Wasting: The Book of Maladies

by D. K. Holmberg

  Mrs. Rubbles hadn’t mentioned the line at the gate.

  Alec had never attempted to gain entry to the university. Given the cost, few did. Most couldn’t afford their healing, even if they were allowed entry. But there seemed plenty willing to attempt it, and from what he could tell just looking around, those he saw had various illnesses.

  Some, like the young girl five places in front of him, had growths needing to be removed. The university surgeons wouldn’t struggle with such techniques. Now that he knew his father spent time in the university, he wondered if he had learned under some of the senior surgeons found here. Alec had always believed his father had studied and learned the art of healing from books and others with knowledge of medicines and herbs. Knowing his father came to the university, that he might work with the university physickers, felt a betrayal of sorts, though Alec knew it shouldn’t.

  Other illnesses were subtler. He saw a man so thin that he might as well be bones. A wasting disease, and one Alec had seen before. His mind started racing through different herbs he could try to heal the man, though he knew none of them would likely be as effective as what the university could offer. There was a woman with no hair, and a thick liniment rubbed onto her scalp. There were few solutions known for that, but rogan root mixed with a touch of linseed might work. Alec had seen that be effective before.

  The longer he stood in line, the more he began to diagnose those around him. There were a few with glandular issues, much like what he’d seen from Mrs. Rubbles. There were others with splints on arms or legs, some with bandages covering festering wounds Alec could smell. A few others with the same wasting illness.

  By the time he’d reached the front of the line, he had an inventory of ailments from all of those around him. Had he brought paper, he might even have taken the time to document what he’d seen, but what would the point have been without any way to test the effectiveness of his solutions. Many were turned away as they approached the guards near the gate. Was that because their illnesses were determined to be untreatable or because they weren’t sick enough? He imagined the physickers only wanted to treat the sickest of the sick, and even then, they could be selective.

  He shuffled forward without paying attention to where he was going when a firm grip pulled on his arm.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Alec pulled his attention off the old woman who had been in front of him. She disappeared now behind the gate, escorted by a young woman in a short gray jacket with dark hair rolled into a bun. The man standing next to him smelled of feverleaf, a heady aroma that filled his nostrils. The dark leaves stained the man’s lower teeth and he chewed silently while watching Alec. He wore a longer jacket that matched the one worn by the young woman he’d just seen.

  Alec had assumed they were guards, but realized they were students. Did the length of the jacket signify rank? As much time as he’d spent healing others over the years, and learning from his father, he’d never spent any time thinking about the university or the students within. It was a place he’d dreamed of coming, but knew was beyond him.

  Now that he was here, he didn’t know what they expected of him. Was he to pass the note his father had written to Mrs. Rubbles? What would that get him other than more stares like the ones he got from them now?

  Alec decided the simplest answer was best. “I’m looking for Aelus Stross,” he said, and immediately wished he would have said something else. It wasn’t that he expected his father to be here, but that he wanted to send word to him. “I was told I could get word to him here.”

  The student glanced over his shoulder, and Alec noted another student, similarly dressed, shrugged. “And that would be?”

  “He’s an apothecary.”

  The student grinned, and the feverleaf protruded from between a pair of teeth. “There are no apothecaries here. If that’s what you seek, you’ll need to go back into the outer sections. We are physickers here.”

  “He’s my father. As I said, I was told I could get word to him—”

  The nearest student twisted him by the arm, spinning him away from the gate so that he faced the line of people. There had to be several hundred here now. All of them seeking healing. Alec couldn’t imagine being able to accommodate that many patients, and he couldn’t imagine the income they would bring in, especially if rumors about what the physickers charged were true.

  “Stop wasting our time. There are countless others who have come for actual healing, and they have money to pay. Do you have money for healing?”

  Alec touched his pocket. He had some coins, but doubted they would be enough. “I’m not here for healing. I’m here for my father.”

  “If you can’t pay, then you shouldn’t be here,” the student said.

  Physicker or healer, his father had never cared whether those who came to him were able to pay. He made certain they paid what they could, and nothing more.

  For so long, all he’d wanted was to learn to heal like those in the university, but was this what he wanted for himself?

  Alec looked at the others in line and realized that there would be no way for him to get through and get word to his father. Even if he managed to enter the university—and that was not a given, especially considering how long the line was—he doubted he would even find his father.

  If he couldn’t find his father and get word to him, how would he know about the shop? Alec didn’t want his father to return only to find a pile of ash and debris where his shop had once been.

  When his father returned from his collection, Alec would need to be there.

  Besides, maybe there was something he could find in the remains of the shop. He could sort through it.

  He turned away, ignoring the glares shooting in his direction, and elbowed his way back across the bridge and over to his section. The walk back took much longer than the walk over, and his heart was heavy. It felt strange returning but not having a place to return to. He knew enough people in the section that he thought he would have a place to stay, but that wasn’t what he wanted, either.

  He wanted his shop back.

  When he reached it, the sun was shining, and he wandered through the piles of debris. Everything was burned, at least, almost everything was burned. There were still a few things here. A couple of jars had survived mostly intact, though the high heat would likely have destroyed the contents making them unstable and essentially unusable. There were other items here, like the broken end of a bench, and the remnants of shelves, but not enough for him to find anything that was even familiar to him.

  There was nothing for him here.

  Where was he going to go? Now that everything he cared about was gone, what was there for him to do?

  17

  A Purpose For the Paper

  Pain throbbed in her head as Sam came around. Lights flashed behind her eyes, and at first, she thought they were real before realizing that she saw only flashes from the pain throbbing in her skull. That pain prevented her from detecting anything else. There was nothing other than the splitting headache and a steady drumming noise that added to her misery.

  Where was she?

  Alive. There was that much, at least.

  When she tried to move, she discovered her arms were bound, trapped in cold chains. Her legs were, as well, confining her. Sam rolled her head to the side, trying to see the chains, but all she knew was the steady flashing of light.

  “Why did you come here?”

  It wasn’t one of the brutes’ voice, but who was it?

  “Where am I?”

  The man laughed, and she heard him move. There was nothing stealthy about the way he moved. “You approached the university and don’t know what it is?”

  Could she really still be in the university rather than in one of the prison cells? And how did she get here? How would the brute who caught her have access to the university?

  “I know what the university is.”

  “You didn’t expect us to leave you here.”
There came a scraping, like stone across stone, and he loomed closer to her. “It would have been a mistake to send you anywhere else before I had a chance to question you.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I would ask you the same. You lowborns wouldn’t normally risk sneaking into the university. What is worth the risk for you to try?” He glared at her. “Are you the one responsible for her illness?”

  Sam frowned. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His glare softened. “Maybe you don’t. Did you come because you thought you can find more of the easar? Did they send you after it?”

  Sam wished stars didn’t flicker in her vision the way they did. She struggled to understand what he was saying. “Easar?”

  “Like too many of the fools here, you probably think it paper and nothing more.”

  “I know there’s something more to it. I know it’s valuable.”

  The man laughed. “Valuable would be an understatement. You can’t understand how valuable the easar is. You don’t understand the power the paper concentrates.”

  Power?

  Could there be more to the paper than she had realized? It had required blood to write on, but Bastan’s blood hadn’t worked.

  “What kind of power?” she asked.

  “The kind that allows those with the necessary knowledge to accomplish great things. The kind of power that keeps the city safe from the outside.”

  Was that why she had recovered as quickly as she had? Not only had she stolen paper from highborns, but it had been magic paper.

  Kyza.

  The man watched her and she knew she needed to say something. Anything.

  “Each page is worth a gem,” Sam said.

  The man’s laughter died off. “Perhaps you can understand.” He leaned closer to her. She smelled… perfume. That wasn’t what she expected from one of the brutes. “Where is the rest of what you stole from us?”

  “I sold it,” she said.

  “The only market for easar paper is the palace, and they wouldn’t have stolen it. Did you plan to return it to them?”

  There was something about the way he said it that caught her attention. “Who are you talking about?”

  The man grunted a dark laugh. “As if you don’t know. The Thelns. I know you’re a sympathizer. You have to be for you to risk coming here for the paper. Now. Where is the rest of it?”

  “There was market enough. I managed three silver eagles.”

  The man laughed. “Silvers? You traded easar for silvers?”

  Sam tried to shrug, but her chained arms prevented her. Instead, she nodded. “When you need to eat, you’ll take what’s offered.”

  “Why were you here?”

  Sam tried to think quickly. “I thought I could find more of the paper here. I have a contact in the university.”

  The man’s laughter cut her off. “Who did you sell it to?”

  “Ten silvers, and I’ll tell you.”

  “You’ll tell me, or you die,” he said as Sam caught sight of the glint off a blade as it came close to her face.

  Sam licked her lips and swallowed. There was a fine line between foolishness and bravery. She knew she was stepping awfully close to it, but didn’t on which side she’d land. “If you kill me, you won’t find out.”

  “I have ways of finding the easar.”

  “Then you don’t need me.”

  The man fell into silence, and for a moment, Sam thought she’d made a mistake. She let the silence linger for a while, and then offered, “I can get the paper back, if that’s all you want. I don’t need the silver.”

  The man laughed. “No? What would you need?”

  Sam blinked. There was a fuzziness to the edge of her vision now, and she managed to make out the man’s outline. He was tall and thin, and had flat eyes that watched her with a dark intensity.

  She had seen him before.

  He was in the highborn house she’d broken into. Why would he be in the university?

  Because he was a highborn.

  Was he working with the Thelns or against them? He accused her of being a Theln sympathizer, so it didn’t seem as if he were working with them.

  What was going on here?

  Somehow, she had gotten herself involved in something way beyond thieving, especially if it involved the university and brutes like the Thelns. And all she wanted was to get away. Help Tray.

  Maybe this man could help. Could she turn this to her advantage? “My brother. That’s the only thing I’ve been after.”

  The man pulled the knife back and studied her. “You have a brother?”

  She nodded. “He was captured and imprisoned. I’ve been trying to find a way to rescue him…”

  “And you thought breaking into the university would be the best way to rescue him?”

  Sam swallowed. How much did she tell the truth and how much did she deceive him? She had a sense that he’d know if she attempted to deceive him too much. “I didn’t think to rescue him. I came to plead for his release.”

  That could have been the truth, if only she hadn’t come in the middle of the night and covered with a cloak designed to conceal her. That, and the crossbow. How would she explain that?

  “You chose an interesting time to attempt your plea.”

  “I would never have made it during the daytime.” That much was true. Had she attempted to cross the canals earlier, she would have been stopped on the outer ring long before she ever came close to reaching the palace.

  “Where is he?”

  “The prison, I think.”

  The man grunted. “You were a fool to attempt coming here. You were even more of a fool to tell me about your brother.”

  Before Sam could say anything, he struck her on the side of the head with the handle of his knife.

  Sam came around slowly, her head throbbing just as much as it had the last time she’d awoken, but there were no stars distorting her vision. No longer were her wrists cuffed or her legs chained. She moved them freely, feeling a little release.

  Her mouth was dry, and she worked her tongue around the inside and across her lips, tasting dry blood that she tried to swallow.

  How long had she been out this time?

  She’d told the highborn about her brother. That had been a mistake. But he hadn’t killed her. That much was a surprise. Either he needed her, or he wanted to torment her. More likely than not, he needed her to find the paper.

  Hopefully, Bastan hadn’t done anything stupid like attempting to sell it. Doing that would only draw more attention.

  Magic paper.

  If they could understand the secret to it, maybe she wouldn’t have to stay a lowborn. Maybe she could use it to save Tray.

  First, she had to escape.

  Sam sat up.

  She was in a plain room. Walls were a smooth white, and there was no window, only a single barred door blocking her exit. When the throbbing in her head managed to settle, she went to the door and unsurprisingly found it locked. What was surprising was the fact that her cloak was folded neatly and set in one corner. Her clothing was untouched, and she still had her boots on. Sam resisted the urge to pull off her right one to see if the paper remained hidden within… and her mother’s knife.

  Where was she now?

  When she’d awoken before, the highborn claimed she was in the university. Sam doubted she was still there, but the smooth walls and flooring made it unlikely that she was in the prison. Where had she been brought?

  Sam searched her cloak, but the crossbow and rope were gone.

  Kyza. Now what would she do?

  Unwilling to await a fate she was sure would not be in her favor, she needed a way out. Leaning against the wall nearest the door, she slipped her hand along the leather folds of her boot. She smiled when she discovered the knife was still where she’d hidden it.

  When she picked the lock, she didn’t know what she’d find on the other side of the door. Where would they have t
aken her?

  Sam slipped the cloak around her shoulders. If nothing else, wearing it gave her a certain comfort. She worked the tip of the knife into the lock on the door, levering it from side to side, feeling for the tumblers. It would be easier with a proper pick set, but then she hadn’t thought about hiding one in her boots to go along with the knife.

  It didn’t work.

  She sank to the ground and stared around the room. Was there anything in here she could use to help her get free?

  The bed was the only item in here. It was made of stout wood, and a thin mattress was set on it, but that was it. No other furniture. Sam figured herself fortunate to have even that much.

  Could she carve off a section of wood and use it?

  She glanced at the door. There wasn’t anything else for her to do other than wait. But she wasn’t about to simply sit here and do nothing. That just wasn’t her.

  Kneeling in front of the bed, she started working on the post, gliding the knife along the surface as she tried to pry a section free. If she could carve a few narrow slivers, maybe she could use them like a pick set.

  Sam tried not to think about the fact that she was getting her hopes up again. What choice did she have if she wanted to get Tray out of prison?

  As she managed to get sections free, she carved them into a set that would be similar to her other lock pick. These might not be strong enough, but she had to try, and right now, she had nothing but time.

  If she failed…

  Sam didn’t want to think about what would happen if she failed. She’d be stuck here, but worse, Tray would be stuck in prison, likely awaiting execution with no one willing to do anything to help him.

  Voices drifted from outside the door.

  “Why is she here, Larenth?”

  “She’s after easar paper. She’s the one who stole it from—”

  Someone made a hushing sound. “This isn’t the place to discuss that so openly.” It sounded like the man who’d smelled of perfume.