Ura Heather and Lark Holly arrived after Artemisia had drunk her liquid meal and energizer, and they all discussed Garrett. Heather referred to him as the case or the experiment.
Opul Cranberry was continuing to do well.
Before the FirstLevel Healers left, Lark Holly said, “Get a few septhours’ rest, Artemisia. The Turquoise House will monitor GentleSir Primross.”
“Very well,” Artemisia said.
“We will return at TransitionBell,” Lark said.
“What!” Ura Heather exclaimed.
“Many of those with the Iasc sickness died during TransitionBell.”
“As many folk do,” Artemisia murmured.
“Exactly, that’s why it’s called TransitionBell,” Lark said. “I will be here, at least.”
“I will, too,” Ura Heather gritted out, but Artemisia could tell that the woman’s niece had forced her hand.
Without another word, they both teleported away.
“TQ, please wake me every two septhours to take GentleSir Primross’s blood.”
“You should call him Garrett,” TQ said.
“Not when he’s my patient, and he didn’t give me leave to do so,” she said primly.
“He thinks you are beautiful,” the House said.
Artemisia snorted. “I doubt that.” Once again she dabbed his face clean of sweat, then arranged his pillows.
The kitten hummed approval, then curled by Garrett’s shoulder. After a deep sniff, the little cat raised his muzzle and smiled. Smells nice. I like being in a warm, clean room, next to a nice-smelling man. My room, My FamMan.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate you,” she said. Whether the man knew it or not, he was making a family. If he appreciated the ferals for what they were—unique and uncivilized—it was another reason why he didn’t care too much for overcivilized Noble humans and their rules.
Or was she making sense at all?
The long day of summer wasn’t done, but she was exhausted. Two septhours of sleep sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world.
She trudged toward her own bedroom, using real effort to push through the decontamination shield. After showering, she slipped into bed. Long, soft summer shadows patterned the back grassyard with varying shades of green. At any other time, she’d have gone to the window or even to the garden. Not now. She could only hope for instant and deep sleep and no nightmares. Watching Garrett fight his own demons, relive the first time of his sickness, was nightmare itself.
And more would come.
Her eyes remained open; she continued to strain for sounds of Garrett. The sickness was progressing as if he’d received germs through second- or third-hand contagion, not a pure, virulent injection.
TQ said, “You need sleep. I will observe.”
She was used to a sentient Residence, but one who knew how to use its atmosphere to Heal and when to alert humans. So she hesitated.
“Do you not trust me, Artemisia?” TQ asked softly.
“I’m just not accustomed to you.” She bit her lip. She did need her sleep. “Contact me if his temperature rises, if he has convulsions or fever dreams.”
“Yes, Artemisia.”
“Fine.” She shut her eyes. The insides of them hurt with dry strain. Rolling over, she buried her face in the familiar comfort of her pillow and let sleep take her away.
* * *
He was the main driver now—good thing he was a quick learner and had mastered the controls. Old Grisc had hack-coughed his way to the first row of the main compartment. Garrett hadn’t bothered to shut the door of the cab. No reason. He’d started sweating and shivering like all the rest of them.
Night had fallen and sleet started. This was going to be bad.
For a while, he’d felt as if he’d already survived this; reality had been misty around the edges. He’d even caught a whiff of clean scent that lured him into thinking of hidden sacred spaces. And he’d thought he’d seen a well-kept road before him, leading to a special, wondrous grove.
But now rain and ice spattered and his breath shuddered from him, fogging the windshield. He’d have to go out and check the road and the vehicle.
Now there was only the trip and he was grimly determined to get this bus to help. Dinni was still alive, and so was the babe. They would live. So would he. If he fought hard.
So he did.
* * *
Artemisia woke before TransitionBell, made Garrett comfortable, did all her tasks, and tidied before the FirstLevel Healers arrived.
Then she gave her report and handed over all the fluid belts and blood vials. The work was tedious, but she kept her goal in the forefront of her mind. She was participating in a project that might find a cure for the Iasc sickness. And she was ensuring her place on the staff of Primary HealingHall.
As minutes ticked to TransitionBell, they watched Garrett, and though his condition deteriorated, when the dawn came, he still lived.
The crises happened in the middle of the next day.
* * *
The trip would never end. He knew that now. He would be trapped, forever driving the sick and dying.
His eyes hurt. Hell, all of him hurt. He gripped the steering stick hard, peering through the thick fog before him.
Had there been fog before?
There was now, and ever would be. He was stuck.
And Dinni stood before him, sad faced as she so rarely was, tears dribbling down her cheeks and dripping into the mist with the scent of sickness, death, despair. She cradled and rocked her child—her dead baby son. She was too pale. One last inclination of her head and she turned from him.
He knew she’d walk away, as she’d always walked away from him, and disappear into the mist. He didn’t think he could bear it.
“Dinni! Stay with me!” he yelled with all his might. He reached for her.
But she didn’t listen and vanished.
He gave up and let the sickness take him.
* * *
Artemisia had been napping—septhours had begun to seem like weeks and she’d lost track of time—and awoke to thready mews and cold.
Too cold, especially for Garrett, who had been nearly steaming with fever.
She hopped from bed and flinched through the two decontamination shields to find a bare Garrett huddled in fetal position, face gray and sheened, shivering. His Fam was perched on his hip, also curled tightly.
“TQ, raise the heat, fifteen degrees now!” She yanked linens over him, found a blanket and a comforter, and piled them on him, but didn’t think it would be enough. “What were you thinking to cool the room?”
“I was so ordered,” grumbled TQ.
“And your orders are not necessary,” said Ura Heather from the sitting room door. “The room was too warm for the patient.”
“The temperature was fine! Now it’s far too cold!” Artemisia repeated, warming a scarf and putting it on Garrett’s head. Still not enough.
Her gaze focused on the machine next to the FirstLevel Healer, an experimental med-tech. It was a thin, meter-high domed metal construct with two spindly arms ending in tri-pincers, and an extruded antenna. A light blinked green. “Warning! This unit’s previous recommendation to reduce the temperature in the patient’s room is not being implemented! Cooling must take place. Waiting for confirmation from FirstLevel Healer to drop forcefields so unit can enter the Healing area. Warning, the room must be cooled,” it said in a tinny voice.
“No!” Artemisia countermanded. “TQ, keep raising the temperature. Primross is too chilled.”
Nothing for it, she’d resort to basic body heat and body-to-body warming spells. She stripped and flung her clothes on the floor. Crawled between the linens. They were cold.
Quickly, quickly lift! Garrett and the kitten floated. And
warm! She warmed the bedsponge beneath. Nice, toasty.
She lowered the two and spooned around Garrett. His skin was clammy, but he felt like he belonged with her.
“TQ, follow the recommendations of the med-tech,” Heather said. “It’s not that cold in here.”
“The temperature in the sitting room is twenty-two degrees Celsius,” TQ said.
“You see!” Heather said. “Stop the heat!”
“Warning, the temperature in the adjoining room is too high for good health. Warning. Warning,” the machine said.
“The temperature in the master bedroom is thirteen degrees Celsius,” TQ said.
“What!” Ura Heather slapped her hand on the top of the small machine.
“Perhaps the med-tech’s readings are wrong due to the forcefields,” Artemisia mumbled. She shivered against Garrett, spending Flair profligately to heat him.
His breathing stuttered. Wrapping her arms around him, she squeezed. I need you to fight! she snapped, aloud and telepathically. FIGHT!
Twelve
Garrett heard the command. It wasn’t Dinni, but he sensed the need came from someone with a claim on him. More sounds—a small animal whimpering, shivering. Another need he must fill.
But he was so cold.
Let the sleet take him. Follow Dinni down that foggy path.
FIGHT!
He was tired of fighting.
Something bit his ear. Ouch! Warm blood trickled down it, and then the cold faded and the rain and sleet and ice and fog stopped and bright primary colors swarmed behind his eyelids.
Warmth. He shuddered. His muscles were all bunched together and warm was becoming hot. Groaning, he straightened his legs. Sighed as they felt better, as a small furred shape snuggled near his chest, just right. Sighed again as the heat behind him lessened as a mass moved away.
Covers settled around him. He was on a bedsponge. He’d made it to the clinic. He’d need to wake soon to check on Dinni, but for now he’d take a little sleep. He could do that, set an alarm in his brain to wake him in a few septhours. Dinni was in good hands.
Doom hovered, and he knew when he woke he would face rending teeth, but darkness tugged at him, offering sweet relief, and he let it suck him into sleep.
* * *
Artemisia crawled from Garrett’s bed, bent to pick up her clothes. She let her hair fall over her face until she could control her seething anger so it wouldn’t show in her expression. Her fingers trembled as she dressed. She knew why FirstLevel Healer Heather had brought the med-tech. To care for Garrett instead of Artemisia.
There had been talk of Flair-tech mechanical servers to replace Healer assistants and low-level Healers. No doubt the FirstLevel Healer thought she might combine two experiments in one, make more efficient use of funds.
A soulless consideration that might have had terrible consequences.
Self-preservation and confrontation avoidance warred with fury that the Healer would take such a risk at this time.
“I—” she began, but her throat was so clogged with ire that she barely heard herself. She pulled in a large breath and marshaled her wits.
“I’ve silenced the med-tech. Report on the patient, Turquoise House,” Heather said.
“He is breathing well again,” TQ said.
“What! He’d stopped?” the older Healer demanded.
“Yes.” Artemisia’s face was hot and tight, but expressionless, she hoped. Keeping her voice equally impassive, she continued, “Perhaps this isn’t the right project with which to test a med-tech.”
“I agree,” TQ said austerely. “After I followed your insistent instructions to cool the room, GentleSir Primross stopped breathing. Since I have mitigated the chill in the room, GentleSir Primross’s heartbeat is no longer slow and erratic, and his body temperature is acceptable.”
Artemisia sucked in another cleansing breath. Her anger had made her alert. But what was done was done, and she was sure that the FirstLevel Healer wouldn’t press the matter further. Nothing to be gained by pointing out her error.
“That’s good to hear, TQ.” Artemisia kept her tone mild. She looked at the med-tech machine. Its arms and antenna were down, its light off. Poor, stupid piece of junk.
“TQ, do you think that the decontamination and forcefields skewed the med-tech’s readings?” she asked.
“I think the med-tech machine is not as close to completion as many believe. It is obviously a thing without true intellect. I was not informed that it might be used during this project and do not approve. Nor will I accept any further instructions based upon its recommendations. Not enough study has been done for the thing to be used in real-life trials,” TQ said. “Especially one as delicate as this.”
Ura Heather’s roundish face flushed and she banged a fist on the machine. “Defective thing.” She narrowed her eyes as if in warning when she met Artemisia’s gaze. “I will leave you to your regular duties and teleport back to Primary HealingHall. I don’t think this small incident needs to be reported to anyone else, does it, SecondLevel Healer?”
Garrett kicked aside the covers, stretched, and rolled over. His color was healthy; Artemisia sensed he was in an almost natural sleep. The fever would return, but for now they had a respite. “No, FirstLevel Healer.”
“I also expect you to be discreet, Turquoise House.” Heather and the machine disappeared before TQ could respond.
“I’m sorry, Artemisia,” TQ whispered. “I was interested in the med-tech machine. I should not have listened to it or obeyed the FirstLevel Healer’s instructions.”
Artemisia let her weak knees fold her onto the bedsponge. “No lasting harm done, TQ?”
“I will do a full scan.”
Artemisia nodded and rearranged the covers again, then glanced at the timer and saw it was NoonBell. Three cats slept on the windowsill of the bedroom, and beyond in the grassyard lounged the rest of Garrett’s ragtag band.
“No, Artemisia, no lasting harm was done to Garrett.”
“That’s good.”
“From my studies of the Iasc sickness, it seems this might have been the main crisis for Garrett and the sickness will progress more smoothly?”
“Perhaps, but there could very well be more than one crisis.”
“I will watch him very closely.”
“I’m sure you will. So will we all.” She stretched. “What you need to recall, TQ, is . . .”
“Yes?”
“You don’t mind me giving you advice?”
“Please do, Artemisia.”
“Many Nobles aren’t accustomed to personal failure, so sometimes they ignore risks,” she ended softly. She was all too aware that bad things could happen, that personal failure could be inflicted from outside forces.
“I will remember that, Artemisia.”
“Our main goal is to keep Garrett Primross safe, our secondary goal is to observe him and study his blood to help find a cure for the Iasc sickness. Anything else is of minor importance.”
“I will not allow anything to threaten him again,” TQ said.
“Good.”
“And I will not allow anything to threaten you, either.”
Artemisia managed to curve her lips, but shrugged. That wasn’t in TQ’s power. She did know that she’d have to step carefully with regard to Ura Heather.
* * *
Again the fragrance of hidden forests teased his nostrils. He was aware of floating free. Shouldn’t he be doing something? Driving?
No, he’d made it to the clinic. Dinni was in good Healers’ hands. This was a dream and he could go where he pleased.
With that thought he found himself liberated from the endless trip and struggle. No longer spring, it was full, hot summer and he was walking toward rusty iron gates that framed a secret garde
n. A cool turquoise pool beckoned, since he was beginning to get hot again.
Maybe if he reached it, the fever would not come.
Lovely thought.
He shifted his shoulders. He wore a fighting harness more appropriate for an arena sword bout—yeah, his longsword was angled across his back, and a blazer at his hip—than for traveling or guarding a merchant. Or being a private investigator, which he was now.
But hadn’t someone demanded he fight?
Yeah, he remembered that.
And he remembered he’d have to.
But not until he got a peek at the garden.
The wonderful fragrance wrapped around him again and spun him away.
* * *
Near MidAfternoonBell during the third day, Garrett went completely still. It took a minute for Artemisia, nearly dozing in her chair, to realize his breathing had quieted, he no longer thrashed. She leapt up, papyrus medical records falling out of her lap, and lunged toward Garrett.
For an instant her breath stopped as she thought he’d died. A crushing sense of loss pervaded her. Worse than when she was a teenager and her Family had lost everything.
His face dribbled sweat, but when she put her hand on his cheek, it was cool. Breath fast, she moved her hand to his heart. The strong and steady thump reassured her.
Then his eyes opened and a piercing gaze pinned her. His hand covered hers. She said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m not Dinni.”
“I know that.” His voice was low and raspy. “The lovely Artemisia Panax, SecondLevel Healer.”
“You are awake and aware!” TQ said joyfully. “You have survived the sickness once again.”
Garrett grunted. “Guess so.” He tried to lever himself up and Artemisia put her arm behind his back and helped. He was a big and muscular man and she used Flair.
“I have informed the FirstLevel Healers,” TQ said. “GrandLord T’Heather and Ura Heather and Lark Holly are arriving.”
“Great,” Garrett muttered.
“And I will initiate the celebratory actions.”
“Huh?” Once again Garrett looked Artemisia in the eyes. She shrugged.
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