Zeke and his companion reacted instantly, grabbing their third comrade and dragging him as fast as possible down the alley away from the voice.
Caldan collapsed against the wall as the pounding of booted feet came closer. Two pairs stopped in front of him, while another three continued past in a halfhearted shuffle, no genuine attempt to catch Caldan’s attackers.
A few moments later, they returned empty-handed, and all five pairs of boots stood around him in a semicircle.
“What are you up to?” questioned a gruff voice.
Caldan looked up into five hard faces. Rough and weathered, the men were clothed in boiled leather, and metal-shod batons hung from their belts.
“They robbed me,” Caldan croaked. He couldn’t feel one side of his face.
“You alone?”
Caldan nodded, wincing at the pain in his head.
“Then of course they did. What are you doing in this area alone? Don’t you know better?”
“Apparently not,” managed Caldan. “I just wanted a walk, to explore a bit.”
All five men shook their heads at him in disgust. One spat into a pile of garbage.
“Well that’s stupid.”
“Yep,” another one said.
Caldan hung his head. Something wet he had sat on started seeping into his pants.
“Listen, you’re obviously new here, so I’ll give you some advice. Stay to the main streets, preferably with friends, and don’t wander around at night or early morning.”
“Can’t you catch them? They took my purse, all my ducats.”
“They’re long gone. We catch them in the act or we don’t catch them at all.”
Caldan rubbed his burning eyes. He felt a quiver in his voice as he replied. “That’s it? Walk away and forget about them?”
“We don’t have time to search the streets. That’s the way things are. Ain’t no use complaining. We stopped you getting killed, didn’t we?”
Caldan nodded, causing another sharp pain in his head. He thought it wise not to move it for a while. “I suppose.” He stared at his bloody hand.
The watchman in charge gestured, and strong arms lifted him to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily.
“You feeling right enough to walk?”
“I’ll walk out of here, that’s for sure,” replied Caldan. He wanted to leave the reek of the alley and the whole morning far behind him.
“We’ll make sure you get back to the main street, then you’re on your own.”
“He don’t look too good, Sergeant. Maybe we oughta take him to a physiker.”
“Crap. I guess we better. Elpidia isn’t far from here. Let’s go, and make sure he doesn’t lag behind.”
Firm hands grabbed Caldan again and he let himself be led through twists and turns of alleys. The group briefly traveled along a main street, where morning passersby gawked at the harbor watch and their blood-covered companion.
They stopped at the brightly painted red door of a narrow house. A window to the street showed floral curtains and bunches of dried, hanging herbs.
A heavy fist banged on the door, and a face appeared in the window then quickly disappeared. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman dressed in drab brown workmanlike pants and tunic, and an apron with many pockets.
“Harbor watch,” she greeted the men in a serious tone. “What’s happened here?”
“Elpidia, sorry to bother you. Some idiot got beat up. There’s a bit of blood.”
“I can see that.”
“Thought you might want to take a look at him. He isn’t too steady on his feet.”
“Right. Bring him in then.”
Caldan half lurched and was half dragged into a front room and sat on a rickety chair, which creaked alarmingly under his weight.
“Heavy bastard. Wouldn’t o’ thought it.”
“Yer.”
A glare from Elpidia quietened their talk.
“Watch your mouths, gents,” admonished the sergeant. “Well, we best be off. Got a lot of work to do.”
Elpidia placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sure you do.” Her expression softened. “You did the right thing.”
The sergeant tilted his head to her. “C’mon, gents, let’s get back to it.”
Their murmuring faded as they left the room and closed the door behind them, leaving Caldan slumped in the chair. A lamp gave some light, and he risked moving his head to look around.
“Don’t move,” came Elpidia’s voice from behind him. She sounded softer once the watch had left. “I’ll get some water to wash your face and something to help with the pain.”
Banging sounds came from the back, then Elpidia appeared carrying a wooden bowl and some rags. From a pocket, she produced a vial, which she held out.
“Drink this. It’s for the pain.”
Caldan swallowed the contents, whose bitter taste he recognized from his studies as a mild sedative and painkiller. Dragging a stool close, Elpidia sat and busied herself rinsing a steaming rag.
“You don’t say much, do you?” she said.
Caldan grimaced. “Sorry. It’s been a tough morning.”
“Looks like it.” She placed a hand firmly on his jaw and turned his head to the side. She wiped at the blood on his face. The rag was hot on his skin, and a pungent herb odor came from the steam.
“Let me know if it hurts. There’s a long gash here. Your skin has split.”
“I was hit with a plank.” He felt woozy. “I think the sedative has worked. I’m feeling… numb.”
“Good.” Elpidia didn’t pause with her cleaning of the wound on his cheek and the skin around it. His face was tugged with each stroke, but the pain was bearable.
“The good news is, it doesn’t look serious. I can stitch it up for you. I sewed my own curtains so it shouldn’t look too bad.” She probed around the wound with a finger. “There’s bruising already. Lucky your cheekbone wasn’t cracked. Any other injuries?”
Caldan shook his head. “Only bruises, I think.” Through his mild daze, Caldan noticed Elpidia had a rash that ran from her left ear down her neck.
She smiled briefly before resuming her businesslike expression. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No. It must be obvious. The harbor watch said so as well.”
“It’s in your speech and bearing. Even slumped in the chair your posture is different. You look…” She struggled to find the word. “…grounded. Maybe that’s not the right word.” She stood. “Hang on.” She disappeared again through a curtain covering a doorway.
A gurgling from one side of the room caught Caldan’s attention. Balanced on a metal tripod, a retort filled with yellowish liquid bubbled away, a clear distillate dripping into a glass vial. A sharp, disagreeable odor came from the yellow liquid. On the same table sat a dozen other vials, all filled with different colored liquids and meticulously labeled.
Elpidia returned and noticed his interest in her vials. She sat back down on the stool next to him, cradling a cloth pouch in each hand. She inclined her head towards the bubbling liquid.
“Distillations for my work. Mostly, I sell potions for various ailments, like digestive problems, joint pain, fevers.”
“It smells like King’s Water, acidic.”
Elpidia stopped and blinked. “You know something of alchemy?”
“A little. Where I am from they taught us some. Funny, I wouldn’t have thought King’s Water would be any use for a physiker. They used to think King’s Water part of creating an elixir of life, since it can dissolve gold.”
“You mean they don’t anymore?” Elpidia queried, frowning at him.
“Yes. The book Great Secrets of Alchemy argues drinking potable gold to confer longevity is a falsehood.”
“I’ve heard of the book but don’t have a copy. Where did you read it?”
“When I was first learning about alchemy. I didn’t have a talent for it. Burnt my fingers a few times and spilt too much.” Sore fingers, hot liquid pool
ing on the floor, the brother in charge smacking him on the back of his head while Jemma tried in vain to stop laughing. His shoulders slumped at the memory.
“Anyway, after they found I had more talent for crafting and metallurgy I concentrated on them.” He paused. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Must be the sedative.”
“It’s fine. You’ll have to stay here a while for it to wear off some before I let you go.” Elpidia moved to another table and measured out quantities of dried and powdered herbs into the second cloth pouch.
“So, tell me, what does the Great Secrets of Alchemy say is the secret of longevity?” She paused to wipe her brow with a white kerchief. Small beads of sweat had appeared, although the room was cool.
Ah, this must be her pet project. “That there isn’t one, at least using alchemical means. It theorizes that a combination of alchemy and crafting would be able to slow aging and cure serious diseases, and there are the stories of people living longer before the Shattering. But if it was true, the knowledge has been lost.”
Elpidia looked troubled. “Interesting. Though I think I’ll stick to making a living first. Someone else can waste their time experimenting for an elixir of life.”
Caldan started. He hadn’t thought about how he would pay her. “Ah, there is a problem,” he began.
“You can’t pay?”
“I’m afraid so.” Caldan hung his head.
“Don’t worry. That’s why the watch brought you here.” She withdrew a needle and thread from one of the pouches, along with a vial of clear liquid. “Most herbalists and physikers in the city receive a small stipend from the emperor’s councilors. It’s to cover us when things like this happen.” She deftly threaded the needle then dangled it by the thread into the colorless liquid. “Some good things do happen in Anasoma. Hold still.”
She pinched the skin of his cut together and began stitching it closed. Caldan gritted his teeth at the sharp pain, wincing as she sewed stitches into his cheek with quick practiced motions.
“There, just like sewing a hem.”
“Thank you.” The side of Caldan’s face felt tight and sore.
“You’ll need to come back in ten days for me to take the stitches out, unless you want to do it yourself?”
The thought of pulling thread out of his own skin didn’t appeal to Caldan. “I think I’d rather let you do it.”
Elpidia nodded. “Suit yourself. I’m here most of the day, so come back anytime. If I don’t answer, don’t wander down any side alleys to kill time before I come back…”
“Funny. I won’t.” Caldan watched her tidy up. She handed him the second cloth pouch, now full of her herb mixture.
“Make a tea with this, twice daily. A pinch will do, enough to cover a ducat-sized area on your palm. Use three fingers to pinch the measure, not two.”
“Got it, a pinch two times a day. Thank you again.” He struggled for a moment to stand up but slumped back into the chair.
“Sit and don’t move,” commanded Elpidia. “Rest a while until the sedative wears off.”
Caldan acquiesced without complaint. The numbing effect of the sedative made the chair feel comfortable, like a well worn old pair of boots fitting to perfection. He closed his eyes and listened to Elpidia bustle around, busy with a few tasks, coming and going to a back room.
He nodded off but woke as she shook his shoulder. “You awake?”
“Yes, sorry.” Caldan yawned. “Feels like a day has passed already.”
“It’s only midmorning.”
This time he managed to stand without too much difficulty, though his head remained foggy. Swaying, he clutched the back of the chair for support.
“You need to take it easy. Go home and rest for a few days.”
Caldan gave a hollow laugh. “My room is paid until today, and all my coins are gone. I could try and sell some of my belongings, but something tells me I won’t get much for them.” He ran a hand over his face and head, feeling his scratchy stubble. “Sorry, I shouldn’t bother you with my troubles.”
Elpidia frowned, her eyes narrowing. “We all have troubles. Sometimes it helps to talk about them.”
Caldan staggered a few steps to the door, and by the time he reached it his head felt clearer and legs steadier. “I would guess that my story isn’t too far removed from many others who come to Anasoma. But it does feel like I’ve had a run of bad luck.”
“There is a hospice a few streets back, up the hill. You could see if they can take you in.”
Caldan nodded his appreciation. “Again, thank you. You have been too kind. I made some friends on the ship that brought me here, so I will see if I can stay with them until they leave.” He bowed his head and stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him.
People swarmed in the street, though he did notice the few people passing close gave him a wider berth. They obviously knew the physiker’s house and thought he might have an illness that was catching. He supposed the sight of him in a blood-smeared tunic, with a bruised face and freshly stitched scar didn’t help either.
A weight dragged on him as he shuffled down the street towards the docks. The walk took longer than expected, probably because he was still sluggish from the sedative. Facing Captain Charlotte and begging for a bunk until the ship left port wasn’t his idea of returning the friendship she had shown, but it wasn’t as if he had much choice.
At the docks, he braced himself in the cold wind blowing from the sea. The day had turned out to be the coldest yet since his arrival, a sign the season was turning. Restless waves churned white with foam, and chilly droplets drenched those unlucky enough to be caught by spray shooting over the wharves. Dark clouds rolled overhead, and the city was in for a good soaking, if he was any judge of the weather.
Huddled in alcoves and behind boxes and bales, the homeless laborers braved the icy wind for the chance of a few coins or food. Poor, desperate men.
Caldan wound his way along the docks to the wharf where the Loretta had berthed, head lowered to keep the spray out of his face. At least the air was fresh now, the usual stench of the docks blown inland.
At the end of the wharf he stopped. The Loretta’s berth stood empty.
Chapter Fourteen
Swinging in the cold night breeze, the sign over the door of the inn squeaked back and forth, metal scraping on metal, casting faint shadows from the moon around the doorway. Beneath the sign stood Lady Caitlyn, her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders in an attempt to reduce the wind’s chill.
She glanced up at the sign, dark eyes narrowing in study. Painted on the wood was the face of a black goat chewing on a flower protruding from its mouth. “The Black Goat” was neatly painted in script below the ridiculous looking face.
The inn was the only one for miles around, and as night had fallen with the cold wind biting deep, she decided it would have to suffice. The timber structure seemed sound enough, although the stables were falling into disrepair and weeds had sprouted around the buildings.
She frowned. A disorderly house was often the sign of indolence, and the indolent left themselves open to evil’s sway. The lure of an easy living was often irresistible to the weak-minded. But that was why people like her existed.
She turned to stare into the surrounding gloom. The dwellings and businesses crowded around the inn gave rise to a few dark streets and alleys. Out of one such alley came three of her men leading four horses, their own mounts and Caitlyn’s. They approached the inn slowly, tired from many days of hard travel.
“My Lady Caitlyn, are we to stop here?” Aidan asked.
“Have the horses stabled and combed, then come to the inn. We shall stay here for the night and be sure of an early start tomorrow. We are close to our quarry. I can feel it.”
They led the horses away into the shoddy stable, the men chuckling to each other after one of them quipped the state of the horses’ lodging wouldn’t be much worse than theirs.
Caitlyn turned back to the door and stepped into the i
nn. Typical for this remote location, the type of place she and her band had seen many a time the last few years. Rough cut wooden floor, barrels behind the bar filled with local brews, and a large stone hearth warming the room with a blazing fire. Behind the bar stood a slovenly innkeeper, who appraised her for a few moments before going back to polishing mugs. Patrons looked up as she entered then went back to their ale and conversations. If any were keen eyed enough they would have noticed the distinctive shape of a sword hilt and pommel under her cloak and the glint of finely wrought mail.
She moved to an empty table close to the fire and sat on a rickety chair. A plump, sweaty serving girl approached, probably the innkeeper’s daughter.
“What’ll ye have?” the serving girl queried in a weary voice.
Caitlyn stared into the fire. “What’s good?”
“Goat stew’s one copper; soup’s a copper as well. Ale’s a copper, wine is two,” the girl reeled off with a bored expression, oblivious to the question.
“Very informative, thank you.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes as she hooked another chair closer and rested a booted foot on it. “I’ll have four stews, three ales and a wine, please.”
The serving girl squinted, looking puzzled. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but are you sure you can eat all that?”
Not very bright around here, Caitlyn thought, but it is a noble’s duty to be polite.
“For my men as well. They are seeing to the horses and will be here momentarily.” She slid a silver ducat onto the greasy table top. “Keep the difference.”
In a flash, the silver coin was whisked away, and the serving girl bustled off to the kitchen.
Caitlyn reached into her satchel and placed her favorite book on the table, Troylin’s Of War and Strategy. Thoughts of her last campaign rose unbidden.
The assault against the flesh-eating jukari’s stronghold had been vicious, she reflected. Bleeding, dirty and sweat-soaked, she had managed to survive, along with some of her followers. Smoke turned the sun red, and inside the fortress walls had been a chaotic mess of burning buildings, bodies and blood. Her men and the jukari were broken, twisted and still, leaking blood where they lay.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 14