Chapter 31
T he next two weeks pass in a blur. By the time we dock, I hardly have the mental capacity to recall the name of the town we’ve docked in, despite Nolan telling me multiple times.
It doesn’t really matter where we are anyway.
The Seer resides in a small tin house on the outskirts of town, close to the edge of the forest. In fact, the edge of the forest seems to be unaware of its own boundaries, bushes and undergrowth encroaching on the foundation of the shack.
When we knock, there’s an echo against the metal and a shuffle of feet before the door creaks open. The face of a man appears, forehead crowded with dark brown wrinkles. He looks to be in his nineties, if not older.
“What’s your business?” he asks, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.
“We heard a Seer lived here,” says Nolan.
“That would be me,” says the elderly man, widening the door and gesturing us to come in. “Now, what do you two expect from us here?”
“My wife is with child,” explains Nolan.
“Ah,” says the Seer. “And let me guess. You were wondering whether or not you have an heir brewing in there.”
I frown. I forget sometimes that in kingdoms other than Estelle, it is still not the common practice to leave an inheritance to daughters.
“Indeed,” says Nolan, voice gruff. But we agreed before we got here not to mention the true reason for wanting to know if we were having a daughter or a son.
The Seer grunts in disapproval, but he pads and shuffles across his small house all the same, leading me to a bathroom.
The house itself is neatly kept, mostly bare.
If the Seer makes much coin from his profession, he certainly doesn’t spend it on his home.
There’s a stove with a chimney chute on one end of the room, a bed neatly made on the other, and a bookcase on the far wall.
Other than that, the house itself is fairly sparse.
When we make it to the back room, there’s even less decoration there. Only a bed in the center of the room with a single sheet draped limply over it, and a countertop topped with an assortment of vials and tools.
“Lay down there, then,” he says, nodding toward the bed.
I glance at Nolan, who squeezes my hand. A silent I won’t let anything happen to you. I slip over to the bed and lie down on it, thankful at least that the Seer has not required me to remove my clothing.
From the counter, the elderly man produces a dagger. Nolan immediately flinches, and the old man looks at him.
“Don’t worry, lad,” he says. “I wouldn’t be in business if I had a habit of killing my patrons, now would I?”
“No, I suppose not,” says Nolan, but the way he’s glancing around the bare room and back into the main room makes me wonder if we’re thinking the same thing. This man’s business does not appear to be thriving, habits of killing patrons notwithstanding.
Nolan stays by my side, positioning himself between me and the Seer, just in case.
The Seer hobbles toward me, blade in one hand, a bowl in the other.
“Which hand do you favor?” he asks.
“The right,” I say.
The Seer nods and gestures with his head toward my left hand. I swallow and clench my fist. The old man appears mildly exasperated.
“Don’t fret. I don’t intend to take any limbs,” he says, though he glances at Nolan’s hook as if he had not considered his present company before those words came out of his mouth.
“You’ll forgive us if we’re slightly suspicious,” says Nolan.
“Yes, I suppose I would be, too,” says the Seer. “What did you do to deserve that one?”
Nolan and I glance at each other, and the Seer chuckles.
“Don’t fret, dear. It’ll just be a little cut,” the Seer says, his voice oddly reassuring. “I trust that whatever inspired you to maim your husband, I have no such inclinations.”
I blush and offer my hand out. He takes it in his weathered, paper-soft hands, positioning it over the bowl, which he balances between his hip and the side of the bed.
Pain surges as he digs the edge of the blade into my palm, but he removes the dagger quickly, allowing the slick red blood to seep down into the bowl.
“A little assistance?” he asks Nolan, then hands him the dagger. “You’ll find a wipe on the counter.”
Nolan hesitates, but sidles over to the counter, keeping his eyes cut toward us the entire time. The old man bandages my hand, still keeping the bowl balanced between his hip and the bed, though it does shake a little.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask.
“Long enough,” he says, then takes the bowl and hobbles back over to the counter.
“What’s the blood for?” asks Nolan.
“When a mother carries a child,” says the Seer, “a hint of the child’s blood mingles with the mother’s. The blood itself holds the code to the child’s sex. One only has to know what to mix with the blood.”
He hums to himself, finding a vial full of liquid no different from the color of my blood.
“If the blood contains the code for the child’s sex, would it not contain the code for the mother’s also?” asks Nolan.
“Clever thinking,” says the Seer. “But depending on what we see here, I’ll still be able to tell. If the blood reacts with my mixture, if it turns to a different color, we’ll know the child is a boy,” he says. “If there’s no change, then the blood has the same code as the mother’s.”
“I see,” I say, understanding.
The Seer nods and pours the mixture into the bowl.
“Best for the two of you not to watch,” he says. “Makes the reaction take longer.”
“That doesn’t seem very scientific,” says Nolan.
“Yes, well, I’m not a scientist, am I? I’m a Seer,” says the old man.
Nolan grumbles something. I flex the fingers of my left hand, feeling the pulsing ache at my palm.
“It’s okay. I don’t want to look anyway,” I tell Nolan.
Nolan nods, but then pauses, his gaze transfixed on the Seer. “How do we know you won’t lie to us?”
The Seer looks at Nolan as if he’s stupid. “Other than simply being cruel, what incentive would I have to do that?”
Nolan and I glance at each other.
“We’ve been deceived before,” I explain. “I had an apothecary swindle me. Peddle me what she insisted was a contraceptive.”
The Seer glances at our hands, finding the wedding bands. Where I expect him to look confused, he simply appears all the more curious.
“It’s uncommon,” he says, “for the married to wish to prevent a child, especially at first. Though I do sometimes service married women with too many mouths to feed. But the two of you…” he says, looking at both of us. “Well, you look fairly well fed, don’t you?”
“Is that a question?” asks Nolan.
“Just making conversation,” says the old man. But he continues, “If you’ve been swindled in the past, then I can understand your skepticism. So why don’t you look for yourself?”
He tips the bowl over. Nolan, still standing, sees the contents first. His face stills.
“What is it?” I ask, though I get the feeling I already know.
The Seer tips the bowl over toward me. Inside is a swirling golden liquid that doesn’t look like blood at all.
“Congratulations, young lady,” he says. “You’re bearing your husband an heir.”