by C. J. Archer
"Get inside, Josie," he said coolly.
"In a moment."
He arched a brow but did not scold me.
"Those stitches will need to be removed in ten days," I said to Max. "I can come to the palace—"
"No," both my father and the captain said.
"Max will come to you," the captain clarified.
"To me," Father added. "My daughter would make an excellent doctor, but an unqualified girl cannot attend to a servant of the palace. Or to anyone," he added.
"But he's my patient," I said. "What's the worst that could happen? They're the king's men."
"Thank you for bringing my daughter home safely," Father said to the captain. "Good day to you, sir. Josie, inside."
I slipped past Bessie and Father, dumped my bags on the floor, found what I wanted in my father's surgery and returned just as the captain remounted. I handed him the roll of bandage but addressed the sergeant. "Cover the wound with a thick layer of bandage so that it doesn't rub on your clothes. If it pains you, ask the kitchen staff to grind up some hollyroot. They probably grow it in the kitchen gardens. It's not as strong as Mother's Milk but it's good for mild aches and pains. You look like a man who only needs mild pain relief."
He puffed out his chest and gave me a nod. "Thank you Doc— er, miss."
"Josie will do."
"And I want to apologize for my language earlier. I was…not myself."
They rode off amid stares from our neighbors. I waved at Meg across the street, and she signaled me to join her. I glanced at my father. His deeply furrowed brow gave me my answer.
"Later," I called out to Meg.
"Josie," Father snapped as Bessie made her way carefully along the street. He shut the door behind me. "What do you think you were doing accepting a ride from those men?"
The childish part of me wanted to storm up to my attic bedchamber, but I was too old for petulance. I bypassed the front room that Father used as his surgery and workroom and entered the kitchen instead. I took my time filling the pot with water and mildwood leaves and nestled it amid the burning embers. I saw no reason to make it easy for Father. He was over reacting, as usual, and I was heartily sick of it. He'd been very close to creating a scene out there, and in front of the neighbors and palace guards too.
"The sergeant needed help," I told him. "So I helped."
"I understand that," he said, strained patience tightening his voice. "You're a healer and wanted to assist an injured man. You can't help your kind nature."
"And we were too far away from here."
"I don't disagree with your decision to suture his wound. If the captain gave you permission, you won't get into trouble, even if the sheriff hears of it. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Or at the right place at the right time."
"Don't mock me, Josie. This is serious. Those men could have been dangerous."
"They weren't."
"You don't know that."
I threw up my hands. "I helped one of them! Why would they hurt me?"
"Any number of reasons, none of which you're foolish enough to dismiss so easily. You're a young, attractive woman on your own in the forest on top of Lookout Hill. They're young, virile men. Do I need to spell it out to you? You're not a child anymore, Josie."
"Precisely," I spat. "I am not a child. I'm capable of assessing whether three men are a threat to me. I am well aware of what can happen to a woman alone, but you should not assume every man is after that."
"I don't," he said, sounding put out. "But they're strangers," he added, gentler. "You can't trust strangers, particularly after the prison escape."
"The prison escape! Oh Merdu. Not only did that happen a long time ago and those escapees are probably rounded up by now, but the prison was miles away! Miles and miles!"
"I've heard that they have not been rounded up, and nor is it a stretch to assume they would be in Mull by now. We have so many strangers in the village these days that they could easily blend in, find employment or attempt to leave The Fist on one of the trading vessels."
"These men wore palace uniforms. If I can't trust palace guards, who can I trust?"
He removed two cups from the shelf and placed them on the table. "Their authority does not make them trustworthy." He sat heavily, all the bluster knocked out of him. He looked every bit his age of sixty-five, with the deep lines across his forehead and the last remnants of his hair clinging to his head like a summer cloud.
I kissed his cheek to show him I wasn't too mad. I knew his anger was born from worry. It had been just the two of us for so long that he was afraid I'd either leave him voluntarily through marriage, or reluctantly if something awful befell me. "You think the king employs bad men?" I asked.
"Not on purpose. Besides, it's not just that. There's something odd about the palace and its servants."
I sighed. "Don't say magic. Those men are real." So real that I could still feel the captain's thigh against mine, his hands on my waist. "Magic doesn't exist outside of children's stories."
He said nothing and I poured the brewed mildwood into the cups. "Have you eaten today, Father?"
"Not yet. Do we have any eggs for breakfast?"
I smiled. "It's well past breakfast time, but I'll cook you some eggs if you like. Tell me about Bessie's eyes."
"You first. Tell me how the birth went."
Tamworth Tao, the Zemayan born spice merchant, sported a knowing little smile; he had gossip to impart. Meg noticed it too and dragged me by my arm through the crowded marketplace to his stall. We'd been heading there eventually anyway, preferring to leave it to the end of our marketing, but she couldn't wait and it became our first stop.
"Josie, Meg, my two favorite Mullians." Tam flicked his long black braid off his shoulder with a jerk of his head. The bells attached to the strip of white leather threaded through the hair tinkled musically before falling silent at his back. "You are a wonderful sight for my world-weary eyes." Tamworth's face-full of wrinkles deepened with his grin, but there were no signs of weariness in his eyes or elsewhere. The spice merchant was of indeterminate age. Despite the wrinkles, he sported no gray in his black hair and his slender shoulders and arms were all wiry muscle. He could be forty, seventy, or anywhere in between.
I inhaled deeply, drawing the chaotic blend of sweetness and tartness, tanginess and sharp heat into my lungs. According to Father, Zemaya smelled like the spices sold in Tam's stall, but rarely all together like this.
"What news from your travels, Tam?" Meg asked, not bothering to hide her enthusiasm. She was the same age as me, but sometimes she seemed much younger, when her eagerness got the better of her or if she became overly shy about the birthmark discoloring one side of her face.
"I will tell you," Tam said, still smiling, "but first Josie must tell me about the palace guards she rode with last week."
"There's nothing to tell," I said.
"There must be. No one else has been as close to them as you, Josie, so you must forgive our curiosity."
Meg regarded me with mischievous blue eyes. "Go on, Josie. Tell Tam how you rode with the very handsome captain of the guards."
Tam leaned forward, rising off his stool. He bumped his head on the string of reek roots hanging from the bar. His eyes widened, their whites so bright within the dark skin. "What did he look like? What was he wearing?"
I described Hammer's looks and clothing and those of his men. Tam listened intently, and I realized his curious little smile that enticed us over to the stall wasn't as a result of his gossip but because he saw the opportunity to gather tidbits about the palace from me.
"How did he seem to you?" Tam asked.
"Seem?"
"Aye. Did he seem…solid?"
Oh yes, Captain Hammer was certainly solid in the thighs and chest. Being close to him on the horse had given me the perfect opportunity to feel just how solid. I said none of that to Tam, although I'd already described Hammer in detail to Meg, at her insis
tence. "Solid enough."
"Was there anything unusual about him?" Tam asked.
"Such as?"
He shrugged. "Such as fading in and out. Or shimmering, perhaps. I don't know. Anything?"
"Oh," Meg murmured. "Are you referring to…" She lowered her voice. "To magic?"
Tam winked.
I sighed. "He was real and solid and alive. They all were. His sergeant even bled red blood. Come now, Tam, I expect a well traveled man like you wouldn't believe in superstition and magic."
"Perhaps that's why I do believe. Did the men tell you anything about the palace? Anything at all about its origins—or King Leon?"
"Nothing. Now, may we conduct our business? I'd like a bulb of fire breath, some reek root and one scoop each of amani, tumini and borrodi spices please."
As he packaged up my purchases, he finally imparted his own gossip to us. I was right he didn't have much to tell. He'd just come from Port Haven on The Thumb where houses lay empty and shops had closed.
"The downriver section of the Mer has been cut off from its source and dried up," he said. "It's now just rocks, sand and stagnant pools. The surrounding farms are struggling to irrigate their crops. The harbor is no longer bringing in any trade, and the king of Vytill isn't doing anything to help The Thumb folk. I heard the ministers have advised him to no longer consider it part of Vytill but rather an island nation that must administer itself. The population has been given a choice to resettle on the mainland or stay."
"They'll starve if they stay," I said with a shake of my head.
"They may starve on the mainland," Tam went on. "There's little work elsewhere in Vytill, particularly for those experienced only as dock workers."
"What about their mines?" The Fist Peninsula mined most of the stone, iron and other materials the various nations needed, but all those mines were concentrated in Freedland and in the south of Vytill and Dreen. There were none in Glancia or The Margin to the north.
"Dock workers aren't miners," Tam said.
"They can find work here," Meg said in all her good-hearted innocence. "There's plenty to do now that Tovey Harbor has become so important."
"Mull isn't ready for such a rapid increase in population," I told her. "We're not coping as it is."
"There's a rumor that Glancia may close its borders to migrants. They must already pay a fee to cross," Tam went on. "You're right, Josie, and Mull can't cope with rapid expansion. Glancia can't cope. The villages are small and disparate, and quite primitive."
Meg bristled. "We are not primitive."
"Glancia is nothing but a handful of fishing villages." Tam handed me my purchases and I paid him. "Few people are educated, the roads are poor, and the ministers are too busy fighting amongst themselves to make the quick decisions that are necessary at a time like this. It didn't matter if they sat on their fat arses and twiddled their thumbs before, but it matters now. Perhaps the new king will whip them into action."
"Let's hope so," Meg said, thoughtfully. "I wish we knew more about him and his intentions."
All of Glancia wished that.
We thanked Tam and finished the rest of our marketing. Despite having told my story about the palace guards numerous times in the last week, I found I had to re-tell it again and again at each stall. Ultimately, my listeners were disappointed. I had so little to pass on, and I refused to embellish the tale as Meg suggested.
We did learn one more interesting piece of news. A farmer from outside Mull told of a procession of ministers arriving at the palace. The cavalcade of carriages, carts and wagons had stretched for a full mile along the road to Tilting, where the ministers and previous king had lived. It seemed the new palace was finally allowing in outsiders. It was a positive sign that King Leon might whip the ministers into action, as Tam had put it.
Meg and I parted in the street between our houses, and I found my father in the larder, reading labels on jars with his eyes screwed up so tightly it was a wonder he could see at all.
"Why is the Mother's Milk now stored in these pottery jars?" he asked. "We used to keep them in glass ones."
"Because the glass ones are too expensive," I said. "I told you that at the time. Why do you need Mother's Milk? What's happened? You're not scheduled for any surgeries today." Mother's Milk was used to relieve only the strongest pain because of its expense and the difficulty in sourcing ingredients. We made it ourselves to our own formula, but the ingredients came from my foraging expeditions and traders like Tamworth Tao, and they didn't always have what we needed. We only used it for surgeries, births where the mother had torn, and deep wounds. I probably shouldn't have used it on Sergeant Max, but the decision had been made and it was too late for regrets.
"Have you got the forceps?" Father asked.
"Someone's giving birth?" There weren't many pregnant women close to term that I knew of, and I thought I knew them all.
Father shooed me out of the larder. "Fetch the forceps. In fact, just give me your pack."
"Who's having a baby?"
"A woman."
I stepped in front of him and crossed my arms. "Why are you avoiding the question?"
He looked away.
"Father!"
He sighed. "A woman in The Row. Her waters broke overnight but the baby is stuck. Her sister came here and begged me to come. The expectant mother is fading."
"I'll go."
"You most certainly will not! Not to The Row."
"When I explain I'm the midwife—"
"They won't believe you. The fact is, Josie, you are a woman, and the only women in The Row are…you know."
"Whores," I finished for him since he seemed to have trouble with the word.
The Row had begun as a single street in the north of Mull, but over the years, it became synonymous with the entire area where the prostitutes eked out a living—if it could be called living. The buildings were little more than lean-tos, built from whatever materials had drifted onto the beaches. There were no proper gutters so the slops accumulated on the streets until the stench became too much and the residents themselves organized a cleanup. I'd never been into The Row, but I'd smelled it in summer and heard of the cramped conditions where the makeshift buildings couldn't keep the rain out let alone the wintry cold.
As much as I hated admitting it, Father was right. The women of The Row might trust me and accept me as a midwife, but the men would think of me as something they could purchase for a few minutes. It was too dangerous.
"Take Meg's brother with you," I said.
He shook his head. "Having a guard is as good as putting a target on my forehead. It'll make me look well off and in need of protection. I'll be safer alone."
He pushed past me and picked up my pack, the new one given to me by the leather seller. He placed the jar of Mother's Milk inside.
"You can't take the pack," I told him. "For the same reasons that having a guard will be a danger, so will carrying a bag."
"I have to take it."
I took it off him and removed the tools he'd need. "Place these in your pockets. I'll siphon enough Mother's Milk into a smaller jar."
He followed me into his surgery where I found an empty vial. "I had an unscheduled patient come this morning," he said. "Well, sort of unscheduled. Sergeant Max came to have his stitches out."
I turned suddenly, spilling a drop of the Mother's Milk. "Was he alone?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Just curious." I turned back to my task. "How is his wound?"
"Healing nicely. Your stitching was very fine. I couldn't have done better myself. Your mother would be pleased."
I laughed at that. We often joked how Mother would have liked me to be a normal girl with an interest in needlepoint, not surgery and medicine. She'd died when I was six but I'd already shown more enthusiasm for my father's books than embroidery at that age. The fact that we did laugh about it meant she hadn't really minded at all. According to Father, if she were still alive she would have been active in petition
ing the authorities to change the laws so female students could study at the Logios colleges. Apparently I got my independent streak from her.
"What else did Max say?" I asked, careful not to sound too interested. "Did he mention Quentin? Or the captain?"
"Not specifically. He said everyone at the palace is busy with the arrival of the ministers and also preparing for more visitors."
"More?"
"Here's some gossip for you that no one else in Mull will have, I'd wager."
That got my full attention. I placed the stopper in the vial and regarded him. He was grinning. "Tell me!"
He chuckled. "You never did have much patience. He said the new visitors are the lords and ladies of Glancia, along with their daughters. Eligible ones, that is. The king wants a wife."
I quickly calculated numbers in my head. "Will they all stay in the palace?" There must be two hundred at least.
"They can't be put up at The Anchor, can they?" He laughed. "They're arriving in two weeks. Now, is that vial ready? I must hurry."
"I'll tell your afternoon patients to come back later."
"I wish you didn't have to," he said, pocketing the vial. "But it's for the best." He tossed me a smile and left.
A half hour later, I was inspecting Perri Ferrier's infected toe after he refused to leave. According to Perri, his pain was so intense that he required immediate attention. I cleaned up the toe, applied a salve, and bandaged it. When he left, he paid me the fee and an extra amount to buy "something pretty." I took that to mean he was satisfied with my service yet felt I ought to be more feminine. I'd never win with the Perri Ferriers of the world.
Father returned at dusk unharmed but disheartened. The baby had died; the mother, too. "The conditions in that place are appalling," he said, nursing his ale at the kitchen table. "It's a miracle anyone lives to adulthood. Someone should do something about it."
Two weeks later, Mull was abuzz with the news that several of the country's best families had passed by the village on their way to the palace. I'd caught a glimpse of one of the processions and was surprised by how many vehicles one family of four needed. Apparently they required a carriage to transport themselves plus another six wagons for luggage and servants.