizing this was the first time since he’d arrived here that he’d left the ward. Outside was an institutional-looking hallway lined with a few doors, most of them closed. The beige paint was peeling, the floor was cracked, and the ceiling tiles were stained, all reinforcing Stone’s initial guess that this wasn’t a high-end facility. As they passed an open doorway, he glanced through and spotted several people sitting or slumping in chairs, most of them looking injured or unwell.
Jena knocked on a half-open door farther down the hall. “Doctor, he’s ready,” she called, then pushed it open. She patted Stone’s shoulder. “Good luck. It was a pleasure to meet you.” And then she was gone, hurrying back toward the ward.
Byra sat at a desk amid stacks of folders, papers, and periodicals. She glanced up and looked Stone over. “Not a bad fit,” she said. When he tried to offer her the bag containing the other clothes, she waved him off. “You keep them, so you’ll have a change. Pull up a chair.”
Stone lowered himself into the room’s only other chair and waited.
“None of this is easy for you, is it?” she asked, studying him.
He saw no point in denying it. “Not really. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me—including the job—but I don’t know how well suited I’ll be for it, honestly.”
“I know. It’s obvious to me you’re an educated man, wherever you come from
. I’m still not convinced you don’t have some connection with the Talented, but that’s your business, not mine, as long as you don’t cause trouble for us.” She gave him a rueful smile. “But unfortunately, with no identification, no work papers—you don’t have too many options. I’ve already explained your situation to Faran, and he’s going to arrange to get you some forged papers in case you get stopped, but I won’t lie to you: they won’t stand up to much scrutiny, especially from the Talented. You won’t be able to work in Temolan with them, even if you wanted to.”
Stone thought he’d probably have to go to Temolan eventually on his search for Harrison, but he knew she was right. He’d bet money—if he had any—that the kind of identification required to work in the mages’ city had some magical component to it, one the people down here couldn’t duplicate. “I understand.”
“And…even if the identification weren’t a problem, the fact that you can’t read our language will limit your options too. You’re well-spoken, at least, so that will help.” She patted his hand. “I know this is going to be hard for you, but as I said before, if you want my advice your best strategy is to keep your head down and your ears open. Don’t get noticed by too many people. Pretend you’re a bit slow-witted until you’re more comfortable with the way things work around here. I can tell by just my short interaction with you that it will be tough. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who likes anyone to think he’s slow. But trust me, it’s the safest way.”
“I suppose it is.” He indicated the papers, wanting nothing more now than to get out into the world, figure out what he was supposed to be doing, and get settled in so he could start looking for Harrison. “Is there anything I need to sign to get out of here?”
She pulled a clipboard from beneath a pile of papers, scribbled something on it, and slid it over to him. “Just this. I know you can’t read it, but all it says is that both you as the patient and I as your doctor agree you’re ready to be discharged. Sign on the bottom left.”
