by C. J. Archer
"I'm a respectable woman," I said. "And nothing terrible has come of me associating with anyone from The Row."
"But I am a doctor's wife."
"And I a doctor's daughter."
"But no man's wife."
She walked out of the kitchen. I picked up my skirts and marched after her, determined to slam the door behind her.
"A shame your father didn't find you a husband before he died," she tossed over her shoulder. "Now you're all alone with no hope of making a good marriage with neither family nor money to recommend you."
"Thank you for your advice, Mistress Ashmole," I said through a tight smile. "Let me reciprocate with some of my own. If you want to make friends in the village, be kind to your neighbors and patients. Otherwise they'll gossip about you in the market."
She matched my smile with a hard one of her own. "We already are making friends, Mistress Cully. We've been invited to dine with the governor, twice. But I see you are content with the sort of friends who are better acquainted with gutters than mansions."
"Gutters and palaces," I said, my smile turning genuine. "Paupers and kings. I like the variety."
Her face fell. I slammed the door on it and stormed back into the kitchen.
"That woman!" I said as I paced back and forth. "I've encountered snakes with less venom than her."
"It's not her tongue you should worry about," Dora said. "Why'd you sell her that medicine?"
I frowned. "I don't follow. Why wouldn't I sell it to her? She paid a fair price, and I still have some for my own use. I can't let Doctor Ashmole's patients suffer."
"She can use what you sold her to work out what's in it then make her own."
"She won't be able to work out all the ingredients, let alone the quantities. Not before she and her husband move on from Mull. And they will move on, Dora, I'm sure of it. That woman won't be satisfied with a seaside port, no matter how busy Mull gets. She'll have her sights set on Tilting, at the least, or preferably get her husband a position as private doctor to an important man. We'll be rid of them one day."
"Maybe," Dora said, turning back to the pot. "But what damage will she do to your business before she leaves?"
A visit from Quentin was a marked improvement on my last caller. I was so pleased to see him, I hugged him in the doorway.
"Everything all right, Josie?" he asked, blushing.
"Wonderful, now that you're here." I ushered him through to the kitchen and poured tea. Dora and Remy had gone for a morning stroll, enjoying the fresh air and freedom outside The Row.
Quentin removed his sword belt and groaned as he settled into the chair.
"Are you unwell?" I asked. "Injured? You haven't been fighting with Brant again, I hope."
"The captain doesn't let me near him. Brant's been on duty a lot anyway." He smirked. "He's working so hard he's too tired to bother anyone. He doesn't complain, though. It's like he wants it."
Perhaps he needed the hard work to take his mind off the hopeless situation he and the others found themselves in. I poured the tea into cups and handed one to Quentin.
"It's being on the horse all day at The Row," Quentin said, shifting his weight in the chair, trying to get comfortable. "My backside is sore and my thighs ache. One thing's for sure, I was no horseman before I came to the palace."
"Or guard."
"True. Wonder what I was."
It was impossible to guess. He was intelligent and could read and write, but his speech lacked the grammar of an educated man. Dane was educated, I was certain of it, yet he was a man of the outdoors too. He could ride, swim and use a sword and fists with ease, but he hadn't known about the spring in the rabbit trap. The king had, however.
"Josie," Quentin said carefully. "Do you think we'll ever remember?"
I placed my hand over his. "Yes, I do."
"How? We don't even know where to find the sorcerer. And if we do find him, will he even give us our memories back? We can't pay him…"
I squeezed his hand. "We'll worry about that later. For now, we wait. Balthazar has a plan. Trust him."
He slumped in the chair and leaned his cheek on his fist. He looked ready for bed. "Maybe not remembering is a good thing. Maybe our pasts were bad and we wouldn't want to remember. That's what Hammer said."
"He did?"
"Aye."
Dane may have said that, but he still wanted to know about his past. Without knowing it, he couldn't move forward. None of them could. It was like being frozen in time, paused mid-journey with no knowledge of either origin or destination.
"There's one thing I do know about your past," I said.
He sat forward. "What?"
"You were as likeable as you are now."
He sat back again. "I s'pose. Part of me hopes there's someone waiting for me, that I was loved. Then I think about how that person must feel, not knowing what became of me."
It was a sobering thought. It was awful for the servants to have no memory, yet if they'd been suddenly ripped from their lives by the sorcerer, their loved ones must be frantic. It was curious that we'd not heard reports of disappearances and searches.
Then again, many of the servants looked like Freedlanders, and very little news reached us from the republic. Tucked away at the bottom of the Fist Peninsula, with steep cliffs and treacherous ocean to the south and west, mountains in the east, and a deep river marking its northern border, it was an isolated nation. Even traders didn't venture there often. Freedland was mostly self-sufficient. Their mines exported stone for building, and a little gold and silver, but otherwise, it was a nation of desert sand and rebels. As the only republic on The Fist, it was treated as an unruly place by the neighboring kingdoms, where sedition festered.
My father, however, claimed Freedland and its people were full of surprises. He'd met free thinkers there, self-educated men who voiced their opinions and sometimes paid a high price for it. The revolution of forty years ago had been quite recent when he traveled, and the people and landscape still sported the scars.
I wondered if there were any ships from Freedland currently moored in Tovey Harbor.
"I asked the captain if I could see his foot injuries," Quentin said.
"Pardon?" I asked. "Sorry, I was miles away."
"The captain. I asked to inspect his injuries so I could learn, but he wouldn't let me."
"There's not much to see now that they're stitched up. Remind him that he must keep the wounds clean."
He brightened. "I could offer to clean them for him."
I was about to tell him not to be disheartened if the captain refused, when someone pounded on the front door.
"Must be urgent," Quentin said, rising. "Want me to get it?"
"It's probably one of my patients."
I opened the door to a woman dressed in little more than rags. Her hair fell from an untidy knot, down one side of a face marked by a curved scar, and an unpleasant smell wafted from her body.
"Are you the doctor?" she asked, eyeing me doubtfully.
"The midwife," I said.
"I need a doctor. I was told to come here. I was told you will help my sister."
"The doctor is named Ashmole. He lives on the edge of the village."
"Not him," she spat. "He won't come."
"Are you from The Row?"
She nodded. "My sister says you'll come. She says she saw you before. You helped Remy. My sister says not to bother the new doctor. He won't help the likes of us."
I chewed on my lip. I knew someone would come to me sooner or later, but I hadn't accounted for Doctor Ashmole refusing to enter The Row or even treat the slum residents if they visited him.
Quentin came up behind me. "She can't go," he said to the woman. "She's not allowed to do doctoring."
The woman's hands caught mine. They were as rough as some of the servants' but much dirtier. "Please," she said, tears filling her eyes. "She's cut up real bad and the bleeding won't stop. You have to come or she'll die!"
Merdu.
"I can pay." The woman fished out a coin from her pocket. She stared at it a moment before reluctantly offering it to me. "Please, miss."
"Keep your money," I said.
A tear spilled down her cheek. "But—"
"Let me fetch what I need."
The woman pressed a hand to her heart. "You'll come?"
"I'll come."
I grabbed bandages and suturing equipment as well as the bottle of Mother’s Milk from the larder. I placed everything in my basket then added a loaf of bread. At the last moment, I filled another jar with fresh water from the pail by the back door and threw in a clean cloth. I covered it all with a second cloth then rejoined her and Quentin.
"Want an escort?" Quentin asked me.
"Thank you, but I don't think that's necessary," I said.
When Dane had entered The Row with me, the residents had looked at him as if they wanted to draw him into a fight. It was dangerous for the guards. Quentin wasn't equipped for fighting. The woman would be a better escort.
I left him and headed toward The Row, walking quickly. "My name is Josie Cully," I said. "What's yours?"
"Seely," she said. "And my sister's Lacey. She's in pain, Mistress Cully."
"Who cut her?"
"A man."
I didn't press her. She probably wouldn't know his name anyway, and he was most likely one of the dozens of dockers who ventured into The Row to pay for their pleasure.
"You know Dora and Remy?" I asked.
"Not well."
I greeted the two guards at the entrance and informed them I had a pregnant patient to see beyond. Thankfully Seely didn't correct me. The guards exchanged worried glances.
"It's not a good idea to go in, Josie," one said.
"It ain't bad in there no more," Seely told them. "There ain't no more fights."
"I'm not asking you," I said to the guards as I passed between them. "I'm simply informing you out of courtesy." I didn't look back as I strode off along the street.
Seely took me to a lane set back from The Row, the original thoroughfare that gave its name to the entire slum as it expanded. It was as quiet as she claimed, and I found it to be unchanged from the other times I'd visited. There was no unrest, no fights, only people staring at me as I passed. There seemed to be more in number. The Row was as busy as Mull's marketplace, but with residents congregating in narrower, grimier thoroughfares, and the only enterprise was that provided by the prostitutes. They were as conspicuous as any market stall holder, however, as they lounged in doorways, their shoulders bare and sometimes their breasts too.
"Through here," Seely said, holding back a curtain flap strung up in a doorway. No, not a doorway, but an entrance to the narrowest lane I'd ever seen. More curtains were strung up between stacked crates on one side of the lane for its entire length. The unmistakable sounds of sexual encounters came from behind some of the curtains.
Seely lifted one, revealing a cubicle that was little wider than the pallet of straw positioned in the middle of the room. A woman lay on the pallet, her arm cradled to her chest and eyes closed. The room smelled of sex and sweat, and it was as filthy as Seely's dress. Stains marred the crumbling walls and ceiling, and would have been visible on the floor if it had one. The pallet lay on uneven earth.
"Lacey?" I asked, kneeling beside the figure.
She stirred and tried to sit up but groaned.
"Stay still," I said. "Show me your arm."
Lacey hesitated. She looked a lot like Seely, with lank hair, small eyes and a wide mouth. Her face wasn't scarred like Seely's, but from the look of the cut on her arm, she'd forever have one there.
The skin was sticky with blood but at least it wasn't dripping. The cut was only two inches long but looked deep. Lacey cried out when I touched it.
"Why did the man cut you?" I asked as I cleaned the wound with the cloth and fresh water I'd brought from home.
"It don't matter," Lacey said. She screwed up her face but didn't cry out again as I gently wiped the blood away.
"It does matter," I said. "Men can't go about cutting up women."
"This is The Row. Men can do what they want."
The wound clean, I offered Lacey a few drops of Mother’s Milk. "It'll sooth the pain while I stitch the wound." I showed her the needle and thread.
Seely made a small sound of protest in the back of her throat. "You going to stick that in her?"
"It's all right," Lacey told her sister with an encouraging smile. "You heard her. She's going to give me something for the pain."
"She'll barely feel it," I assured Seely.
Seely still frowned.
Lacey reached for her sister's hand. "You did good, Seel. Real good. Now go on outside while the doctor fixes me. Don't talk to no one, mind. Don't talk about this. It's our secret."
"Thank you," I said gratefully. "It can't be known that I'm doing this. I'm not allowed."
"Why not?" Seely asked.
"It's the rules," Lacey told her. "What will happen to you if they find out?" she asked me.
"I'll be fined and reprimanded."
Lacey relaxed into the pallet and opened her mouth to accept the drops of Mother’s Milk from the spoon.
"I still got the coin," Seely said brightly, producing the ell. "Want me to put it with the others?"
Lacey nodded and Seeley slipped the ell beneath her sister's pallet before parting the curtain and leaving. It flapped back into place, but it was so thin it didn't stop the morning light coming through.
"My sister's simple." Lacey tapped her forehead. "But she won't blab. I can't say the same for the other folk around here, though. Understand?"
I gave her a reassuring smile. "In my experience, the people in The Row keep to themselves and don't talk to the authorities."
Lacey's eyes drooped and she yawned. I set to work and had the wound sutured in a few minutes.
My work done, I left her to sleep off the effects of the Mother’s Milk. Seely wasn't outside, but I knew my way. Only one man approached me as I left, and he was clearly drunk.
"You're a pretty one," he said, stumbling. "How much?"
I bent my head and tried to move past him, but he stepped in my way.
"Leave her be," said another man, leaning against a wall. He had the crooked nose of a fighter and the brawn to match. "That's the midwife. Come in here, instead. I've got a girl for you."
With the drunkard distracted, I hurried on and breathed a deep breath as I rejoined the two guards at The Row's exit.
"Everything all right, Josie?" one asked.
"Everything's fine."
Despite my assurance, I was glad when I arrived home. I unpacked my things and returned the bottle of Mother’s Milk and the loaf to the larder. I hadn't intended to give the bread to Lacey or Seely, merely use it to pretend I was providing help if my presence in The Row was questioned. But the visit had gone better than I'd expected, and I hadn't needed the ruse. The guards hadn't interrogated me and no one had accosted me. No one even knew I was there to perform a medical task except for the sisters. Even the thug in the doorway had called me the midwife, not the doctor.
All was well.
I visited the dock at Tovey Harbor before the workers finished their day and settled in for an evening of drinking at The Mermaid's Tail or The Anchor. I avoided the pier itself, where boats lined up to load and unload and porters and sailors jostled one another for position. Row boats and fishing vessels maneuvered around the larger ships anchored in the deep waters. In the harbor's center, the arduous process of removing sand from the floor, bucket by bucket, to deepen it had begun. I didn't envy the divers or laborers, but they were grateful for the work, so Dora told me.
I squinted to see the flags flying on the ships but could not make out Freedland's red star on a yellow background. I asked one of the porters I'd known my whole life but he said there'd been no Freedland ships for weeks, although some of the ships from other kingdoms had sailed there and traded with the locals
. He couldn't point out any specifically, but told me to ask around at one of the taverns later.
It was a tempting idea. Perhaps I'd send Dane a message. By the time I reached home, I'd decided it was certainly worth pursuing. If folk in Freedland were searching for loved ones, surely the sailors from the trading vessels that passed through would know.
I was in the middle of writing the message when Dora answered a knock on the door. Her gasp sent my heart racing.
She entered the kitchen with Sheriff Neerim and one of his constables in tow. Thank goodness it wasn't Lady Deerhorn or Lord Barborough. The sheriff looked serious, however, and a sickening feeling settled in my stomach.
"Is something wrong, Sheriff?" I asked.
"Afternoon, Josie." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about this, but, er, you have to come with me."
"Where are we going?"
"Prison."
"You're arresting me! Why?"
Remy entered and Dora drew him to her. "You can't take her away!" Remy shouted. "Josie ain't done nothing wrong. She's a good person."
"Shhh," his mother said, hugging him.
"What's this about, Sheriff?" I asked, trying to sound calm for Remy's sake.
The sheriff shifted his weight. "You're under arrest for performing a medical task without a license."
"I don't know what you mean," I said weakly.
"It was reported that you sutured a wound of someone in The Row."
"Reported by whom?"
"A witness."
I cocked my head to the side and thrust a hand on my hip.
"I can't give you a name," he said, sounding exasperated. "I'm sorry, Josie. I have to do this. Come with me to the prison."
"But I merely have to pay a fine. You don't need to lock me up."
"I have to jail you until money for the fine is raised."
"How much is it? I'll pay now." I had the ells from the sale of the Mothers Milk plus a little left over from Balthazar's payment after I treated Dane's injury.
"A thousand ells."
Dora gasped.
I reached for the chair for balance as the floor seemed to shift beneath my feet. Sheriff Neerim took my arm, either to support me or to ensure I didn't flee.
