Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"Me?"

"Yes."

"I know how to apply the dressings and poultices made by those who study it; I don't need more than that." He seemed slightly offended.

"Your pardon," I said. I used my friendly and sincere voice. "I've never entirely understood the relationship between the healing Arts and the Art of the witch, and it has become important that I do. In the Empire it is different. There are certain sorcerers who specialize in ailments of the body, and they are the ones we call physickers. Here, I don't know."

I looked back and forth between Aybrahmis and the witch. They both stood over my bed, both with hands clasped in front of them. Aybrahmis looked like he wanted to ask why it was important, but instead he said, "We cooperate a great deal. If I deem a patient requires some medication, a witch will create it. Also, certain urgent problems are best tended by a witch."

"So then, other than the most urgent things—such as, for example, me—you might enlist the aid of a witch to concoct poultices, medications—"

He nodded.

I kept looking at him. He flushed just the least bit, but didn't say anything. My nod I kept entirely to myself.

I said, "Are you familiar with something called nemaybetesheg?" You'll have to excuse me, but there's no word in the Northwestern tongue for it. My grandfather, however, made certain I knew the Fenarian word for it when he was drilling me for my first visit back here. "Hard for a physicker to cure, but easy for a witch to prevent, Vladimir," he'd said. Sometimes I wonder what he thinks of me.

The physicker's eyes widened. "I, of course I know it. I never thought to ... what makes you think—?"

"I don't," I said. "I don't have it. I just wanted to know if you're familiar with it."

"Well, there are many of them, not just the Sheep Disease as most people think. And, certainly, I know something about it, but why—"

"Does it come up often in your work?"

He frowned. "I don't believe that is an appropriate question."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You look at me like this, and you don't realize that people did this to me? And that they might be willing to again? When I ask a question of you, it is because it relates to my condition, one way or another."

"How could it—?"

"No. I'm not about to tell you, physicker. And you wouldn't want to know anyway."

He thought that over, then nodded and addressed the witch. "I will join you shortly," he said.

"No," I said. "I need to ask him about this, too."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Very well," he said.

I mostly closed my eyes—the old trick of watching someone from under your lashes. You can't see all that well, and it isn't all that convincing a deception. But once in a while it can lull someone into thinking you aren't paying attention. I doubted I would fool Aybrahmis.

"Does it come up often in your work?" I repeated.

"No," he said. "Hardly ever. Once in a while, when a young man goes to the City, or a visitor..." He trailed off. I chuckled. His nostrils flared and he said, "I am not about to give you the names of anyone I have treated."

"I don't need to know," I said. "What I need to know is why."

"Eh?"

"I've been to the Mouse. I've seen the number of girls who hang out there, and I know what they are. How is it you aren't busy day and night with such treatments? Is there another physicker who handles it?"

"There are two others in town who are called on by some to—"

"Does one of them treat this disease among the, ah, the Velvet Ladies, as they're called where I come from by people I don't talk to?"

"Not that I am aware of." He enunciated each word carefully, the way you do when you feel it is beneath your dignity to be answering such questions at all. In Fenarian, the effect is much more pronounced than in Northwestern, because it takes all the flowing musicality out of the language. It was all I could do not to laugh.

"Do you do, ah, something to prevent such diseases? Or check for them?"

"No."

"Does one of your colleagues?"

"Not to my knowledge."

I said, "Then explain to me why such diseases are not a constant problem for you?"

"I don't know," he said. "It has simply never been a problem."

"And you never thought about it?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Merss, but I really think—"

"All right. Thank you. I found what I wanted to."

"Good day, then," he said. "I will see you tomorrow."

And I really had found out what I'd wanted to; I'd been watching the witch the entire time.

After they left, I realized how exhausted I was; but I didn't sleep. I sat there and tried to tie the last loose ends together in my head. I'm not all that good at that sort of thing. I mean, ideas come to me when I'm talking, or hearing things, or seeing things; and when I'm talking to Loiosh sometimes I can figure them out while I'm explaining things to him; but just sitting there trying to calculate how everything connects doesn't come naturally to me.

Still, I made a bit of progress muttering to myself, half out loud. "Well then, if they did that, he must have been doing that, which is why I thought that . . ." And so on. A lot of it came together that way, and the pieces that didn't, even if I didn't know how they fit, I could tell they belonged on the same table.

I was still putting things together when I was interrupted by Loiosh saying into my mind, "No luck so far, Boss. How long do you want me to stay with it?"

" Oh, sorry, chum. Might as well come back now. Should be almost time for food."

"Back to it tonight, or is there something new?"

"I don't know about something new, but no, you won't need to keep looking for Tereza."

"You found her?"

" No . And you won't either. Sorry, I should of told you when I figured it out. She's dead."

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Boraan: My dear, if I have, yet again, accidentally said the one thing that gives yo u the entire solution, I'll... I'll ... Lefitt: Have a drink ? Boraan: Of course .

[Lefitt crosses to liquor cabinet]

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act III, Scene 4

Outside, it was mid-day, and they were hard at work in the mills, and the peasants were doing whatever it is peasants do at this time of year. Digging something, I suppose. The window was open to let the stench in. No, I still wasn't used to it. Well, I don't know, maybe I was; it was bothering me less than it had before. But I didn't have so many, other miseries before. Not complaining, just stating a fact.

I had most of it. That is, I now knew who had been trying to do what, and why they'd done it, and who had been stupid (that was me, in case you're wondering). More, I knew what I could do about it. In general. But you can't implement a plan "in general." And, when you can't move from your sickbed, your options with regards to violence are, let's say, limited.

It was irritating. It seemed like I was so close to being able to deal with it, like I had everything I needed if I could just figure out how to get it started. I needed to kick the thing around with someone, to just have someone to bounce ideas off until the answer settled in. I needed—

Loiosh flew in the window, and before he'd even settled he said, "All right, what happened?"

"Asked some questions, got some answers, made some deductions ."

"Deductions? You're making deductions? I leave you alone for four hours and you start making deductions?"

"I'm trying to find words to describe how funny that is."

"So, going to explain these deductions to me?"

"After that crack, I'm not sure. Besides, I haven't fit everything into place yet."