The Book of Maladies Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  “That is awfully brave of you.” Bastan stood and kicked the man, rolling him over. His gaze drifted over the length of him before falling on the university sigil. “I presume you saw this as well?”

  Sam nodded. There was no use denying it. “What do you have that the palace would be interested in?”

  “Yes. What might I have? There shouldn’t be anything that I possess that has been taken from them. I know well enough to steer clear of them. The palace has a tendency to react negatively when someone attempts to steal from them.”

  He took a seat at his desk and pulled a key out of his pocket that unlocked the drawer she hadn’t managed to open. She was relieved that she hadn’t tried it, because if she had, it would have likely broken the lock, and possibly even the drawer, and Bastan would have known. This way, at least, he didn’t realize that she had been here. Hopefully, he would remain distracted by the attack and wouldn’t think anything of the fact that the papers might not be exactly where they should be on his desk or that she had touched the paintings.

  Bastan pulled a bundle of paper out of the drawer. It was wrapped in a leather folder and he unrolled the edges, making a point of doing so deliberately. He studied the pages but didn’t do anything else with them. Finally, he folded the leather binding back up and slipped it back into his drawer, locking it once more.

  That was not the easar paper. Whatever Bastan had was written on with a tight script, and she thought she’d glimpsed numbers. Maybe it was more records of smuggling.

  “Is that what they were looking for?” Sam asked.

  “This?” Bastan tapped the drawer, glancing up to meet her gaze. “This is nothing more than a schedule of shipments.”

  “They wouldn’t be after your schedule of shipments,” she said.

  “No. They would not.” Bastan’s gaze drifted around the room before settling on Sam once more. “You still haven’t answered why you were here.”

  “I told you I saw—”

  “Yes. You saw Kevin and the others and followed them.” He looked up at her, staring at her with an intense expression. “What were you after, Samara?”

  Sam debated how to answer. Honesty never got her very far when it came to Bastan. He wouldn’t appreciate knowing that she had come simply because she wanted to discover where he had hidden the easar paper. Bastan knew it was valuable—he had been the one who helped her understand that it couldn’t be written on by anyone—but he wouldn’t know exactly how valuable it was. If he did, knowing Bastan, he would take advantage of it. That was not the way easar paper should be used.

  “Do you think this has anything to do with what Marin has been up to?”

  “These men? Why?”

  Bastan had known her since she was very young and helped train her, fostering her ability, even though he knew nothing about the fact that she was a Kaver. “If you’re intending to keep something from me, don’t bother lying, Bastan. All I want is to know what Marin is doing.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I know that Marin set you up. Well, not you, but she used the item in the warehouse as a way to draw attention.”

  “You’re certain of this?”

  “She told me.”

  “Then you saw her.”

  Sam nodded. “I got into the warehouse, but someone had already gotten there before me.”

  Bastan looked at the fallen man. “What is Marin up to?” he muttered.

  “I don’t know.”

  Bastan sighed. “I think you need to be careful.”

  “Careful? You’re the one who has sent me into the warehouse! You’ve never cared about me being careful.”

  “I’ve done nothing but try to keep you safe.”

  “Safe?” Sam smiled, finding that comment hard to believe. “The assignments you gave me were almost always dangerous.”

  “Not dangerous. Maybe designed to test you. Maybe designed to make you stronger. But you were never in any real danger, Samara. I would never want that for you.”

  “Well, if your intent was to strengthen me by testing me and challenging me to do more dangerous things, then you’ve succeeded.”

  He smiled at her, a hint of a mischievous grin on his face. “You would have it some other way?”

  “You know, some people prefer to have a safe childhood.” Then again, some people preferred to know their parents, something Sam had not. She grew up on the streets, practically raised by Bastan.

  Bastan leaned even farther forward, and he considered her for a long moment. “I’ve always had the sense that you aren’t most people, Samara.”

  She sniffed. She never been one to want a boring life, and now all she wanted was to understand this new ability, but she wasn’t sure what it meant for her. She turned, preparing to leave, not wanting to stay in Bastan’s office any longer than necessary. The longer she stayed, the more she opened herself to questions from him. Besides, she needed to find Alec.

  “I’m sorry your people were attacked,” she said, starting toward the door. She still didn’t know why and didn’t think that Bastan would tell her. She would need to figure it out on her own, but she’d also have to find out where he kept the easar paper.

  “Samara?” Bastan asked as she reached the door.

  She turned slowly.

  “Why was my lantern lit?”

  Her gaze drifted to the lantern, and she could feel her heart fluttering faster, betraying her. “I don’t know. Maybe you left it lit. Maybe the attackers lit it when they came in.”

  Bastan glanced from the lantern to the man lying on the ground. “Perhaps that is all it is. Stay safe, Samara.”

  9

  Testing

  Alec sat in a smooth chair too narrow for him in the great hall, a bead of sweat running along his forehead. Everything around him spoke of wealth. The walls were stained with a dark oil, gleaming off the marble floor. A fire crackled in the back of the room, giving warmth and the air held a hint of medicine and herbs. Reminiscent of his time studying with his father, the smells that should have been welcoming were not.

  What was he thinking?

  He had agreed to the testing, and so far, found the questions asked to be fairly straightforward, the kind of questions his father once asked—but that had been when he was much younger, barely older than twelve. He expected more difficult questions than what he had been given. Instead, he was asked to make simple assessments.

  “Mr. Stross, what would you do if you had a person come to you complaining of a rash spread across his skin and running a fever?”

  The question came from an older man, the master physicker. He had thin, practically wispy hair that he kept brushed off to the side and a nasally way of speaking. He and two other physickers, another man and a woman, sat behind a long table, their padded chairs looking much more comfortable than the one he sat on, judging him with each question.

  This man had been the primary questioner for him. Alec had answered each question as assertively as he could, his father telling him that was the key, but it was growing increasingly difficult for him to maintain his composure as they asked him increasingly ridiculous questions.

  He needed to keep calm. If he was going to gain entry to the university and be given the opportunity to serve as a physicker in the way that he had dreamed and a way that would help both him and Sam, he needed to be more careful with what he said.

  “I would first question the duration of the rash, Master Physicker. From there, I would ascertain the number of lesions. Then I would determine whether they were raised or flat. I would assess whether they were blanchable or not.”

  One of the other physickers leaned forward. She had a hard gaze, and her gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She had not spoken much up to now, but the expression she wore made it abundantly clear how little she approved of this entire process. Alec had not determined whether she disapproved of him or the fact that she was at a testing.

  “He remains quite focused on the rash. Most would ask about
the fever first.”

  Alec nodded. “The fever would be important. I would need to know the highest temperature and the duration and whether there seemed to be any triggers, but often with someone presenting with something like this, it is the rash that produces the fever.”

  “You would suggest that a rash produces a fever?” This was from the third tester, a slightly younger man. He was still much older than Alec, and had deep wrinkles and a creased brow that twitched as he questioned. None of them had offered their names, and Alec suspected this was intentional. If he failed the testing, he would likely not return to see them again.

  “Some fevers are known to appear before the rash manifests,” Alec said. “Often the rash is not visible. Sometimes, it’s rough, almost like rubbing sand across the skin. What you describe was a visible sort of rash. I assume that we are talking about a typical rash-related illness.”

  The master physicker nodded slowly. “With your assessment, what would you do for such a patient?”

  Alec considered for a moment. When he worked with his father, he would often be the first to assess a patient. It was part of his apprenticeship as an apothecary and the way that he gained his skills. His father had taught him all about the different medicinal options and then let Alec test them, telling him when he had once asked that it was only through his application of knowledge that he would get a chance to learn. He had to have the experience seeing what worked in order to know what to try the next time he needed to treat someone.

  “There are many different treatments that could be tried,” Alec said. The severe-looking woman leaned back, crossing her arms. He had to be careful with her. Something told him that she was the one who would be making the decision about him, and if he made a mistake, he suspected she would be quick to jump on it. “But rarely are poultices effective for something like this. Generally, I would attempt a mixture of renberry stems and heben leaves. Mixed together and combined with a dab of fennel oil, this concoction taken twice a day should be enough to eliminate most rashes.”

  “You would propose an oral treatment for a rash?” the younger of the three asked.

  Alec nodded. In his mind, he was already documenting it the way his father had instructed, describing the rash and the symptoms, and then adding in the attempted treatment. It would be what was expected of him, and what he would need to do in order to maintain records of what had worked. It was for this reason that he documented as strictly as he did when working with Sam, keeping explicit records of each time they attempted augmentation so that they knew what would work and he could reference that for future attempts.

  “I think we have seen—” the master physicker started but was cut off by the younger man.

  “I would have another question for Mr. Stross, Master Physicker.”

  The master physicker waved his hand. “Ask what you need,” he said.

  The other man nodded once. “How would you assess an individual coming with complaints of abdominal pain?”

  Alec met his gaze. “Abdominal pain is difficult to assess. There are many possible causes, and it can be difficult to ascertain the culprit. Can you tell me whether we are dealing with a male or a female patient?”

  “Why do you question?” the physicker asked.

  It was a basic question, and it told Alec exactly how they felt about him coming to them. Was it because he was slightly older than the typical student? His father had explained that Alec was outside the range of the norm, and that was the reason that Alec had never thought he had a chance to study at the university. It was well beyond the time when he should have been called and offered a chance for testing. Maybe that was the reason the other physickers looked at him with a certain disdain. Then again, maybe it was because of his father. He understood that the university physickers viewed the way his father treated patients by using his apothecary knowledge as something unpleasant. They viewed apothecaries as lesser healers than themselves.

  If they would ask him a basic question, then he would remind them why it was such a basic question. Maybe his impertinence would keep him from gaining access to the university, but maybe it would be what allowed him to finally get into more difficult testing.

  “The source of pain is different depending on gender. The location is also important. I would need to know the duration and type of pain the patient was experiencing. There are at least a dozen different causes that I can conceive, and many are benign, especially in the female patient. There are a few that can be quite severe, and beyond my current level of ability.”

  “And why is that?” This came from the woman. She watched him now with a different expression, though still not one that allowed him to surmise what she was thinking.

  “My father is skilled at compounding medicines and treating patients, but he has never claimed to be a surgeon. That is not his skill. So, I have no surgical training to speak of.”

  “What surgical causes do you believe you might deal with when encountering abdominal pain?” the woman asked.

  Alec met her gaze and shrugged. “There are several obvious causes and some that aren’t quite as obvious. I remember a time when my father treated a man with a ruptured artery inside his belly, and there was nothing we were able to do for him.”

  “How did this man suffer such an injury?” the master physicker asked.

  “We were never able to discern the reason for it.”

  “Not traumatic?” the woman asked.

  Alec shook his head. “There was no trauma. It was possible that it was spontaneous.”

  “The body does not spontaneously begin leaking,” the master physicker said.

  Alec shook his head. “I don’t claim to have knowledge of all things, Master Physicker. All I can share with you is what I witnessed. It was the likely answer given the information that we had at our disposal.”

  Now, Alec would have wondered differently. Could the man have been afflicted some way similar to the princess? Could the Thelns have targeted someone else, using their Book of Maladies to poison them?

  And he understood the woman’s reluctance to believe that such an injury could be spontaneous. It would be rare, exceedingly so, but his father had still attempted to treat him.

  In hindsight, Alec realized that his father had treated many strange illnesses. He’d always assumed it was because his father was willing to treat, the willingness that came from a desire to serve his community, and the fact that he would treat everyone, regardless of their ability to pay. In that way, his father was nothing like the physickers at the university. He didn’t require a donation that oftentimes only granted access to the physickers and not much beyond that.

  “You may go, Mr. Stross.”

  Alec stood, and his gaze drifted around the richly appointed room one more time before settling on the physickers. Each was making notes on a piece of paper, and none of them looked up at him, as if avoiding his gaze.

  “Are there no other questions?” he asked.

  The master physicker shook his head. “No other questions. If we decide to grant you entry, you will be summoned.”

  Alec turned and kept his back stiff as he headed toward the door. As he pulled it closed behind him, he heard a soft murmuring of their voices and noted the older physicker making an incredulous comment about treating the rash with an oral preparation.

  He shook his head. The physickers were gifted healers, and maybe they knew things that he did not, but Alec had seen certain rashes such as they had described that had required an oral preparation. Maybe his father knew certain things the physickers did not. That would surprise him, especially considering how many sought to reach the university to study and failed to gain entry, but Alec had seen what his father was able to do with his resources.

  He stepped outside. The testing was conducted in the building at the edge of the university, far removed from the rest of the university. When he left, walking out into the bright sunlight, he shielded his eyes and wiped the bead of sweat from his forehead. He shouldn�
��t have been nervous—if he had failed, he really lost nothing and could return to working with his father, so it didn’t really matter—but he couldn’t help it. Being testing for acceptance into the university was what he had wanted his entire life. He had worked with his father to learn to heal and to treat, and had gained significant skills, becoming gifted with them, but he could learn quite a bit more were he to enter the university. Would doing so mean that he had to abandon his role as Scribe?

  Maybe that was what his father wanted for him. His father certainly wanted him to take the opportunity to enter the university, and he likely didn’t want him caught up in whatever political dynamics his role as Scribe involved, but if he did, that meant he was abandoning Sam. She deserved better than that, didn’t she?

  His gaze drifted to the line of people waiting at the entrance to the university. He had stood in that same line when he had come looking for his father. He had seen the way the lower-level physickers took donations from those in line, which only granted them entry to the university before being taken to where another physicker would assess them and determine whether there was anything that could even be done for them. If he was accepted, would he be forced to do the same thing? Would he be asked to take donations, often more than what the people could afford, before they were granted entry?

  With a sigh, he tore his gaze away from the line of people. There was nothing he could do for them. Even from a distance, he could see their injuries would never be healed by apothecaries like himself. Maybe the physickers could do more, though he wasn’t certain. Alec could use his and Sam’s blood and could possibly make notes on the easar paper, speeding the healing of broken limbs and healing wounds, but could he do the same for even more severe illnesses? Was there another way to heal that he didn’t yet know?

  Maybe healing was a better use of the easar paper and his ability. Could that be what he was meant to do?