27. Sam A Lesson #2
“I appreciate your candor,” Wister said gravely, as they reached the oak tree for a second time, and she doubled back without pausing.
In the near distance, the waves crashed against the cliffs.
“These attacks are not trivial. You needn’t credit the attacker’s words to recognize their true meaning: there is genuine hatred in these messages.
When I saw them yesterday, I understood that I’d need to teach you, regardless of any other circumstance. You have need for greater defenses.”
Clem squinted at Wister, blocking her eyes with her hand. “Tell me then—how were you able to see them?”
Wister removed the violet spectacles that rested on her prominent nose and dangled them in the air. “If you’ve read Stewart, you will have learned about residues. Do you remember how he describes them?”
“He says,” Clem panted, “he could see. Spectral shapes. When he got back. Like thumbprints in wax.”
“That’s correct. Stewart has many flaws, but he describes the residues well.
” Wister put the spectacles back on. “They’re not ghosts so much as ghostly impressions, of the living and the dead.
Fleeting images of things that have occurred, sentiments that have passed through.
Strong sentiments leave strong impressions.
For most enchanters, as far as I know, they vanish a few days after returning from the realm.
For me, they’ve never left. The spectacles help diminish them, so they appear only as auras.
Otherwise I would have difficulty navigating even the most ordinary spaces.
At Keel House there are more than a dozen such specters, mostly innocuous and a few quite disturbing—all of them distracting.
In this way, I can see the violence wrought against your back and arms; the malevolence of the enchanter hangs about them like a miasma. ”
They had reached the house at last, and Clem sank down on the doorstep.
“Good,” Wister said. “Your legs will be aching tomorrow, but they’ll get stronger. You may remove the greaves.”
Clementine unbuckled the greaves with evident relief. She stretched her legs out. “Why? Why have the residues never left?”
Wister smiled, this time without any irony. “I’ve come to accept it; in fact, I almost don’t mind. Shall we mend your arms and back? I know enough medical enchantment to make you much more comfortable.”
“So then you also practice illegally?”
“When the law is wrong, disobedience is just.” Her eyes gleamed as she gestured to the doorway. “Come.”
Wister led Clementine toward the ironing room.
Clothes hung on hooks from the ceiling to capture the hot steam that swirled up from the stove.
Four long ironing tables stood against the walls, each equipped with its own iron and piled high with garments.
The room reminded me powerfully of my mother’s ironing room, though hers was smaller and had only one table.
A stout young woman, with brown hair tied up in blue ribbons, stood at one of the tables ironing a gingham shirt. It was Gertie. She glanced curiously at Clem and Wister as they entered the room, her slightly pointed nose and sharp black eyes giving her the appearance of an inquisitive mouse.
“Gertie, we need a warm space for undressing.”
Gertie looked Clem up and down. “Oh, I see. It is a bit of a mess, love,” she said sympathetically. “That hem. Next time bring it to me and I’ll wash it up for you.”
Clem looked down at herself.
Wister chuckled. “No, Gertie. I need to mend some injuries on her back and arms.”
Gertie’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Oh! Don’t start without me! Please wait just one moment!” Putting down her iron abruptly, she dashed out of the room.
“I’m afraid we’ll have an audience,” Wister said.
Clementine carefully unbuttoned her sleeves and dress front.
She pulled the blue fabric off by the neckline, letting it hang about her waist. The sound of clattering footsteps in the corridor made her pause.
Gertie burst back into the room, blue ribbons flying, with another woman close on her heels.
“Meg and I want to watch,” Gertie exclaimed.
“Can we, please? Oh, please, Wister?” She was wringing her hands anxiously.
Meg, taller and younger than Gertie, with wide eyes and a mischievous grin, took in Clementine at a glance. “You don’t look injured,” she said cheerfully.
“I don’t object if the patient doesn’t object,” Wister said tolerantly. “Clementine, they are interested in the enchantment, not in your injuries, if that makes the scrutiny easier to bear.”
Gertie turned her entreaties to Clementine. “Oh please, Clementine. It’s so tremendously difficult to find opportunities to observe Wister practicing medical enchantment.”
“Because it’s illegal for me to do so,” Wister said drily.
“This is Meg,” Gertie continued, as if Wister hadn’t spoken, “and I’m Gertie, officially christened Margaret and Gertrude, though if you call me Gertrude, I may not answer, for I despise the name.
We are both women of the utmost discretion, or I am, anyway; Meg is merely forgetful, so you may count on her not to whisper a word about anything of significance.
May we please observe as Wister heals your wounds?
” She clasped her hands together in a desperate manner and smiled winningly.
Clementine smiled back. “I don’t object.”
“You are very kind!” Gertie made a kind of curtsy, and without further preamble stepped forward to help Clementine with her chemise. “I’ll help you with this. I have great experience removing chemises.”
“Not in the way you think,” Meg said, winking.
“The thing you should know about Meg,” Gertie said, untroubled, lifting the chemise gently over Clem’s head, “is that she will always say the thing that everyone else is thinking and no one else is saying. That means she will make many rude and provocative comments, but she will also occasionally proffer something useful and true.”
Meg grinned, and then, as Clementine’s cuts came into view, her grin faded. “Those are very ugly,” she said.
“You see.” Gertie frowned. “Proving my point.” She put the chemise aside gently and regarded Clem with horrified admiration. “They really are,” she whispered.
Wister stepped closer to look at Clementine’s back.
In fact, the cuts looked much better than they had initially, thanks to the solution provided by Livia.
But one or two of the fading letters had a swollen, festering aspect.
I turned my attention resolutely to Meg and Gertie, who were at least amusing in their respective fascination and horror.
“It appears we are just in time,” Wister said quietly. “I don’t like the look of this one.”
“It has been hurting anew since yesterday,” Clem admitted.
“What have you been putting on them?”
“A solution given to me by a spirit thew.”
Wister stared. “Why would a thew give you such a thing?”
“She’s Professor Throckmorton’s thew, and the professor looks kindly upon me. He took me on as a research assistant during my short time at Commonwealth.”
“Interesting.” Leaning down close to the cuts on Clem’s arm, Wister removed her violet-tinted glasses. “The solution appears to have spared you from what would have been grievous injuries. There’s some poison working its way through into the skin.”
I felt a stab of fury at the villain who had done this to her.
“What are you going to do?” Gertie whispered urgently to Wister.
“First I’m going to ask Clem to sit down,” Wister said, pulling a stool out into the middle of the room. “And then we’ll attend to the back. Clem, if you would lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees.”
Clementine complied. Meg and Gertie huddled on either side of Wister.
“The key to medical enchantment is a proper knowledge of anatomy,” Wister said, peering down at the injuries. “Once you know the body well, repairing torn flesh is no different from fixing a broken plate. Only instead of a relic, we use bone.”
“Where do you get the bone?” Meg asked, with ghoulish fascination. “A plundered grave?”
Wister snorted. “The Salem hospital. I know a nurse there. I don’t need much. Healing does not consume bone the way darker magics do. She sources me the unwanted amputations.”
“Ugh.” Gertie shuddered.
“Amazing,” Meg breathed.
Wister placed a fingertip on Clem’s shoulder, tracing a square around the cuts disfiguring Clementine’s skin. Gertie gasped. I hazarded a glance, just in time to see the last suppurating cut fading.
“You left scars,” Meg said, pointing.
“I didn’t leave scars,” Wister retorted. “The miscreant who made these did. What I’ve done here only hastens the healing; it doesn’t undo the damage the injuries caused.”
“I don’t care about scars,” Clem said, straightening up in her chair. “Thank you. The pain is entirely gone.”
“The arms now,” Wister said, walking around her. Gertie and Meg shuffled around also, each leaning unabashedly close. “A little more room, please.” They each shifted back an inch. As Wister examined Clem’s arms, she frowned. “What does this say?”
With visible reluctance, Clem stacked her arms so that the words became legible.
“ ‘Two days…stones’?” Gertie read. “What does that mean?”
Clem stared down at the crude writing. “I’m not sure. The message was interrupted.”
I sent her a strong sense of warning mixed with indignation. Of course she knew! Had not Maxwell just told her exactly what the message meant?
“Maybe a designation?” Meg asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
“Don’t be absurd,” Wister said. “It is clearly a threat. Something will happen involving stones…today. This was written two days ago.” She was staring hard at Clem, who glanced up briefly to meet her eyes but said nothing.
“I think that when I’m done with these arms, I should make a protective casting. Does that seem warranted?”
I sent a rush of approval. Clem nodded. “Yes. I suppose that would be wise.”