Chapter 24 #2
Chiron glances at Florentius, who’s hovering behind me. “Are you here to plead for him too?”
Florentius glances at me and lifts his chin. “I’d hoped he’d be leaving.” Tough nut to crack, this one. “Perhaps the prospect of the Crucible will change his mind?”
“Hardly. I’m not leaving until you’ve admitted you like me.”
He huffs, cheeks flaring with colour. “Rather wither away in the Crucible? You’re smarter than that.”
“See, you can be nice. You think I’m smart.”
Chiron halts our ‘nonsense’ and escorts me swiftly up the stairs and along the balcony.
Beyond the dark archway is a cluttered, dust-covered room with a stove and bench, a mat for sleeping, shelves crammed with jars, and a long, sturdy table big enough to hold a body.
Chiron ushers me inside. “Chamber pots behind that screen.”
I take a reluctant step into the room and the temperature immediately drops. I shiver and breathe in stale air with the mouldy taste of decaying herbs.
And I thought my windowless cell was bad.
“An intriguing case came to my attention last month,” Chiron says.
“Took me three days to figure it out—” He glances past me and I turn to look—a body on a stretcher of ice, carried by a team of aklos.
“Place the body on the table there. You may return in an hour.” They’re quick to leave, their footsteps fading as my gaze fixes on the preserved body—male, covered to his armpits in a white sheet. Folded clothing is stacked beside him.
“Investigate the corpse quickly—I suggest you write extensive notes; once the body is removed, I’ll seal you in here.”
I swallow. “The correct curative will open the barrier?”
Chiron nods. “How long it takes is up to you.”
“Can anyone else come in?”
“No living thing can enter, unless you or I unlock it.”
“No living thing . . . so, dead things?”
“Inanimate things can pass the barrier. How else do you think you’ll be fed? The chamber pots removed?”
“Wonderful.” I push back my sleeves and pointedly focus my attention on the body.
“With your limited education, you may be in here many months.”
“Mm.”
“You’ll fall behind. The winter examination will be virtually impossible for you.”
I steady my panicky breath and smile.
Chiron grunts. “As you wish.” He fishes out a roll of parchment from his cloak and passes it to me. “This is the wife’s statement of her husband’s doings before his death.”
I peel back the sheet covering the body. The man is in his late thirties. His arms and chest are blue, the skin shimmering and cracked. I shield my fingers and feel the smooth surface, the evenness of the cracks. They form a pattern. Scales.
I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life. A man, turning into a . . . fish?
I seep magic into him, reading the state of his insides. His blood has coagulated deep purple, heavier than it should be. Something inside it stopped oxygen flowing through his body. I jot down my findings.
Suffocation.
But what caused it?
How could his death have been prevented?
Before I’m ready, Chiron is back and ordering aklos to return the body to the ice cellars. The hour has passed. “Wait. There are more tests—”
“You’ve had time.”
“Can I have his clothes at least?”
Begrudgingly, Chiron leaves me with the victim’s clothing and backstory, and seals the archway.
I call up a spell, just for the common cold, to test on the barrier. The archway lights up crimson as it absorbs the spell and I try ramming through it, shoulder first.
I massage my aching arm, shaking my head. It’s like an invisible wall. Quin!
So creative. I swat the barrier. Wait till I get out.
But by that time who knows what would’ve happened in the royal city? Tomorrow, the high duke might prevail over the king.
My stomach drops; in a panic, I throw a complex-medius spell at the barrier and try pounding my way through it again. Eventually I’m forced to retreat, defeated, to the desk. My body aches, mind spinning.
Nicostratus will be there. He can fight. He will protect his brother.
The masks should help hide the identities of their military supporters. Save them when Quin’s uncle fails.
If his uncle fails.
I rub at the tightness in my chest and breathe in deeply. If, if Quin and Nicostratus get hurt, Chiron and the other gold-sash mages will help them. They’re the best in the kingdom, and they’ll be at the gala.
I close my eyes on the now-empty table in front of me. Focus on figuring this out. The lemon was only an excuse. Quin sent me here to challenge me.
A scuffing outside the archway has me jerking my head up. I eye the red-haired boy standing outside and the meats and pickled vegetables on the plate he carries. “You’re bringing me breakfast?”
“Isn’t it lovely?” He sets the plate on the floor and pushes it through the barrier. “Shall I pass on your thanks?”
I blink at the plate and a smile tugs at my lips. Only one person would use someone else to sneak me some food. With an amused tut-tut-tutting I pick up the plate and pop a slice of meat into my mouth.
After hours spent crafting spells for every imaginable skin ailment, I slump on a stool, scowling at the scribbled chaos of my notes and ideas. A sharp, enthusiastic throat-clearing pulls me from my thoughts. I glance up to see Makarios and Mikros standing at the archway.
I eye the two. Smart and Smarter might also have been good names for them. In fact, if I can use their knowledge to my advantage, I might solve this in half the time.
Maybe in time to be at the gala.
I give them a rundown of the case. “Here’s what’s curious.
The wife states they were both healthy when they left home.
When their carriage broke down, they were forced to continue their journey on foot and spent four nights in the woods.
They camped under the same trees, washed in the same rivers, ate the same meals: roasted fish, wild mushroom soup. ”
“You suspect something poisoned him?”
I hum. “Except the wife is fine.” I scan over her statement. “She said she even ate more of the fish. Her husband took the first bite, and she punished him for it by eating the rest in front of him.”
“You checked the stomach? She could be lying.”
“I thought that, but there was nothing worrisome about the bile. The problem seems to stem from the blood.”
Makarios and Mikros perk up. “Lacerations of the skin?”
“None I could discern under the scales. Or anywhere else on the body.”
“Could it be she was also exposed but is naturally warded?”
“Their blood is compatible. Her body should behave similarly.”
“You’ve asked the right mages.” Mikros gestures to Makarios. “He’s proficient at breaking blood down into its smallest units—his inner scales are the most fine-tuned you’ll ever see, I swear.”
“And Mikros,” Makarios says, “can take those minuscule units of blood and decode all their mysteries. From sickness a patient has had in the past, to what they ate last week.”
Mikros nods. “It all leaves a trace.”
I blink at the two mages and rush out in an amazed whisper, “So you could determine an illness before a patient showed physical signs?”
Grandfather would be astonished. He’d want to know everything. “I want to know everything.”
“It’s perilously close to some forbidden methods,” Makarios warns.
“Not right now, because this case is rather pressing, but we’ve got to talk more about this.
” Over Mikros’s shoulder I spy a set of white robes ascending the stairs and sweeping down the balcony.
I grin. “Makarios, bring everything on blood poisons from the library? Mikros, gather all the herbs related to cleansing the blood.”
They nod and scurry past a suspicious-eyed Florentius.
Florentius turns that tight look on me. “Asking for help is cheating.”
“You all have ideas that can contribute.”
“The solution should come from your own labour.”
I cock my head and study the earnestness of his expression. “Don’t forget the tale of the old man and his mansion.”
At his blank stare, I elaborate. “When his first son is born, the father decides to build a family mansion for his wife and child. It is to be special, perfect, lovingly hand-crafted. But this required him to give up his job. That was fine, he decided. He’d have enough for the perfect house if, meanwhile, his family could live cheaply.
So they moved into a damp shack. Locals came to offer their building skills in return for a small fee, but the father refused.
So first, he had to learn how to cut timber from trees, then how to forge nails, then how to use a hammer, then how to build a foundation—you see.
He refused all help, determined the mansion be crafted by his own hand. ”
“I suppose his family dies before he finishes?”
“From living in the damp shack too long. Then he dies from grief. The mansion never gets done.”
“What are you saying?”
“You call it cheating. I call it saving lives.”
He purses his lips. “Why do I feel your words are full of traps?”
“Do you suddenly feel like helping me?”
He lifts his chin haughtily.
“Asking for your help isn’t trickery, Florentius. It’s the professional thing to do. Let’s not have our kingdom dying of damp while we build our own mansions.”
Makarios and Mikros return with books and a tray of herbs, then drag up stools to sit outside the barrier.
Florentius stands awkwardly at their side, listening as we brainstorm.
I flip through books, noting Florentius’s frown deepening each time I take a book unlikely to help.
Taking his expressions as cues, I rifle through the books until I land on one that has him nodding to himself.
I crack it open to the middle and pause. Then I snap it shut with a sigh. “That one’s no help.”
Florentius makes a strangled sound. “Fool. There’s a template in there for stubborn blood ailments.”
“Different from the others we’ve been discussing?”
“Far superior. It was used during the last plague.”