by Ginn Hale
"This way, to my office." Donamillo led Kiram past the cots and between two huge black screens into the space where he kept not only his hulking mechanical cures but also a desk and shelves overflowing with books and medical instruments. Light glinted off the glass panes of his mechanical cure, lending a radiance to the scholar's deeply lined face.
"I hope you're managing to find time for the Crown Challenge." Scholar Donamillo laid several tomes down on his already cluttered desk. He indicated with a wave of his hand that Kiram ought to rest the books he carried anywhere on the wooden shelves.
"Not so much right now." Kiram glanced away. He hadn't worked on his steam engine for nearly a month. The Tornesal curse was just so much more important than winning a challenge. People had died because of the curse. Fedeles was going mad because of it.
"I know it isn't a classroom subject, but I was wondering if you could tell me a little more about your mechanical cures?" Kiram asked.
Scholar Donamillo offered him only the hint of a smile.
"Hoping to get out of Master Ignacio's grip for several hours?"
"No, sir. I really do want to know more. I've been trying to work it out on my own, reading all the texts you've recommended but-"
"I think it might be allowable. Just this once, you understand." Scholar Donamillo gave him a stern look.
"Yes, sir." Kiram almost bowed and Scholar Donamillo's countenance softened slightly. When he relaxed, Scholar Donamillo's resemblance to Scholar Blasio increased. For a moment Kiram imagined that he could see just what Scholar Blasio would be like fifteen years from now: far less permissive, but still intelligent and kind.
"Look here." Scholar Donamillo beckoned Kiram closer to the two huge mechanical cures. "Study them and tell me what you can."
Kiram spent the next two hours with Scholar Donamillo, examining the faceted spheres of the mechanical cures and studying the stacks of copper plates that generated the mechanisms' charges.
While both mechanisms were very similar Kiram noticed that one of them contained a harness while the other had none. The thick panes of glass that made up one of the spheres seemed darker than the other. The edges looked sooty and black. The glass of the other mechanical cure looked milky. Kiram also noticed that the markings etched into the metal supports of the two mechanisms differed greatly.
At first Kiram had thought that they were marks to aid in the assembly of the mechanisms, but as he looked closer he realized that they resembled the symbols drawn across Javier's floor.
"What are these?" Kiram asked at last.
"Prayers," Scholar Donamillo replied, as if it were a perfectly reasonable response.
Kiram stared at him. "Prayers?"
Scholar Donamillo nodded.
"That's completely contrary to the philosophy of mechanism." Kiram frowned at the black lines. "It's turning science back into superstition."
"Half of medicine is faith, Kiram. I have immense admiration for mechanism. It's a great achievement to create tools that will serve all people regardless of their breed or religion. But these mechanical cures must do more than be admirable." Scholar Donamillo traced a sinuous black symbol. "These mechanisms keep Fedeles Quemanor alive. That's all that matters in the end."
"I didn't mean to criticize." Kiram gazed at the fine, flowing black symbols and the thin copper wires that threaded through the harnesses.
Now he couldn't help but feel a little excited and curious about why this particular union of science and faith had proved so effective when previous mechanical cures had done nothing for the Tornesals. But then neither had other prayers. Even holy invocations issued by bishops had failed to stop the curse.
"What do these prayers say?" Kiram asked.
"It would be easier to tell you what they do than what they say."
"What do they do, then?"
Scholar Donamillo stepped a little closer to Kiram, his expression grave.
"Are you willing to keep a secret, Kiram Kir-Zaki? Can I trust you?"
Kiram nodded. Scholar Donamillo smiled just a little.
"Do you know anything about transfusions?" Scholar Donamillo asked in a whisper.
"I read a mention of a physician who tried to treat a dying boy by siphoning blood from his mother and father down into his veins. The boy lived for a short while but eventually died of blood poisoning."
"This is a different kind of transfusion, but similar in concept. Every month or so, I give a little of my life to Fedeles. I believe it disguises his Tornesal blood and keeps the curse at bay. It isn't a cure…not yet. He still has an extreme reaction but I have seen improvements in him over the last three years. He's talking more now and he even has moments of rational thought."
"You give him your life?" The magnitude of it stunned Kiram. Wasn't that what Javier had said a month ago? The only way he could save Fedeles was to sacrifice his own life? Kiram would never have expected anything like this from Scholar Donamillo. He'd always seemed so reserved and distant.
"It's the best I can offer him for the time being." Scholar Donamillo kept his voice low. "At first I had thought that Javier might be a better match for him but Javier isn't. compatible with the mechanical cures. Needless to say, what I'm doing is not something that Holy Father Habalan or many of my colleagues would approve of. So you must keep this a secret. They may tolerate the white hell when it's wielded by a duke, but here in the northern counties they still hang common men for witchcraft."
Kiram blanched at the thought of Scholar Donamillo being dragged to a scaffold and hanged.
"I won't tell anyone. I swear on my life," Kiram whispered.
Scholar Donamillo seemed amused by Kiram's unsolicited oath and he felt suddenly embarrassed. It was something a little boy would have said.
"Do you think there's any way I could help you, sir?"
"In fact I have been thinking about that for some time now. That mechanism that you're building, it's an engine of some kind, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
Scholar Donamillo pointed to the large hand cranks at the bases of the mechanical cures.
"Right now I have to crank these mechanical cures by hand or have Genimo do it for me. But if I had an engine, that might make all the difference. I might be able to maintain the treatment long enough to actually drive the curse out of Fedeles." Scholar Donamillo gazed intently at Kiram. "Would you be willing to become my accomplice, Kiram? I will understand if you aren't willing to take the risk."
"I'd be honored to help, in any way I can, sir."
"Good." Scholar Donamillo patted Kiram's shoulder and when he smiled at Kiram the deep wrinkles at the corners of his mouth lifted so that he looked much younger. "I knew I'd made the right decision about you."
Kiram would have thanked him for the compliment but his words were cut short by the sound of Javier hissing his name across the infirmary. Scholar Donamillo indicated that he should go with just a wave of his hand. Kiram stepped out from behind the black blinds and picked his way between the cots of sleeping students.
Javier stood in the middle of the infirmary, still dressed in his riding clothes.
"Nestor said Scholar Donamillo had to take you to the infirmary." As Javier closed the distance between them his gaze moved over Kiram's body, searching for some sign of an injury.
"I was feeling nauseous," Kiram said. "I'm better now."
"Really." Javier stepped closer. The deep scents of leather and sweat wafted over Kiram. When he had first arrived at the academy he had found the smell of men's sweat overpowering, but now it was familiar, almost comforting.
"Nestor said you hurt your arm," Javier murmured to him. "The two of you should really get your stories straight."
"My arm hurt so badly that I felt nauseous."
"You're a terrible liar." Javier still looked slightly concerned. "You really aren't sick, are you?"
"No. I'm not. Scholar Donamillo just." Kiram shrugged. "I guess he took pity on me and let me hide in the infirmary. I've been looking at
his mechanical cures and we were discussing how my engine might help power them." Kiram felt he could say that much without betraying his promise to Scholar Donamillo. "I'm really not sick at all."
"Good, because a huge package just arrived for you and Nestor is so sure that it's crammed with more of those candies that your mother always sends that he's overcome all fear and is guarding it up in our room."
When Kiram reached the tower room he discovered that Nestor was indeed there. His hair was stringy with dried sweat and he sat on the floor with his shirt hanging half open. He looked exhausted. A huge wooden crate towered up behind him.
"Nestor, I can't believe that you came in here." Kiram grinned at him. To his surprise Nestor shot Javier an irritated look and shoved his spectacles up on his nose imperiously.
"He made me help him carry it up. Three flights of stairs!" Nestor complained. "And once I was here what would the point be of running off? If the white hell is going to take me then at least I ought to get a few of those sweets your mother sends first. Don't you think?"
Kiram chuckled and said, "Yes, absolutely."
Javier might tease him for considering selling his soul for knowledge, but Nestor was obviously willing to give it up for candy. Though when Kiram considered the amount of weight Nestor had lost and how much he'd grown over the last four months, Kiram supposed he might just be desperate for anything to eat.
"Well," Javier said, "let's get it open and see what's inside."
"You don't think that there could be one of those autumn meat pies in there, do you?" Nestor asked. He sounded almost delirious. "I'm really not going to be devoured by the white hell, am I?"
"No." Javier began to pry the crate open. "You're under protection as a courier."
Kiram rolled his eyes at this.
"I don't know if I believe that the white hell recognizes the king's protection of couriers," Nestor replied.
"You'd be surprised what it can recognize." Javier wrenched a wooden crossbar off of the crate and tossed it aside.
"I've got a small pry bar down in the shed, you know," Kiram informed him.
"You can't possibly make Nestor wait that long for his reward," Javier replied. They both glanced to where Nestor sat on the floor. Nestor still seemed lost in some mix of thought and exhaustion.
"I've always been curious about what it was like up here." Nestor flopped back on the floor. "It's nice, really. You have so much space and all this light just pours in."
"Don't get too settled in," Javier said as he jerked another crossbar free. "I'm not looking for another underclassman." He pulled a third wooden bar free. "Are either of you going to help me with this crate?"
Kiram shrugged. "I offered to get a pry bar and you turned me down." His attention still lingered on his discussion with Scholar Donamillo. He would need to remove the roof from the shed as soon as possible. If only this damn tournament was over, he'd have some free time. As it was he'd just have to endure another week of training and then the week of the tournament itself before he could get back to work on his steam engine. His thoughts were interrupted by Javier waving a board in front of his face.
"Kir-Zaki, you have absolutely no enthusiasm. Look at this crate. It could have anything in it. Aren't you desperate to tear it open?"
"I am," Nestor moaned from the floor, "but I'm just so sore from carrying the damn thing up the stairs."
"Why didn't you use the gear lift?" Kiram asked.
"The gear lift is only for scholars' use," Nestor grumbled. Javier smiled at that and then ripped the last cross bar free. One entire side of the crate fell aside. Javier caught it before it hit the floor and leaned it up against the wall.
"I smell honey cakes," Nestor said. "Honey cakes and roast pheasant."
"He's out of his mind," Javier commented to Kiram.
Kiram helped Javier unpack the individual wooden boxes from inside the crate. They stacked them on the floor around Nestor. Outside the bells sounded from the chapel. It would be time for dinner in an hour.
"Isn't Master Ignacio going to notice that the three of us are missing?" Kiram asked.
"You're in the infirmary and Nestor is assisting me," Javier replied. "Master Ignacio won't expect any of us back today."
"What's Nestor supposed to be assisting you with?" Kiram eyed Nestor's prone body. Then he picked up one of the smallest boxes and cut through the cord that held it closed.
"Cleaning my armor. Bringing it up to a high polish," Javier said. "I finished it myself last night."
"I don't remember you polishing any armor." Kiram frowned at Javier.
"You wouldn't. You sleep like a log."
"I do not-"
"I definitely smell a honey cake!" Nestor sat up suddenly and leaned over the box Kiram had just opened. His delighted grin collapsed as Kiram lifted out a dozen beeswax candles.
"Sorry," Kiram said. He unpacked five deep-red cakes of sealing wax and then fished out a linen satchel.
"I'm going to starve to death," Nestor said. "I really am."
Kiram opened the satchel. Nestled among countless dried rose petals were six marzipan pears. Kiram guessed that each of the boxes would have similar treats hidden in it. He could be generous.
"Here." Kiram handed the satchel to Nestor. "Leave one for me and Javier."
Nestor's face lit up as he discovered the pears.
"One each or to split?" Nestor bit into a marzipan pear and closed his eyes as if he were in a kind of ecstasy.
"One each," Kiram told him.
"Oh God," Nestor murmured. "These are so good. Oh God." He let out a low moan.
"Damn, Nestor, you sound like you're ten inches down some trollop's throat." Javier shook his head and he took out his penknife.
"I don't care." Nestor sighed. He bit into another pear and gave another groan of pleasure.
Kiram wasn't sure if it was Javier's crude language or Nestor's moaning but he could feel his cheeks growing warmer. Javier crouched down beside him with a rectangular box. He cut through a cord holding a box shut but didn't open it. Instead he pushed it over to Kiram.
Kiram lifted the lid and gazed at the contents. For a moment he thought it was some kind of amazingly embroidered winter blanket. Then he lifted the silky yellow cloth out and realized that his mother had sent him a formal jupon to wear over his leather armor. Simple leaf designs embroidered in red thread decorated the collar and hem of the long jupon. But a single black silk sun blazed across the back. Kiram stared at it. The black sun was the Tornesal crest.
How had she known? He hadn't mentioned the tournament in any of his letters for fear that she'd worry about him. His letters were always unfailingly happy, concerned with his classes and often verged on being entirely fictional.
"I assured your mother that since you are under my protection it would be appropriate for you to wear my emblem," Javier said.
"You assured my mother." Kiram thought about this for a moment. "You wrote to my mother?"
"She wrote to me, actually." Javier glanced down at the empty box. Kiram imagined that he was attempting to appear sheepish, but it wasn't working. Javier looked as smug as ever. "I've just been replying to her letters."
"You-how long? What did you tell her?" Kiram cut himself short despite his sense of outrage, remembering Nestor's presence.
"Her first letter arrived a week after you did. She thanked me in advance for looking after you and asked me to write to her should you need anything. She's only written four more times since then, but she's always very polite. Very refined. Even her script." Javier smiled a little and Kiram suddenly realized that Javier wasn't trying to disguise an arrogant grin, but to hide a look of fondness.
"Don't worry. I didn't give her anything to fret about." Javier pulled the jupon from Kiram's loose grip and held it up to the late afternoon light. Tiny gold threads glinted all along the length of the yellow silk.
"You don't think Atreau writes to my mother, do you?" Nestor suddenly asked. "That isn't something all upp
erclassmen do, is it?"
"What on earth could Atreau tell your mother that she doesn't already know?" Javier asked.
"She doesn't know I beat off," Nestor furtively replied.
"She's married to your father and has eleven sons, Nestor. She knows men beat off." Javier laughed. "How could she avoid it, with Timoteo in her house?"
"I thought that was what he was doing up in his room," Nestor said. "But then he always claims that he's praying."
"Praying his pillow grows a cunt, maybe," Javier replied. "Hopefully he'll be able to get his fingers off his dick long enough to take his holy vows for the priesthood. I imagine the sacred chalice might be a little sticky after he hands it off, though."
Nestor seemed both scandalized and thrilled. Kiram imagined that he was trying to memorize the offhanded way that Javier tossed out obscene words like "cunt."
Javier held the jupon up against Kiram's chest and nodded as though what he saw pleased him.
"You'll look like you're made entirely of gold." Javier's tone was soft and Kiram imagined that if Javier's hands hadn't been full he would have reached out and touched Kiram's hair, as he often did when they were alone. But Nestor was with them and Javier simply dropped the jupon back into its box.
"No candy in that one," Javier said to Nestor. "Let's try another."
The three of went through the boxes, unpacking winter clothes, mechanist tools, one of Kiram's bows, a clay talisman Kiram's little nephews and nieces had made for him, rounds of waxed cheese, dried figs, and to Nestor's utter delight, honey cakes and four dry-cured sausages.
"Do you mind if I have a little of it?" Nestor asked.
"Help yourself. You should have some of the cheese as well." Kiram opened a last box, which contained several Haldiim books and his mother's sheaf of correspondence.
While Kiram read the letter, Nestor devoured slices of sausage and cheese and Javier considered several of the tools Kiram's father had sent with a look of uncertainty that almost bordered on suspicion.
The news from home was comfortingly normal. Two more of his cousins had become fathers and thus assured their places in their wives' houses. His brother Majdi on the other hand had once again failed to find a woman willing to take him and had again set sail aboard the Red Witch. Kiram's mother wondered if she hadn't made a terrible mistake purchasing the ship for Majdi, as she now feared he would never settle into a secure marriage.
