by Sarah Zettel
Chena winced in sympathy. Burrow ticks were common around Stem and Offshoot. There, they were tiny little parasites that made you itch and could be taken care of with a strong spearmint and alcohol salve. In the tropics, however, they were a serious disease. The woman’s arm was probably already infected, and she might have any of half a dozen bacterial ailments running through her blood right now. At the very least, she was in serious pain.
Chena picked her way through the passengers until she reached Vonne. The woman tried to squeeze aside to let Chena by. When Chena crouched down in front of her, Vonne’s pained eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Chena took Vonne’s good wrist and found the pulse. High and fluttering. That was not just from worry. She laid the back of her hand against Vonne’s forehead and felt the slick warmth of her fever. The woman jerked her head away weakly.
Chena looked her right in the eyes. “I can help you,” said Chena. “I can take away the pain. I can ease the fever. I can get those things out of your arm, and I can do it now.”
The woman just stared at her. All around them, conversation had ceased. All Chena could hear was the sound of many people breathing and the splash of the oars in the water.
The woman covered her infected arm again. “I’m going to the doctor,” she said.
“The doctor will let you die,” said Chena flatly. “The doctor is from the hothouse, and the hothousers don’t care about people. You know that. If they cared, there would be a doctor in your village, and they wouldn’t make what I do illegal. If you want your family to have to mourn you, you tell me to go away now.” Chena paused to let that thought sink in, as she had seen Nan Elle do a thousand times. “But if you want to live, let me help you.”
Vonne’s eyes searched Chena’s face. Chena wondered how long she had lived with the pain, and what she had tried to do for herself. It was so stupid. The treatment was not easy, especially with the limited means they had, but it could be done. This woman did not have to be ill. Even Chena could help her. All the woman had to do was say yes.
Vonne licked her lips. “Help me,” she whispered.
Chena unslung her pack. The other passengers shuffled backward so she had space to set it down. Chena untied the flap and dug inside for her emergency supplies. Nan Elle had emphasized the importance of being able to practice their trade wherever she went, so Chena had packed with care.
It was not illegal to have a roll of bandages with you, nor a knife and a pair of tweezers; it was the compounds that had to be hidden. Chena pulled out a wax-sealed ceramic pot and broke the seal open. Inside was a serving of cold porridge. My lunch, she had been prepared to tell anyone who asked. She dumped the porridge into an empty sampling bag. She hadn’t been planning on eating it anyway. The bottom of the pot was also coated with wax. Chena carefully pried up the wax disk with the blade of the knife.
Underneath was a nasty, caustic salve that looked like bile and smelled about the same. It was made of salt and nettle, aloe and honey, and the poison sacks from wasps. Ignoring the smell, Chena scooped up a gob of the stuff with her fingertips and slapped it on Vonne’s arm.
“What is that? What are you doing?” She tried to jerk her wrist out of Chena’s grip.
Chena held her tightly. “I know, it looks awful. You should try making it. It’s going to numb your skin and deal with some of the infection. It’s also going to smother the little bastards so we can get them out of you.” She caught Vonne’s gaze with her own eyes, something Nan Elle was also insistent about. “The cure frequently looks as bad as the affliction,” Nan Elle had told her. “Don’t let them dwell on it.”
“I can’t feel my arm,” Vonne whispered nervously.
Chena hoped she meant she couldn’t feel her skin. “Okay, it’s working.” Chena squeezed Vonne’s fingertips. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes.” Good, then it wasn’t working too well. The first time Nan Elle let Chena treat somebody with a salve she had made, the person broke out into a flaming case of hives. Chena had been afraid to touch anyone else for a month.
“Now let’s see how we’re doing.” Chena picked up the tweezers.
The ticks should come out easily, she heard Nan Elle’s voice whisper in the back of her mind. Like seeds out of ripe fruit. If there is any resistance at all, they are not dead yet and will leave their heads in the wound to get even more infected.
Chena worked to keep her face smooth and confident. It would do Vonne no good if she knew Chena had never done this before. She sought out each of the black dots with the tips of her tweezers. The parasites came out easily, but left bloody pocks behind. Vonne would be scarred, but she would recover, if she wasn’t too sick from whatever these things had left in her blood.
When she was certain she had gotten the last tick out, Chena wiped down Vonne’s arm with a dry cloth, and then again with the alcohol she kept in her water bottle. She applied another salve, this one primarily aloe and honey, to soothe the pain and keep infection out. Finally she wrapped the arm in bandages.
“Feel better?” Chena couldn’t quite keep the nervous tremor out of her voice.
“Yes.” Vonne drew her arm back against her body. She still looked scared, but her face was not as pinched as it had been. “Thank you.”
“One other thing,” said Chena. She pushed down to the bottom of her pack and came up with a small bag of waxed canvas that had been sewn completely shut. Technically, she had a license to carry this stuff, if it had been the tea she had registered it as. She tore the seam with her knife and squeezed the contents out into a bottle that really did contain water and shook it. The water turned greenish and flecked.
She handed the bottle to Vonne. “Drink that. It’ll help with your fever.” If anything had been worse to make than the tick salve, it had been this stuff. Chena remembered the first time Nan Elle had ordered her to skim off the mold that was its primary ingredient. It was one of the few times Chena had actively rebelled against her orders.
Vonne looked at the green water and her expression wrinkled into one of distaste. But she lifted the bottle to her mouth.
“I believe we’ve seen quite enough.” A hand swooped down and pulled the bottle from Vonne’s grasp.
Chena jerked backward, startled. She had almost forgotten there was an outside world, she had been so intent on Vonne. Now she looked up and saw a man standing over her. She saw his white shirt and her heart jumped into her throat. He wasn’t a hothouser, she realized, as she saw the shirt was handmade and the pants he had tucked into his worn canvas boots were brown. But he had the blue armband on his shirt, and she knew he was the next best thing.
“It’s tea, Constable.” Chena didn’t try to get to her feet. It was better to look as vulnerable as possible when dealing with the constables. “I’ve got a permit.” She gestured tentatively to her bag. You idiot, she thought. You think they care for you any more than they care for the rest of us? She felt Vonne’s gaze on her. The woman was hugging her arm to her belly as if she thought the constable would haul them both off for evidence. She didn’t look sick anymore, she looked angry.
Great. I probably just saved your life, and now you’re pissed off at me.
“I’m sure you have all kinds of permits.” The constable stoppered the bottle. “You people usually do.”
“And I don’t think there’s anything illegal about bandages,” Chena went on, as if he hadn’t said anything.
The people around them were murmuring now, and Chena realized, with growing wonder, the sound was agreement.
“I think we will find that that salve contains several illegal items,” said the constable, ignoring the voices.
“What salve?” Chena spread her hands. “I didn’t see any salve.” She looked at Vonne. “Was there a salve?”
“No,” said Vonne steadily. “She washed my arm with water and wrapped a bandage around it. That’s all.”
Warmth spread through Chena. The hothousers couldn’t stop her. What made this idiot think he could
?
The constable smirked. “I think you’ll find that not everyone in this boat is interested in losing their body rights if I catch them lying to me.”
You’d do it too, wouldn’t you, you bastard? Anger flushed Chena’s cheeks. You’d turn a whole boatload of people over to them.
“Just sit down, Nathani,” shouted someone from the rear of the boat. “What did she do that hurt you?”
The rumbling on all sides grew louder, peppered with sniggers. Vonne hung her head to hide a smile. “He’s a little… selective,” she murmured to Chena.
Nathani’s face tightened. “You think this is my idea?” the constable asked. “This is the law. The first one of us that doesn’t cooperate gets hauled in for spare parts. You know how things are right now. They’re taking people on a whim.”
Taking them because you’re turning them in. Chena stood. She moved as close to Nathani as she could get. They were almost of a height, and she had no trouble looking him right in the eye.
She spoke in the lightest whisper. “They’ll be taken in only if you live long enough.”
“Threats, now?” His smile was condescending.
The smile Chena returned was pleasant. “You say you saw me use an illegal salve. Where do you think I got it?” She leaned even closer. “Who do you think I am?”
“I think you’re a little girl who wants to play healer and you’re about to find there’s no room left for that game.”
“Is that all I am?” asked Chena. “Be sure. Be very, very sure.”
Slowly the condescending smile bled away from Nathani’s face. He knew. Everyone knew what a Pharmakeus could do to you, if they wanted to. That old, grand, paranoid name could come in very handy.
“I think you want to sit down, Constable. I don’t think you want to wonder whether you will be dead in five seconds or five years.”
His eyes searched her face. She let him stare as long as he chose. When she didn’t blink or back down, his broad face fell, one muscle at a time.
Then the constable nodded. “I see,” he said, stepping backward. “I did make a mistake. I’m sorry.” He turned and picked his way between the murmuring people and returned to his seat. Conversation picked up all around the cabin, as if nothing had happened. Chena noticed that no one looked at her anymore, except Vonne.
Chena bent over to tie up her pack. “Get yourself down to Peristeria,” she whispered to Vonne as she straightened up again and retrieved her bottle with the remains of the tea. “Ask for a woman named Savicka. She’ll be able to help if you need anything else.” Vonne nodded and Chena read, Thank you, in her eyes.
Chena searched the benches once more for Nathani. He was sitting at the stern, staring out the window, and fingering the hollow at his throat. She smiled and sat down, raising the bottle in his direction and swigging down the last of its contents.
She had the hothousers and their servants in their place now. They would never rule her, never make her do anything she didn’t want to, ever again.
She tried not to notice that Farin didn’t emerge from belowdecks until after they had docked.
It took four days to get home from Peristeria. When Chena’s boots hit Offshoot’s dock, she felt her chest swell with pride. Wait until Nan Elle heard what she did. Even Farin, with all his worries, had not been able to stay distant. He’d hugged her when he left her at Stem and whispered in her ear that she had done well.
She felt like she could have floated all the way up to the house. As it was, she settled for running. By the time she threw open the door, she was completely breathless, but still grinning.
“Nan? Teal?” she called as she passed through the workroom. “You are not going to believe what almost happened—” She pushed through the door to the living room and froze.
Nan Elle sat alone in the room on a padded stool. Her wrinkled hands rested on her stick. Her face was grim, somewhere between sorrow and anger. All Chena’s triumph drained out of her.
“What happened?” she croaked.
Nan Elle lifted her chin slowly, as if she were just making up her mind to speak. “Your sister’s gone.”
“What?” Then, the words sank in and made sense in her mind. “No. How? She didn’t get sick?” Nan Elle shook her head. The only other possibility dropped into Chena’s thoughts. She took one shaking step forward. “You didn’t let the hothousers take her! You said we would be safe with you.”
“No,” said Nan Elle, shaking her head again. “The hothouse did not take her. She’s run away.”
Chena tried to say, That’s ridiculous, or She’d never do that! She’d never leave me! But all the words jammed in her throat.
“I tracked her to Stem.” Nan Elle snorted. “That wasn’t hard. Where else is there to go from here?” She muttered this more to herself than to Chena. “But from there?” The old woman shrugged her skinny shoulders.
“But she can’t have just… run,” stammered Chena. “I mean… why would she?”
In answer, Nan Elle held up a piece of paper. It had been folded in half. Chena snatched it out of her fingers and flipped it open.
Inside, in Teal’s shaky writing, was scrawled, I’M GETTING OUT.
“No.” Chena’s knees shook and she groped for a stool. “Teal, you idiot! You terminal idiot!” She screamed the words, as if they could reach her, as if she knew where Teal was.
The paper crumpled in her hand. “Okay, okay.” Chena took a deep breath, gesturing to cut Nan Elle off although she hadn’t said anything. “We’ve got to find her. Farin knows everybody in Stem. She’s—”
“No,” said Nan Elle softly.
“What?” demanded Chena. “She’s my sister! I’m responsible!” She thinks she can make Dad come back and care about us. She’s sixteen! How can she still believe that shit? How air-brained is she?
“She is gone, Chena.” Nan Elle took the paper from Chena’s hand. “She wanted to go and she left. We must let her go.”
“No!” Both her hands knotted into fists. “She is my sister! I am not letting her go!”
Nan Elle took a deep breath now and gripped her stick a little more tightly. “You are going to have to, Chena. She left the day after you did. I have been searching for her for over a week. She could be anywhere in the world, especially if she went to that tailor the way she had planned. She may even have really managed to get back up to your station. I cannot find her.” Chena heard the bitterness in her voice, anger at her own failure.
Chena felt her chest clench. Her eyes stung and she couldn’t seem to hear properly. Her mind filled with blood, blood and loss and fear.
Nan Elle looked up at her. “I swear to you, I did try.” For a moment she looked a thousand years old. “I was afraid she might simply run, so I took what I could find of her money to keep her here. But it did not work.” She rubbed her forehead. “I even contacted Administrator Tam, but I have had no word from him.”
The words broke a dam inside Chena and she began to cry: huge violent sobs that shook her whole body and drove her to her knees. She curled in on herself until her head rested on Nan Elle’s lap. Teal was gone. Teal had left her all alone. She had tried so hard. Everything she had done, and Teal, stupid, vapor-brained, selfish, precious Teal, had still gone away and left her alone.
“That’s right, Chena.” Nan Elle stroked her hair. “You cry. You cry, and let her go.”
She heard the words from a distance. Ringing in her ears, she really heard Teal’s voice, saying, We have to go get Dad now. Why can’t we tell Dad?
Teal, I’m so sorry, she thought with all the strength she had, trying to force the thought out into the whole wide world. I should have tried harder. Please, come back and let me tell you I’m sorry.
But there was no answer.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Discovered
TEAL TRUST HAS FOUND A NEW TAILOR IN STEM.
Tam ran his palm across his hand display, wiping out the message instantly. The walls of his private alcove seemed to h
ave grown eyes and it took him a moment to shake that feeling. At the same time, he silently thanked Nan Elle for taking the risk of using the convoluted web of communication connections they had mapped to get the message to him. News of a new tailor in Stem meant a new lead in his long search.
For five years, Tam had been trying to understand how Dionte had managed to steal the Eden Project, and where she could have hidden it. She had to have arranged some way to keep it alive and viable, otherwise what would have been the point of cutting it out of Helice Trust? She must be planning on using it to advance her cause against the Authority and the Called.
But what had she done with it? She could not have just given it to another hothouse. The records would be too easy to check. She could not have placed it openly in a village, for the same reason. But the villages did harbor loose networks of people who specialized in concealment, such as the Pharmakeus and tailors.
Nan Elle had been quietly running down her connections among the Pharmakeus. None of the Pharmakeus, however, had heard so much as a rumor of a child who had been brought out of a hothouse rather than taken into one. That had left the tailors.
An idea struck Tam now, making him sit up suddenly straighter on his pillow. He uncovered his data display, subvocalizing a new command. A fresh file spelled itself out on the tiny screen. Yes. There was, right now, a young woman from Offshoot in the involuntary wing. She had put herself up for the genetic draft and had been accepted after an initial screening. However, a further check on the records discovered artificial alterations to her genetic makeup. Basante was supposed to be interviewing her to determine the disposal of her body right, but he had not done so yet. Tam still had a chance to get to her first.
Tam jumped to his feet and started down the stairs. It was unlike Basante to be slow to interrogate anyone who came within his purview. Whatever had distracted him must be important. Possibly some errand on Dionte’s behalf.