Wasting: The Book of Maladies

by D. K. Holmberg

  Hiding would be more difficult here.

  There were a few copses of trees she could hide within, but nothing that would give her that much cover, especially if one of the guards happened to be making rounds when she attempted it. Toward the back side of the university, she found a cluster of trees nearer the street and decided that would have to be where she made her attempt.

  She let the silence surround her as she considered the approach. The cloak would shield her from quite a bit, but wouldn’t conceal her completely, especially as she moved.

  Then again, getting caught might actually help. Then she could get into the prison and find out what had happened with Tray.

  But that would not be ideal. If she were caught, they’d confiscate her cloak and her rope and the crossbow, all the things she needed. Better to find a way in carefully. Quietly.

  Sam pulled the cloak over her shoulder, tucking the hood down around her face to keep her pale skin from catching any stray moonlight, and started across the street. When she reached the edge of the garden, she thought she saw distant movement, but wasn’t certain. Now wasn’t the time to back out. She carefully made her way to the trees, and stopped.

  Smooth bark pressed against her face, and she almost sneezed. Sam took a step back but stayed within the shadows cast by the others around her, and searched for her next move.

  The closer to the university she got, the more trees there would be, but they were planted in singles, spaced apart so that she would either have to run to them, or risk moving slowly and getting caught in the open. But she wasn’t there yet. Sam waited for a gust of wind to pick up and hurried to the next cluster of trees. There were only a few here, but they cast dark enough shadows that she didn’t fear getting caught. Roots arched out of the ground, and one of them tugged at her feet as she started toward the next cluster of trees, sending Sam sprawling onto the ground.

  She suppressed the swear that came to her lips as she froze, knowing that to be the better strategy than rushing forward. Sudden movement would only draw the eye. Her falling would do that enough as it was.

  When she heard nothing, she crawled forward, staying low as she did. As she neared the next cluster of trees, she heard footsteps.

  Sam fought against sudden panic and fought the urge to hurry toward the trees. They wouldn’t hide her any better than flattening herself out on the ground, but at least they’d provide her with a sense of protection, real or not.

  The footsteps passed.

  Now she knew someone else was out here. Likely patrolling, but she hadn’t been able to see to know for certain. She would have to be extra careful, but then, she thought she had been when she’d tripped.

  At the trees, she slowly raised herself up, wrapping her arms around the trunk of the tree, hoping that it looked only as if the tree had widened and not so obvious that there was someone here. Sam peered into the darkness, searching for the source of the footsteps she’d heard, but there was no evidence of anyone there.

  That made her uncomfortable.

  She could move, but what if she encountered the patrol again? This time, if she was standing, they’d likely see her. The other option involved crawling along the ground, but she wouldn’t be able to move very fast that way.

  What choice was there? To escape notice, she had to stay low.

  The university was still a hundred yards or more away.

  Creeping forward on elbows and knees, she slid forward. Had she not still been soaked from her dip into the canal, she would have become soaked by dew collected on the grass. She heard a shuffling sound and paused, but it didn’t repeat, and she continued onward.

  The wall of the university loomed in front of her.

  Sam finally allowed herself to feel relief. This was the first hurdle to saving her brother, and one of the biggest. Reaching the university, even if she wasn’t in it yet, felt like victory.

  As she started to stand, something grabbed the back of her cloak.

  Sam kicked, but it did no good. The grip was too strong.

  Her hood pulled back from her face, and she stared into the flat gray eyes of one of a soldier. Was it one of the brutes? It didn’t look like the one that had shot her.

  A dark grin spread across his face. “Sneaking in to reclaim it?”

  “I’m not—”

  “A dangerous plan. You Theln sympathizers should return to your home.”

  Theln sympathizer? That made no sense to her. “You’ve got it wrong.”

  “I don’t think so,” he hissed, his voice pitched low and gravely. “And now you’ll tell us what you did with the rest.”

  “You can let me go. I’ll return to my section, and no one will have to know.”

  “I’ll know.”

  He lifted her diminutive form with one arm and slammed her into the wall. Sam didn’t even have a chance to object before she passed out.

  15

  A Father’s Secret

  The stink of ash and the mixture of burned leaves and oils filled Alec’s nostrils. He doubted too many others would understand what they smelled, but Alec recognized it. The smell was that of his failure, that of loss. The apothecary was gone, burned to the ground, and he didn’t understand why.

  Dusk approached as he meandered along the streets. He passed shops with owners he knew, men and women who would offer their help, especially with as often as his father had helped them, but he didn’t want to do anything other than keep wandering. The more distance he could put between him and the shop, the easier it was for him to imagine it never happened.

  But all he had to do was turn around, and he could still see the way the ash and smoke swirled into the sky. Alec tried not to think about the questions that came to mind, such as why they’d been targeted, or why the man had seemed so interested in his notes about Sam’s injuries, or why was it theirs was the only business that had burned? Those were questions without answers. Or maybe they had answers, but they weren’t the kind he wanted.

  Someone touched his arm, and he spun, jerking his arm free in a panic.

  Mrs. Rubbles stared at him, her sharp eyes seeming to take in the soot covering his face and clothes, and she nodded. “Come with me, then.”

  She tugged on his shirt, not giving him any chance to object.

  Alec went along with her willingly. Mrs. Rubbles had always been kind to him, and right now, he needed some kindness because he didn’t know what he would do otherwise.

  She pulled him onto a side street leading behind her shop and then up a narrow flight of stairs to the top where she pushed open the door revealing a tidy home neatly decorated. A small fire burned softly in a corner hearth, sending waves of warmth into the room. A pair of formal chairs angled toward a lacquered table in the middle of the room. A tray of steaming meat rested on the table, with two plates set on either side.

  “Sit. Eat.”

  “Mrs. Rubbles—”

  She shook her head and forced him into one of the chairs. “Sit, I said.” She waited until he did, and he found the chair surprisingly comfortable. Then she disappeared behind another doorway before reappearing with two finely painted ceramic cups. Mrs. Rubbles took a seat opposite him and handed him one of the cups. “What happened?”

  Alec rubbed his eyes. How could he answer that question when he didn’t really know himself? “The shop burned,” he said. It was the only thing he could think of telling her.

  “I saw that. I even went through there to see if there was anything I could help you save. There were a few items…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. What I don’t understand is how?”

  Alec brought the cup of tea to his nose and inhaled. It smelled bitter and strong, the kind of tea that would wake him up, if that was what he wanted. Alec wasn’t sure he did.

  “A man came into the shop. He was looking for something I didn’t have. When I told him, he poured”—he tried to think of what the man had poured around the apothecary. Oil? Kerosene? Something that had been highly flammable, b
ut also limited in its effect, not burning the neighboring stores— “something around the inside of the shop and then ignited it.”

  Mrs. Rubbles sat with her hands clasped on her lap, watching him. She nodded once toward the tray of meat. “Eat, Alec. You’ll need your strength.”

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Rubbles.”

  “Eat,” she said again.

  She sat back with her arms crossed while waiting for him. From the set of her jaw and the hard expression she wore, Alec could tell she wouldn’t say anything more until he did as she instructed.

  He took a deep breath and took a bite of the meat. It was smoky and warm, but more than that, it was delicious. The taste of the meat washed away the remaining ash in his throat. For that, he was thankful.

  Alec made quick work of the meat, taking sips of tea in between bites, with Mrs. Rubbles watching him the entire time. When he finished, she carried the tray away before returning and sitting across from him again.

  “What can you tell me about the man who did this?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Rubbles—”

  She raised her hand, cutting him off. “If anyone is willing to intentionally burn down one of our stores, others need to know. Describe him for me.”

  Alec closed his eyes, thinking back to what the man had looked like. The memory of him was vivid. “He had flat gray eyes,” he started. They were the feature he remembered best. “Tall, and incredibly muscular. He had short hair and there was something about his face.” He tried to remember the scar but couldn’t picture it clearly. “He’d either been burned or branded.”

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Mrs. Rubbles pressing her hands together. Her brow was furrowed in a troubled expression.

  A fleeting thought hit him. How was this the same woman he’d seen at the shop only a few days ago? That woman had been frail and failing, whatever glandular issue she suffered from making her sickly. This woman had a strength to her, and a sharpness to her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

  After watching him for a moment more, Mrs. Rubbles stood and went to a cupboard in the back of the room before returning and sitting. She carried a stack of fine paper and a thick piece of charcoal. Settling herself into the chair, she started drawing.

  Alec couldn’t take his eyes off her as she worked. Her hand moved in a steady fashion, each stroke controlled and intentional. As she worked, the face of the man who had burned his father’s shop appeared on the page, the detail so vivid that he knew she’d seen him before.

  Mrs. Rubbles finished and set the charcoal down. “Is this him?”

  He swallowed. Even as a drawing, there was something about his stare that unsettled him. “That’s him. You’ve seen him before.”

  Mrs. Rubbles dusted her hands off and held the page down on her lap. “I’ve seen him,” she agreed. “And wish I hadn’t.”

  “When?”

  “He came into my store a few days ago. He was looking for a specific type of paper, but I didn’t have what he wanted. He said it had been stolen and thought someone might have tried selling it off. He was pleasant enough,” she said, scratching at her chin and leaving a smudge of charcoal, “but there was a darkness about him I could almost feel.” She stared at her drawing. “I was happy when he left and thought that was the end of it.”

  “He came into my father’s shop looking for a woman I’d healed,” Alec admitted. Mrs. Rubbles’ eyes widened slightly. “She came to the shop, well… she broke into it. She was bleeding everywhere, and had an injury to her shoulder.” He didn’t think Mrs. Rubbles needed to know that Sam had a crossbow bolt lodged in her arm. That would only bring up different questions.

  “You healed this woman?”

  Alec shrugged. “I stitched her up and applied a salve. It wasn’t much more than that.”

  She scratched her chin again. “I wonder what he wanted with her?”

  “He never said. When he saw the notes I made—”

  “You took notes on her injury?”

  He nodded. “My father would be disappointed if I didn’t. You’ve seen the way he documents. Everyone who comes to the shop has their symptoms noted, even if there’s nothing we can do.”

  Mrs. Rubbles frowned. “Did you document my symptoms?”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought you were out of paper?”

  Alec flushed. “I am. Was. The woman had a scrap of strange paper with her. That’s what you saw me working on when you came in.”

  “That’s what you needed the darker pigment for,” she said. Alec nodded. “Do you still have this page?”

  He shook his head. “It burned with the shop.”

  Mrs. Rubbles sat silently for a while, staring at her drawing of the man on the page. “This is dangerous, Alec.”

  “I know it’s dangerous. My father’s shop—”

  She looked up from the page, her eyes practically glowing with intensity. “Not only your father’s shop. This man,” she said, patting the page, “has a dangerous look to him.”

  Dangerous didn’t describe him well enough. The man had attacked Sam and then burned down the apothecary. How could he be anything other than dangerous?

  “I intend to stay away from him.” But where? Now that the shop was gone—his home—where would he go? He sighed. “I wish I knew how to find my father.”

  She stared at the drawing and then sighed. “I agree you must find your father, Alec. This is beyond my ability to help.”

  “He’s gone harvesting. I don’t know when he’ll return.”

  She met his eyes. “You can send word to him through the university.”

  Alec blinked, and then laughed. “He left a note. He went to the Narvin Plains to harvest.” The plains were to the east of the city on a thin stretch of land and known to have dozens of types of healing plants, most that couldn’t be found anywhere else. Alec had gone with his father when he was much younger, back when his mother still lived and could run the shop, but since she’d been gone, his father had taken the harvesting trips on his own, more and more often leaving Alec in charge of the shop while he was away. Most of the time, that involved keeping the door open and allowing others to purchase what they needed. This had been the first time he’d risked attempting to heal without his father around.

  Mrs. Rubbles reached into a pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it over to him.

  She nodded to the paper and sat back, waiting.

  Alec carefully unfolded the paper. He recognized it as one of Mrs. Rubbles’ finer stock, the paper thick, with smooth edges. As he opened it, he saw the writing on the inside in a hand he recognized.

  There was no doubt in Alec’s mind that this had come from his father’s hand. There was a neatness to it that reminded him of Mrs. Rubbles’ home. The angle to the lettering matched his father’s left handedness, and the way Alec crossed his letters matched his father’s writing. The paper was wrinkled and appeared to have been written long ago.

  But the content… how could his father have written what Alec saw on the page?

  “He gave this to me a long time ago. He said if anything ever happened to him...” She shook her head. “I hope he’ll forgive me for revealing this to you. It really should have been him, but as your shop has burned, there really isn’t anywhere else for you to go.”

  “He wants me to go to the university?” he asked after reading through the note. It was directed to Mrs. Rubbles, a request if anything were to happen to him and guidance on what she should do with Alec, but more than that, it gave details about his father that Alec had never known.

  Could his father have studied at the university and he’d not known?

  She nodded. “He would have preferred to share with you himself, but there wasn’t a good time.”

  “Not a good time? How about before he left, he tells me that he planned to go to the one place I didn’t think he’d ever go? Why couldn’t he share that with me?”

  “Alec—”

  He stood, gripping the note
, but the anger he felt faded quickly. It wasn’t Mrs. Rubbles’ fault his father had hidden from him where he’d gone—that was entirely on his father—but she had known, and she hadn’t shared with him.

  “Why would he hide this from me?”

  She sat for a moment, watching him with the same hard expression she’d worn since he first came in. “There are things you don’t understand, Alec, that you can’t understand.”

  He held on to the piece of paper, the note that held information his father had entrusted Mrs. Rubbles with but hadn’t felt him capable of understanding.

  What else had his father hidden from him? Why would he hide the fact that he’d studied at the university? Shouldn’t he be willing to share that, especially knowing what he did about what Alec wanted?

  She sighed, as if reading his thoughts. “Go to the main entrance, tell them his name, and ask for help. There is really nothing more to it than that.”

  Alec stood and looked once more at the paper. There was no doubting that it was his father’s writing, but why? Why would he hide that from him?

  “Alec?”

  He paused at the door and looked back to Mrs. Rubbles.

  “I really am sorry about what happened to the apothecary. If you need anything…”

  He considered various answers, before deciding only to nod. What more could he say?

  16

  A Visit to the University

  The massive gate to the university rose in front of Alec, its arched iron gates left open. Guards stood on either side of the gate, questioning each who approached. There was a line nearly one-hundred deep, and few had the clean clothing of those from the more central sections of the city.

  Alec fingered the note in his pocket as he shuffled forward. An older woman stood in front of him, every so often clutching at a necklace she wore, likely some token of one of the gods, such as Kyza or Yisl. A young girl holding on to her mother’s hand stood behind him. The smells around him were that of sweat and filth, but he noted the stink of rot, like that of a wound that had festered far too long. In his time working with his father, he had come to know that odor all too well.