"I guess so," Dee agreed. These rare few glimpses were all she could garner about Cale's background. He had confessed to her that he had once been a pirate, but he refused to discuss it, no matter how she tried.
The skinny teenager appeared as the trader had predicted. Cale started to run him off, but then had second thoughts. "I will be getting a canopy in the morning, but I have no poles for it. How much will four poles cost me in ounces of steel?"
"Eight," the boy said quickly.
Cale shook his head. "Ridiculous. I'll pay no more than four."
They finally agreed on five, which the boy was to collect when he brought the poles in the morning.
Both of them were worn out. Their lack of sleep the previous night had been exacerbated by the strenuous physical activity of the day. Cale decided to curl up under the cart and sleep, while Dee kept watch. After dark, Dee was to awaken him for guard duty while she was to sleep.
It was nearly midnight when their neighbor returned, falling-down drunk. Cale had a small fire going, and he convinced the man to join him. Cale didn't particularly like drunks, but he realized this man had a lot of information he, Cale, needed.
The local king, a man named Karel, reigned from a town called, appropriately, 'King's Town'. King's Town directly adjoined the ruins of Nirvana. There was considerable debate whether King Karel was extraordinarily brave or extraordinarily foolish to so tempt the ancient evil that all agreed dwelt within Nirvana.
The 'foolish' theory was coming to dominate, because King Karel was old and ill. He was expected to die within weeks, and everyone, including the trader, was concerned about the threat of civil war, as the king had no direct heir. "There is a nephew," the trader reported. "A great-nephew, really. But he's just a boy. The chieftains will find him easy to kill." He shook his head drunkenly, nearly falling over. "No, it looks like civil war. And civil war is always bad for trade." He raised an eyebrow. "Wars between kings, now . . ."
Cale pressed, but could learn no details of the king's illness. All the man knew was that the King was dying, that he would probably expire within a few weeks, and that Ham's Town, along with several others, was hoping to become the new king's capital, once the civil war was over.
Cale also managed to get the answer to a question that had been bothering him. "Why will no one introduce themselves?" he asked. "Why are people so reluctant to give their names?"
The trader shrugged, almost falling over. "Magic, 'course," he replied in a tone one uses with children. "Can't nobody put a curse or a hex or a charm on you if they don't know yer name. Ya gotta be careful. Only give yer name to people you trust." Then the man sagged, and fell on his side, passed out.
The boy delivered the poles just after dawn, but Cale had to wait another hour before the trader awoke. By that time, he had his cart display arranged, and Dee had awakened. Cale retrieved the poorest of the dino pelts, and delivered it to his neighbor, who gave him the canopy. By the time Cale and Dee had the canopy erected, people were beginning to appear, moving from space to space, browsing the traders' wares.
His conversation with the trader had given Cale an idea. He had discussed it with Tess during the night, and he'd had a hard time restraining himself from waking Dee.
They needed access to the king, and the king was ill. Tess had hidden a first aid kit in their cart. She also had access to all the medical files aboard Cheetah. Cale's idea was to locate two or three sick people, and have Dee use Tess's knowledge and the first aid kit to treat them.
"We'll be moving toward King's Town, but chances are the rumors will get there before us. If a sick king hears about a healer, he's certain to want to talk with her – you. And me, since I’m your guardian."
"But, I'm no med tech," Dee protested.
Cale grinned. "No, but with a modern first aid kit, you'll be better than the most renowned doctor on Jumbo," he said. "You have the medicines in the kit, and instant access to Tess's complete medical library." He shrugged. "I think it's the best we can do, Dee. It's important that we get access to the king. We can't depend on his curiosity or whims. But a dying man will grasp at any straw.
"So," he continued, "While I'm playing 'trader', you watch for someone with a sick child or something. Our biggest problem will be to avoid a witchcraft charge, so pay attention to any talk of magic, and do not tell anyone your name, or ask theirs. They think names have magic power."
After a moment, she nodded. "All right, Cale." She shrugged. "Being a healer will be a step up from silent servant girl, anyway."
As the day wore on, Cale became more comfortable in his 'trader' role. He realized that to avoid suspicion, they would have to continue as traders for at least a few days, and they would be unable to do that if they did not maintain an expanding stock of trade goods. In a barter economy, that meant doing their best to make a 'profit' through hard bargaining. At some point in the afternoon he was surprised to realize that he was actually enjoying the often raucous give-and-take of trading.
Early in the day, he traded a kitchen knife for a large, ornately carved wooden box with a cunning lock mechanism whose key was a large silver charm on an ornate necklace. The previous owner claimed it had been made for a queen a century ago. Regardless, it seemed much more appropriate for a healer than the stark first aid kit bearing the ancient red cross symbol whose meaning was lost in antiquity. Dee took the box to the rear of the cart and transferred the contents of the first aid kit to it, putting on the necklace. She began concentrating on finding someone in the small crowd who seemed to be tending to a sick child.
It didn't take long. Less than half an hour later, she noticed a youngish woman carrying a small child, frequently wiping its head with a dirty rag.
"Is your child ill?" she asked politely.
The woman, obviously distressed, said, "Yes, she is. But I have no ounces or trade goods for potions or spells."
"I am a healer," Dee said. "May I examine the child?" The woman handed over the pitifully small bundle. The child had a fever, a cough, and from the smell of its wrappings, diarrhea. Dee led the woman to the rear of the cart.
"How long has she been like this?" Dee asked.
"This is the second day," the woman replied. Tears began to flow. "She is my firstborn, and I am afraid I will lose her."
"I think I can help your child," she told the woman. "But there is something I must tell you. I am not a mage or a holy woman, who can cure your child in moments. I am merely a woman with some ability in healing. It may take a day or two to know whether the child is cured."
She turned and opened the box, revealing the medical supplies within. The woman sucked in a deep breath. "You must indeed be a wise woman, to know the uses of so many medicines," she said. "Please help my baby if you can."
Dee nodded. "Very well. Oh," she added, "one more thing. When I am thinking, I often mutter to myself. It helps me to clarify my thinking, and helps me make certain the medicines are used correctly. It is not a chant, incantation or a spell. I have no truck with magic." She made a vague gesture in the air as though to ward off evil spirits.
The woman, her eyes large, nodded. Dee took the child, and placed her hand on its forehead and temple. "Low-grade fever," she muttered under her breath. She knew that she need not vocalize for Tess to understand the transmission from her mastoid implant. "Diarrhea, cough. Weight about six kilos."
The answer was prompt. "It's probably due to unsanitary living conditions. Use the dropper to administer three drops orally from the bottle numbered eleven. The biggest danger is from dehydration. Have her give the child plenty of juice. Milk is acceptable as well, but might prolong the diarrhea."
Dee carefully administered the drops, and then turned her attention to the woman. "I have administered a medicine that often works in such cases, but the child will need special care from you for the next few days. It is very important that you make certain she gets plenty of liquids. Juices are best. Milk is all right, but it might prolong the diarrhea for a day or so. Y
ou should also bathe her at least once a day. It will help lower the fever."
The woman's eyebrows rose. "Bathe her? In water? Do the sages not say that is harmful?"
Tess nodded soberly. "I have heard such, yes. But the child is already ill, and it is important that the fever be reduced. It should only be necessary for a few days, until the fever is gone."
Dee hesitated. One of the things that she found most appalling about the people of Jumbo was their lack of hygiene and their offensive body odors. She was sorely tempted to tell the woman to bathe both the child and herself. She sighed. No. She was already taking a chance with the healing. If she started contradicting what everyone knew to be true, she'd be called a witch for certain. "I am sorry," she said, "But we will be moving on in the morning, and I will not be here to provide more treatment. When treating illness, it is sometimes necessary to do things that are out of the ordinary." She straightened with a frown. "Bathe the child in water at least once daily until the fever is gone; but once it is gone, stop the treatment immediately!"
The woman nodded soberly. "Are there special juices I must use? Or can I use what is in season?"
"The best juices are those of fruits with rinds or skins that are discarded," Dee replied. "But if they are not available, any juice is preferable to water or no juice."
"And my child will live?"
Dee sighed and shook her head. "I am not a witch or mage, to predict the future. I believe the child will recover; but I cannot guarantee such. Do as I have instructed and you will know in three days."
The woman's face was full of hope, now. "Oh, I will, Lady. I will follow every instruction to the letter, if it will help my Dina live."
Dee's second patient was talking with Cale about a deal when Dee noticed he was sweating and his face was flushed. He was a grizzled, middle-aged man, who had apparently lost his lower left leg below the knee. He was using a well-worn makeshift crutch.
She approached hesitantly. "Your pardon, sir, but are you ill?" she asked.
The man looked at her, and then turned his attention back to Cale as though she hadn't spoken. Cale looked at the man appraisingly, and frowned. "It's true you do not look well," he said. "My girl, here, is a skilled healer. Perhaps she can help."
The man snorted. "For how many ounces?"
Cale smiled. "I am a trader, sir, not a mage or a surgeon. If my girl can help you, well, perhaps you'll not argue price quite so hard next time, eh?" He shrugged. "If she cannot, you've lost nothing."
As they walked to the rear of the cart, Dee murmured, "Tell Cale I'll need his help with this one. He's no woman with a sick baby. He's bigoted, he's observant and I suspect he's fairly intelligent. Cale will need to distract him."
Dee was certain she was the only one who noticed Cale's tiny, quick nod. He instructed their patient to throw his stump up on the cart, and raise his trouser leg. As the man struggled to comply while shaking off Dee's attempt to help, Cale slipped around the side of the cart and retrieved an ornate silver flask he'd buried among their camping supplies.
As they had scoured the abandoned space station for Old-Time items to use as trade goods, Cale had stumbled across the small ornate flask in the Captain's quarters; it had evidently been overlooked in the hurried abandonment 500 years before. Back aboard Cheetah, Tess had analyzed what remained of its contents to be about half a liter of an alcoholic beverage called 'whiskey'.
Cale decided that a small supply of strong drink might be useful. He had Tess's 'bots clean the flask and refill it with fresh liquor. Tess had no 'whiskey', but a yacht was normally well-equipped with strong drink, and Cheetah was no exception. Tess refilled the flask with something she called 'vodka', which she maintained was even stronger than the whiskey. Cale had thought to use it get someone drunk enough to reveal information they needed, if necessary.
The scars their new patient bore revealed that he was, or had been, a soldier, a warrior. Cale had never been a soldier, but he suspected they would be much like his pirates had been: hard-drinking, womanizing brawlers. If so, strong drink was probably the best way to keep their patient pacified. Besides, Cale decided, if the man had been a soldier of the local king, he might have information that would help them.
By the time he returned, the man had his stump resting on the cart's deck, his shortened trouser leg pushed above the knee, and Dee was examining the stump.
The leg had been amputated a few inches below the left knee, and the stump cauterized with a hot iron. Actually, though, Dee was surprised at how well the amputation had been done. The skin stretched over the stump smoothly, and there appeared to be no places where bone was wearing through the flesh.
Now, though, the stump was red and swollen. She described it to Tess while Cale urged the man to try a swallow of a "man's drink."
"Is it turning black?" Tess asked. Dee replied negatively, and Tess continued. "I'm sorry, Dee, but I'll need you to smell it."
Dee grimaced, but bent over the stump. "All I can smell is him," she told Tess. "I don't think he's had a bath since he lost the leg."
"Are you certain there's no sweetish odor?" Tess asked. Dee started to shake her head, but caught herself and replied, "No. Nothing but normal male body odor."
Tess's tone was satisfied. "Then there's no gangrene. You should probably call it 'blood poisoning.' He'll almost certainly know what you mean. You should inject ½ cc of the liquid in the bottle labeled '17' directly into the meatiest part of the stump using the hypospray. I'll warn Cale. You cannot have the man see you inject him."
After a moment, Cale turned to her with another of his microscopic nods.
"Yah, I'm quite a drinker," he said to the man, "But I can't handle much of this stuff. Strongest I've ever tried."
The man looked interested. "Yeah? What is it?"
Cale shrugged. "The man I got it from called it 'vodka'. I never tasted it before, but I'll tell ya, one good swig will knock you on your backside!"
The man gave a sour grin. "Ain't no wine on Jumbo can knock me on my butt!"
Cale shook his head. "This ain't wine. They make it up near Valhalla."
The man frowned and shook his head. "I don't want no enchanted wine," he said grimly.
Cal shook his head. "Naw, no magic. I saw 'em make it. They just boiled some kinda beer or wine, and collected the steam. Once it cooled, whew!"
The man grinned. "No magic, huh? Gimme that thing. I'll show ya what a man can handle!" He snatched the flask from Cale's hand and raised it to his mouth. Cale signaled Dee to get ready.
The man took a large swallow from the flask. He started to lower it with a grin, but suddenly his eyes widened and he sucked in a deep breath, expelled it with a mighty whoosh! And went into a coughing fit. Dee had no trouble administering the painless injection, and his own coughing masked the very slight hiss of the hypospray. She slipped the hypospray back into the box, and covered it with rags.
Meanwhile, the man recovered from his coughing fit, blinking watering eyes. "Whoosh!" He repeated. He turned his watery eyes on Cale and shook his head. "Aye, man, I'll admit I've never had the like!" He blinked again, and then broke into a beatific smile. "Bit rough at first," he said, "but I'll warrant it warms the belly most fine!" He threw Cale a questioning glance, and Cale nodded, adding, "But another swallow like that one, and you'll need friends to carry you home!"
The man cocked his head and regarded the flask. "Ye're most likely right," he said with a smile. "I'm a hard drinker, but I'm no fool." He tilted the flask again, but this time his swallow was more restrained. Still, his eyes widened and he released his breath with an "aaaahhhh" of pleasure. With a regretful expression, he replaced the cap on the flask and handed it back to Cale.
He turned to Dee. "And what of my leg, girl?"
Dee lowered her eyes. "It has an infection, sir. But it has not yet become blood poisoning."
The man looked alarmed. "I've seen the blood poisoning, and feared I'd die of it when they took my leg," he replied. "What should
I do?"
Dee handed him a small bottle, resembling the ones normally used for perfumes. "This contains a cream," she said. "You must wash the stump in running water, such as a creek or brook, and then dry it with clean cloths. Once it is dry, rub the cream into the inflamed portions of the stump. You will find it will relieve the pain and heat. Then wrap the stump in clean cloths to keep the cream from rubbing off. Do this once a day, and the infection should disappear in a few days."
The man frowned. "Wash it? In water? Can you not just give me a potion, or make a spell, or something?"
Cale stepped forward, his expression thunderous. "Neither I nor my woman have any truck with magic," he said angrily. "She has only the healing arts she learned at her mother's knee. She is not mage, sage or surgeon. She has given you her advice. Whether you follow it or not is on your own head. But if you do not, and you get the blood poisoning, do not blame a poor woman only trying to help!"
The man's expression was ashamed, now. "Aye, it's true you never claimed magical powers, and you even had the good grace to share that marvelous drink with me." He swung the stump down off the cart, bracing himself with the crutch. He was looking thoughtful. "May I return after sundown, Trader? I would learn more about this wonderful drink that does not need magic."
"You will be welcome at our fire, sir. But I fear I know little more than I have told you. Still, you may be of help to us. We will be going next to King's Town. Perhaps you can tell us of it?"
A broad smile spread across the battered face. "I know it well, Trader. And I will be glad to tell you anything you want to know. But surely, there is a way I can repay your kindness in the meantime?"
Cale shrugged, still smiling. "Not unless you know someone willing to trade a donkey or a bufflo for hides and Old Time things," he said. "We are weary of pulling this thing." He slapped the cart."
The Privateer 2: AN HONEST LIVING Page 8