Sam rolled again, this time putting her back against the door. Her breathing quickened, and her heart pounded loudly in her ears as it often did when she fought. There had been a time when she’d found that distracting, but now, the pounding actually seemed to help her focus.
The man eyed her carefully. Rather than unsheathing his sword—what she’d expected and feared—he slid one foot forward, as if readying to attack.
This wasn’t any brute. He was a trained fighter.
Sam wouldn’t be able to get free if he came at her in a real fighting stance. The way he lowered his shoulder and set his feet told her he knew how to grapple. He would use his much larger size against her. She might be quick, but there were limits to speed.
When she feigned a kick, he took a step back.
As he did, she pulled the door open and darted into the hall.
With the pounding in her head, her eyes seemed to take in the possibilities around her.
There were several doors, but how many led to anyplace from which she could escape? How many would be like the windowless room she’d just managed to get free from?
There was really only one safe option.
The brute stepped from the room as she reached the door on the other side of the hall.
Sam scrambled inside and slammed the door behind her, twisting the lock as quickly as she could.
Only then did she take the time to look around.
She knew what she’d find in the room. It looked no different from when she’d been here last. A lantern gave a soft glow, but that was about it. Relief flooded through her as she realized there wasn’t anyone here.
It faded when she saw a body lying motionless on the floor. Blood stained the wood, pooling around the person’s head. The stitching along the cloak suggested it was a highborn who had fallen, but what would have happened to the highborn?
There wasn’t time to think about it. Hurrying toward the window, she allowed herself a moment to think she might escape. All she had to do was sneak outside the window, grab her staff, and she could cross the canal to safety. She could work out how to help Tray—and how to find what Bastan wanted—later. First, she had to get to safety.
At the window, she ducked behind the curtain as the door splintered.
Kyza, but the brute was strong!
She didn’t have to think too much to envision what he’d do to her if he caught her. With those massive hands and the ease with which he crushed the heavy oak door, he’d squash her like an over-ripe tomato.
Feet thundered across the floor, and Sam jumped out the window.
Glass exploded around her, but she ignored it. Something pierced her stomach, and hot pain surged within her, but she refused to acknowledge it. If she did, it would only slow her.
Rolling across the hard stone outside the highborn home, she found the staff intact. Maybe Kyza hadn’t completely abandoned her.
She grabbed it and with a practiced grip checked that the two ends remained twisted together, then used the staff to help herself to her feet. When she reached the canal, she hurriedly lowered one end of the staff into the water.
She felt the brute’s presence before she saw him.
Sam spun, kicking out as she did.
Pain surged in her stomach, hot and fresh, and nearly enough to make her pass out.
With a grunt, her grip started to slip on the staff.
If she lost it, there wouldn’t be any choice but to jump into the canal. Bleeding as she suspected she was, she didn’t like the possibility of one of the giant eels chasing after her, thinking her some sort of treat.
With renewed effort, she squeezed her hands tightly on the staff, clinging to it for safety.
She blinked back tears, and her vision cleared.
As it did, she realized that not one, but two brutes were facing her. The second held his crossbow aimed at her.
She didn’t have much choice at this point. Spinning the staff up and out of the water, she caught the nearest man on the side of his head. He staggered but remained standing.
“What in the...?” she muttered.
She flipped her staff around, trying to catch the other man, and it collided with his arm. Somehow, he managed to catch it.
Sam jerked on the staff, but ending up pulling herself toward him.
He brought his fist toward her and she jumped, leaping over her staff, and spinning in the air, kicking as she did.
Her foot collided with his face hard enough to startle him and jar the staff free.
This wasn’t a fight she could win. Kyza knew this wasn’t a fight she could even survive.
Sam spun toward the edge of the canal and jammed the end of her staff into the water, kicking off.
For a moment, she felt something grab at her, and she twisted. The movement carried her over the water, angled strangely so that instead of landing on the opposite shore, she bounced into a building and slid down.
Sam pulled her staff from the canal and raced away.
The street was dark enough that she could fade into the shadows, but first, she had to find someplace safe. When she did, she could wrap her cloak around her to conceal herself, and hopefully wait out the brutes chasing her.
As she ran, she began thinking about the easiest path back to Bastan’s. She couldn’t risk exposing him too quickly, so she’d have to take a meandering route—
Something hit her in the shoulder, and she staggered forward. Pain seared through her arm, strong enough that she nearly dropped the staff.
Sam looked at her arm. The pointed tip of a crossbow bolt pierced her shoulder.
She dared a glance back and stared at one of the brutes as he jumped over the canal.
He didn’t need a staff, and cleared it in a single leap.
What?
No one had the ability to leap the canals. What was that man?
Injured as she now was, she wouldn’t be able to fight him off. And if the other brute joined him… there would be no chance. She had to outrun him.
Pain made each step hard. The staff dragged behind her, and she didn’t think she’d be able to lift it if she needed to. There was no way she’d be able to jump another canal if it came to that. The only way she’d get to safety was by winding through the streets and hoping they didn’t know them as well as she did.
Sam ducked around a corner and hurried forward. She reached the end of the street and turned again, gradually making her way toward Bastan’s. It was his request for more information that had sent her back in, so she blamed him for the injury. Would he provide some sort of cover for her if she could reach him?
Her staff continued to bounce off the stone.
It was too loud and would likely only get her caught, but now that she’d gotten it back, she didn’t want to lose it again. She stopped in a small doorway and pinched the staff between her knees, twisting the ends apart. In halves, she could store it in the cloak. At least that way, she might be able to move more quietly.
Footsteps hurried along the street.
Sam didn’t dare race out from hiding. Instead, she pulled the cloak around her, ducking her head low. Pain throbbed in her shoulder and in her side, sending waves through her that were nearly strong enough to knock her down. How much longer would she be able to keep going?
Whoever chased slowed.
“Where did she go?” The words were hard and accented.
“The last I saw her, she went this way.” This was the rough voice of the brute. “I had smelled her, but I no longer do.”
Smelled her?
Sam leaned toward the cloak wrapped around her and sniffed. She didn’t smell anything so how could he?
“You couldn’t keep up with her?” the other asked.
“She was skilled. We must be prepared for others like her in the city.”
“The others haven’t returned. We would have known. It’s the reason you wanted—”
“I know the reason I wanted to do this now,” the first said.
T
hey moved along the street and their voices grew fainter.
What had she gotten herself into?
Thoughts became more difficult as her vision began to fade.
She didn’t have time to figure out what was happening, and it didn’t matter, anyway. She needed to find a way to get help. Reaching Bastan was out of the question. The stupid man was too far away. That meant finding someone else.
Sam staggered into the street, keeping her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. The staff weighed down the cloak, but at least it didn’t drag along the street, making any more noise.
Blinking through the fog that was masking her vision, she struggled to find the street she needed. She took a turn, and then another. As she did, she realized she was lost.
How could she be lost in the city? Sam always knew where she was going in the city.
Strange signs hung over storefronts. A baker. A seamstress. An apothecary.
She stopped. Apothecary.
They were often healers. If nothing else, she could find someone who could pull the bolt from her shoulder and stitch her back up. Maybe even heal her side, removing whatever glass had lodged there.
The door was locked.
Sam debated beating on the door but decided against it. That would make too much noise and might draw the brutes back to her location.
She doubted she could focus well enough to pick the lock, but maybe the knife would be good for something.
She jammed it into the lock as far as she could and twisted.
Long ago, she discovered the blade was strong. Twisting it in some lock couldn’t damage it, and she twisted. With a sharp snap, the lock broke. Sam pushed on the door and entered the apothecary.
Strange smells assaulted her. Most were those of spices, some she recognized, but most foreign to her nose. Rows of shelves with different jars greeted her, and potted plants lined the window, the earthy scent coming mostly from them. She staggered forward and closed the door behind her.
“Hello?” Her voice barely carried into the shop, fading quickly, as if swallowed by the dark or the strange spices within. Sam staggered forward again, making it another few steps before she started to fall. She grabbed at one of the shelves to catch herself, but managed to do nothing more than pull it down on herself.
“Help!” This came out weakly, barely strong enough for her to be heard in the back of the shop. She tried dragging herself forward, but her arms didn’t work like they should, and pain shot through her any time she tried moving them. Breathing became more labored, each breath feeling like someone sat on her chest.
How badly had she been hurt?
Badly enough that she didn’t think she’d have made it back to Bastan’s had she tried. It was a good thing she’d snuck into the apothecary, even if there wasn’t anyone here, but it was too bad she didn’t know enough about the different herbs to heal herself.
Now, she’d suffer because of her stupidity. Not only suffer, but given the burning sensation working through her, she wondered if she’d survive.
Tray needed her, and she wouldn’t be there for him.
In some ways, that hurt more than anything else. He’d rot in the prison, thinking she hadn’t made any attempt to find him.
Sam tried moving forward, deeper into the apothecary shop, but pain prevented her from moving any more than a little bit.
With a frustrated sigh, she rested her head on the cool floor.
She would rest, then she’d try again. Maybe by then, someone would return.
Rest.
Her head settled onto the stone floor, and her eyes fluttered closed. Breathing came raggedly, and she slowly drifted, eventually fading into nothingness.
6
The Hysterical Money Lender
The bell above the door to his father’s apothecary tinkled softly, and Alec turned to see a man with short wiry hair close the door behind him and suppressed a groan. A visit from Hyp could take half a day. Time Alec needed for sorting herbs so vital to their shop, else his father might return and see how little he’d accomplished.
“Anything I can help you with today, Hyp?” he asked, stepping toward him, careful not to trip on the overflowing stack of his father’s notes on the floor next to the desk. The rest of the shop was neatly kept, with row upon row of leaves and grasses and berries all placed in jars meticulously labeled.
Hyp shuffled further into the shop, leaning on a long cane. Always fastidiously dressed, the moneylender wore his coat buttoned to his throat and his dark pants neatly creased. His furrowed brow deepened the closer he came, a pained look narrowing his eyes.
“Alec,” he started, glancing around the shop. “Your father has not returned yet?”
“Afraid not, Hyp. I’m not sure when he’ll return.” Hyp had stopped by the shop almost daily since his father had been away, asking the same question each time. Alec’s answers did nothing to dissuade Hyp from coming, and in some ways, the fact that his father wasn’t here seemed to empower him.
Hyp swallowed and blinked, nodding slowly. “I thought I should check.” He carefully considered the increasingly empty shelves within the shop.
Alec waited, curious what complaint he would have today. “As I said, he’s gone collecting medicines.” He waved a hand around the shop. “We have to have enough supplies to keep everyone well.” He didn’t add that he still didn’t understand why his father had left this time. Their supplies were still plentiful, though they might be short on a few things. He’d left in a hurry and with fewer supplies than he usually took with him when he went off on his forays around the edges of the city.
Hyp rubbed his eyes. “Yes, yes. I remember.”
“How’s your vision?” Two days ago, Hyp said everything was suddenly blurry. Before that, it was a throbbing right arm.
Hyp nodded, a serious look coming to his face. “Better,” he admitted. "Though less than perfect if I’m being completely honest.” He cleared his throat, straightening his coat. “Still, I suppose that comes with age.”
Alec sniffed softly. If nothing else, experience with Hyp had taught him patience. Maybe that was the reason his father subjected him to the man every time he entered the shop.
“I suppose if your father still isn’t here…” He inhaled deeply, a pained look crossing his face. “I awoke to severe stomach pains and haven’t been able to eat anything all day. I’ve never had anything like it.”
Alec looked at him skeptically. “Never?” Stomach pain was one of Hyp’s usual complaints.
“Nothing like this.” He clutched his hands to his stomach, closing his eyes for effect.
Alec suppressed a sigh and led him to the cot behind the desk at the back of the shop. All around him were the instruments his father would use to examine those coming to the apothecary for help. They were nothing like those used by the physickers at the university, but then apothecaries like his father didn’t have the same training or quality of medicines as the physickers. Better than nothing for most, which was the reason his father continued practicing. Alec knew most appreciated everything his father could do, even if it wasn’t what the physickers would have managed. At least his father didn’t charge the same fees as the physickers.
Hyp lay down, bending his knees to his chest as he did, waiting with an anxious expression on his face.
Alec frowned, biting his lower lip as he considered the best evaluation to satisfy Hyp. Nothing really mattered when it came to him. He’d long ago come to that conclusion with Hyp, though it didn’t matter. He’d have to examine him, regardless. Otherwise, the man wouldn’t be satisfied, and he’d be back the very next day. If Alec took a little extra time now, he might not see Hyp for a few days, hopefully not until his father returned.
Tilting his head down, he listened first to Hyp’s heart, then his chest, before tipping his head to his stomach, hearing nothing unusual. Moving quickly, methodically, he pushed carefully on Hyp’s neck, then his chest, before examining his stomach, but the man didn’t wince as he palpate
d. Skin was normal, as well.
Hyp looked up at him, and Alec waved him to stand. “Well?”
Alec shrugged. “Not sure.” Nothing he would say could soothe Hyp, anyway. “Maybe it’s time you see a physicker.”
Many in this part of the city appreciated his father and his medicines, though it was probably just as much that the physickers were selective about who they’d heal. Most, they turned away. Alec wondered if they’d even take on a case like Hyp, or would they send him away, as well? They treated merchants as well as those in the inner sections of the city, so there would be no reason Hyp couldn’t go to the physickers.
A sour look pinched Hyp’s mouth, and he shook his head. “The university?” He grunted and shook his head. “Your father is a better healer than any at the university. Quite a bit cheaper too. Maybe they should call him to help with the princess.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “You heard the rumors, haven’t you? Say she’s fallen sick. None have seen her in days, and they say even the physickers can’t heal her. Bet your father could do something for her like he’s done for me.”
Alec didn’t want to get into that with Hyp, and instead helped him to his feet as he handed him his cane. “I’m sorry he’s not here for you, Hyp.”
Hyp smoothed his coat and nodded, his long face serious. “You tried. I suspect you’ll soon be near the healer your father is. And still better than any university healer.”
Alec’s lips curled in a tight smile. He doubted he would ever rival his father, at least, not without training at the university, and that was now beyond him. As much as he might want to study at the university, he was far too old. “That’s nice of you to say.” He led him down a side aisle on his way toward the door, grabbing a few supplies as he went. “Try these,” he suggested, pressing a few loose leaves and herbs into a small container and handing it to Hyp. “They should soothe your stomach at least.”
Hyp nodded and tilted his head before hesitating. “You going to write this down?” He frowned, holding the supplies to his chest, cane now cradled into his arm. “Your father always writes my symptoms down, Alec.”
Wasting: The Book of Maladies Page 6
