Isle of Blood and Stone

by Makiia Lucier

  Mori had yet to see them, so preoccupied was he with the inside of his patient’s mouth. “Be still,” he commanded. “You’re only making it worse.” A string of terse mutterings ended with a “Why is this tooth so stubborn?”

  The patient’s legs twisted and flopped and his feet tapped an unnerving tattoo upon the floor, like fish flailing upon a ship’s deck. One boot rapped a nearby table leg, rattling an assortment of scissors, pincers, and saws. Flies buzzed around a heap of bloody rags flung across the tabletop.

  Mercedes said in an undertone, “You have interesting friends.”

  He spoke close to her ear. “You’re my friend,” he pointed out, making her laugh.

  Which Mori heard. “Elias!” His gaze swept over Mercedes and pinned Elias in the doorway. His greeting consisted of a barked, “Don’t just stand there, man! Hold his boots.”

  Obliging, Elias sidled around Mercedes. He crossed the chamber and knelt before the patient, grabbing the man’s boots and holding fast. It must have rained early this morning. The shoes were caked in a foul-smelling mud. The man gave a half-hearted kick, one Elias dodged. He watched Mori wrestle with the patient’s insides—more rotted teeth and soured gums—and found he did not have the stomach for surgery so early in the day. He turned his head. Mercedes had made herself at home on a stool at the opposite end of the table, safe from any splatter, blood or otherwise.

  “Ha!” the barber announced as he finally managed to pull the tooth out. It sailed through the air, joining the scattering of teeth among the rushes. Mori grinned at Elias, all surliness gone now that his task was accomplished. “Just like old times, eh?”

  “I remember differently.” Elias moved away from the patient. He grabbed a somewhat clean cloth from the table and wiped the mud from his hands. “Remind me never to come to you with a sore tooth.”

  “Ha,” Mori said again. His grin disappeared as the patient slid off the chair. He landed on his knees, holding his jaw and moaning. “Oh, get up, man,” Mori said to him. “It was only one tooth. No need to be such an old woman about it. Here, take this.” He hauled the patient off the floor with one hand and grabbed a flask from the table with the other.

  The patient cast a doubtful look at the flask. “Whath ith it?” The left side of his face had already begun to swell. A thin line of blood trickled down his jaw.

  Elias had caught a whiff as the flask passed him by. He offered up a “Smells like poppy juice and cat pi—”

  “It’s ground yarrow.” Mori sent an irritable look Elias’s way before shoving the flask into the patient’s hand. “Gargle once a day. Do not swallow. You’ll feel excellent in a day or two.”

  The patient turned obediently and stumbled through the door. Past the piper playing a cheery tune.

  Mori cleaned off his hands with another rag. “When did you sail in? Hellespont, was it?”

  “Just yesterday.”

  “How’s the old man?”

  He meant Lord Silva. “Still strong enough to box you if he heard you calling him an old man.”

  Amused, Mori glanced past Elias to Mercedes, perched on the stool and watching their exchange. His mouth fell open. Clearly, he’d only now recognized the king’s cousin. He bowed. “Lady Mercedes! I did not see you. Please forgive . . .” He looked down at his apron, at the gory condition of his tabletop, and winced. “Everything. You are welcome here.”

  “Master Mori.” Mercedes looked perfectly comfortable; she might have spent every morning surrounded by teeth carpeting the floor and chatting with men covered in blood. “Elias tells me you sailed together on the Amaris. You must have some tales to tell. Though maybe only one or two you can share with company, knowing Elias.”

  She had hoped to put the barber at ease, Elias knew, and it worked. The stiff formality, which sat unnaturally on Mori, melted away.

  Mori laughed. “Two would be ambitious, Lady,” he agreed. To Elias: “Are you hurt?” Mori half-circled around him in the manner of a customs inspector. “You’ve the bruise there. What else?”

  “No, there’s nothing . . .” Elias looked at Mercedes, brows raised. How much to tell him? He trusted Mori, but the fewer people who knew about the maps, the better. She lifted one shoulder in response to his silent question—the decision was his—and fiddled with the gold chain encircling her waist.

  Mori saw the exchange. His gaze followed Mercedes’s hands, settling briefly on her stomach. He turned sober. “I see,” he said.

  Elias looked at his friend, perplexed. What did he see? They hadn’t told him a thing.

  “It’s a romantic problem you have.” Mori leaned against the table and scratched his jaw. “Well, it’s happened to the best of us. I’m glad you came to me, but I have to tell you, Elias, I’m no lady barber. I can recommend a good midwife, though, discreet—”

  Mercedes snatched her hands away from the chain. Elias could feel the fire on his face. He groaned, “Mori.”

  “What? No?” Mori looked from one to the other. He smacked his forehead. “I’m an idiot—”

  “Yes,” Elias said.

  “An imbecile. My sincerest apologies, Lady—”

  “There’s no need.” Mercedes would not look at Elias. High color swept her cheekbones. “We’re here for information, Master Barber, nothing more.”

  And because Elias knew Mori would not accept coin without performing some sort of service, he added, “And a grooming, if you’ve time. Basilio’s away.” Mercedes glanced over at the lie, casually told, but did not give him away.

  “Ah.” Still chagrined, Mori lifted a handful of Elias’s hair and let it fall back to his shoulders. “You’ve let it grow too long. Like a woman. Sit.”

  Mercedes rose and held out her hand. When Elias gave her his carrier, she wandered the shop’s edges, where Mori kept his curiosities on display upon high tables. Human skulls resided by animal heads in varying shades of brown. A delicate blue bowl held a small mountain of teeth. Elias watched her. She wore his carrier as he did, resting across her back with the strap diagonally across her chest. It felt intensely personal to see it on her, as though she wore a shirt that belonged to him. A small sound had him turning to find Mori eyeing him with amusement.

  “Sit,” Mori repeated. When Elias settled on the stool Mercedes had left, Mori selected shears from the instruments on the table. He said, “So. What sort of information do you need?”

  Elias said, “You told me once you grew up near Javelin.”

  “I did.” Distracted, Mori looked across the chamber. Mercedes studied a painting on the wall of a serene-looking woman dressed in a white robe and holding a pair of pliers. “That is Appolonia, Lady.”

  Mercedes smiled. “Patron saint of dentists? Yes, I recognize the pliers.”

  “Have you studied the saints?” Mori asked, surprised and pleased. “Very few people do anymore.”

  “I know a little.” Beside the painting was a glass cage on a shelf. The glass was cloudy, difficult to see into. She leaned in for a closer look.

  “Careful,” Elias said.

  The warning came too late. What looked like a fat red worm the size of a man’s foot thumped against the glass, hard enough to rattle the cage and send a tremor throughout the entire shelf. Mercedes sprang away like a startled cat, causing both men to chuckle. The creature squirmed against the glass—it looked as though it were stuck—before sliding slowly to the bottom, leaving a thick trail of blood in its wake.

  “Ugh.” Mercedes turned to them, repulsed. “That is the biggest worm I’ve ever seen!”

  “It’s a Bushido fire leech,” Elias said. When he’d last visited, it had measured the length of his thumb. “It’s growing fast, Mori. You’re going to need a bigger cage.”

  “I’m having one built. They’re very good for cleaning wounds,” Mori said to Mercedes. “For getting rid of poisons. You can’t keep more than one in a cage, though. They tend to eat one another.”

  “Ugh.” Mercedes shuddered and moved off. As she circled the chamber
, Mori stepped behind Elias, grabbed a handful of hair, and twisted. He answered Elias’s earlier question. “We lived on the southern edge of Javelin, outside Montserrat.”

  “Your father was a healer also, wasn’t he?”

  Mori made a sound of agreement. “A better one than I could ever be.”

  “Is it true he would travel within the forest? On his own?”

  A startled silence from Mori, but Mercedes looked across the chamber at Elias, and on her face was a sudden under­standing.

  Mori released Elias’s hair and came around to face him, the shears dangling from his hand. “Where did you hear this?” he demanded.

  “You told me,” Elias explained. “On the Amaris. I was seven, maybe. You said there was a rare plant that grew there. Plants that lessened a person’s chance of infection.”

  Mori frowned. “I don’t remember telling you this. I don’t remember telling anyone.”

  “It was during your fever.” The serpent bite on Mori’s back had caused a sweating sickness that had lasted many days. Elias and the rest of the crew, including Lord Silva, had taken turns by Mori’s side, keeping him fed and watered. Listening to his ravings.

  Mercedes came over. She gave Elias a strange look. “You recall something Master Mori said during a fever twelve years ago?”

  Mori didn’t give Elias a chance to answer. “And I spoke of my father wandering through a forest?” A mottled red had spread across his face. “Saint Mary. What else did I say?”

  “Mori, this is important,” Elias said. “Was the part about Javelin true? Men aren’t supposed to go anywhere near that forest. Do you know how he did it?”

  Mori whistled through his teeth. “Is that what you need to do?”

  “Yes.”

  Mori didn’t say anything right away. He disappeared behind Elias, who felt his hair sliced off with the shears.

  “Much better,” Mercedes commented.

  Mori continued his trimming. Snip snip as locks of hair fell to the floor. The chamber was noticeably brighter. The urchins had little interest in watching a hair trim and had abandoned their post by the window. A cheerful sunlight filtered in. Mori said at last, “My father walked into Javelin once. My maman was ill from childbirth, and her only chance came from the minna bush that grew there. He had no choice.”

  “I don’t think I do either.” Elias had made his king a promise. There was no going back on his word.

  Mori set the shears aside. He perched on the edge of the table. “Elias, I would wish my greatest enemy into that forest and no one else. It’s not a friendly place for people like you and me.”

  “Men, you mean?”

  “That’s right,” Mori said. “There were no men in that abbey. Only nuns and girls. They’re not happy when we enter their space. What’s in Javelin that you need?”

  Elias glanced over at Mercedes with his carrier. “It’s not something I can tell you. I’m sorry.”

  Mori did not appear offended, only thoughtful as he rubbed his chin. “When will you go?”

  “Now if I can.”

  Mori made a disagreeable sound. “You won’t have as much daylight if you leave now. And who knows how long you’ll be there doing whatever it is you’re doing? Better to go first thing.”

  Elias had wanted to get this over with quickly, but Mori’s words made sense. “Tomorrow, then.”

  Mori said, “I’ve seen men enter Javelin and never return. But that was because they didn’t follow the rules.”

  So there was a way. Hopeful, Elias asked, “What rules?”

  “You’ll have to recite the oratio. Do you remember it?”

  “Yes.” Lord Silva had taught the prayer to him. May the guardians of old protect me in daytime, and at night . . . It was the kind of prayer one uttered during a storm at sea, when the ship was in grave danger of capsizing and drowning appeared imminent. Or when being chased unexpectedly by wild pigs. It had happened. To Elias, more than once. Who knew if the prayer actually worked, but it made him feel better to say it. And he was still here, wasn’t he, mostly in one piece?

  Mercedes looked skeptical. “A simple protection prayer? Surely that isn’t all?”

  “No,” Mori agreed. “He’ll need some sort of offering. They may be spirits, but they’re children still. Girls.”

  Elias shifted uncomfortably at the mention of spirits, but he said evenly enough, “Dolls, maybe?”

  The look Mercedes sent him was pained. “That is your first choice? Not every girl enjoys playing with dolls.”

  Elias gave her a considering glance. He guessed again. “Knives?”

  Mori started to smile and then thought better of it. Mercedes ignored Elias, instead addressing the barber. “Sweets?”

  “Yes,” Mori said. “My father brought small cakes and ribbons. And a few toys. Those little carved whistles you can find at market.”

  Mercedes frowned, committing his words to memory. “That is simple enough. Is there anything else?”

  Mori hesitated. “My father . . . he brought a lucky charm with him.”

  “What, like a fish bone?” Elias asked.

  “Like a female,” Mori corrected. “A girl would be preferable, but a woman should do. You cannot enter that forest without a female presence. We would never see you again.”

  A silence fell.

  “Who was your father’s charm?” Mercedes asked.

  “My sister,” Mori answered quietly. “She was three days old. He strapped her to his chest, and off they went. That was the worst day for me, waiting to see if they would come back. And watching my maman grow sicker.”

  Elias wasn’t sure he wanted to know the end of this story. What had happened to Mori’s poor sick mother? He would not ask.

  Mercedes felt differently. With one hand pressed against her heart, she demanded, “And? What happened to your maman? Did they return in time? Did the shrub work? Where is your sister now?”

  “Mercedes,” Elias muttered, “for pity’s sake—”

  “It worked.” Mori’s smile was faint. “My mother is healthier than I am. She lives with my sister and her husband. And their six children.”

  A happy ending. Perhaps tomorrow would be the same for Elias. But first, he needed a prayer, a present, and a lady. He looked at Mercedes. Not a flicker in those green eyes, but he knew her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud.

  “No,” he said.

  They were still arguing as they left Mori’s and made their way through the parish’s narrow streets and twisting alleys. St. Soledad was a mariner’s neighborhood. All around them, Elias recognized the boatmen and porters and sailcloth makers who earned their living by the harbor. Rich and poor called St. Soledad their home: the sea captains at one end behind walls and gates; the rest above ground-floor shops, three or four generations of a family packed into tight quarters.

  “You heard what Master Mori said. It makes sense for me to go.”

  “I’m going alone.” Elias pulled Mercedes aside as a cart rolled past. Large barrels were packed in behind horse and driver, each piled high with freshly caught fish. “I’ll find another way.”

  But he was afraid he was out of luck. He’d gone to Mori because he’d trusted what the barber would tell him. Unfortunately, Mori’s advice was to use Mercedes as a shield. He would not do it. What’s more, she could not make him.

  “You’ll cut off your nose to spite your face.” Her cheeks were as red as the flower at her ear. “Or worse, something will cut it off for you, because you’re foolish enough to walk into that forest alone.”

  He scowled at her. “What would have happened if you’d been caught stealing that map?”

  It took her a moment to separate their current argument from their previous one. “We are back to that? I didn’t get caught.”

  “But you could have been.”

  She stopped in the middle of the street and threw up a hand, not caring that they were attracting attention. “Have you seen your face?” she demanded. “You,
of all people, will scold me on danger?”

  “It’s not—”

  “It is the same thing! You are like one of your precious leading stones, Elias, only you attract trouble instead of iron.” She stopped and took a deep, steadying breath. Almost, he could hear her counting to ten. She asked, “What precisely are we arguing about?”

  “Nothing, because you’re not going.”

  A muffled cry drew their attention down an alley between a cookhouse and a rope maker’s. Two boys threw rocks at a cloaked figure cowering against a wall. They were laughing. Elias, already riled, felt his temper spike.

  He wasn’t the only one. “Little beasts!” Mercedes said under her breath. And louder, “Stop that!”

  The boys spun around. They were twelve or thereabouts, just like Nieve and Mori’s piper. One had collected an armful of rocks in his tunic. He gave Mercedes an admiring glance as she approached, then yelped when she reached out and smacked him on the side of the head. The rocks tumbled to the ground.

  “Oy!” The boy clutched his head.

  The other miscreant jumped beyond her reach. “We weren’t bothering anyone! It’s only a leper.”

  Elias had brushed past them on his way to help the stranger, but at the word leper, he froze. A closer look into the shadows revealed little more than a cloak made of a dark winter wool, far heavier than necessary for this time of year. It concealed the stranger’s face, hands, everything.

  “Are you hurt?” Elias asked.

  “No,” the stranger said in a perfectly ordinary male voice. “I’m grateful for your assistance. I’ll be on my way now.” The man’s movements were slow and stiff as he struggled to his feet. And as he did, his hood fell away.

  Elias heard Mercedes inhale sharply even as a terrible pity filled him. He was no stranger to leprosy, so common it was at every port he’d set foot on, including del Mar. Men and women huddled by the beggars’ wall. Ringing their bells and shaking their castanets. Shouting I am unclean! because the law said they must. But those unfortunates had been in the early stages of the curse. Repugnant, yet tolerated still on the fringes of society.