Dusk (8)

04/14/2015 § Leave a comment

A silence, in the wake of the justiciar’s leave. No sound but the crackling of hearthfire, and the deep, still-ragged breathing of the patient. The exile. Enis takes advantage of the quiet to think, and to finish her cup of wine at leisure.

She is just beginning to feel the effects of the wine, three cups of piss-poor red, when Jamie asks for her attention.



“Instructions for the patient’s care?”

“Ah. Yes.”

The Watcher, who has kept his own silence, wordlessly gazing at the exile, looks up at that.

“Watcher—Lowe, is it?”

He nods.

“Keep the room heated. You’ll want to have someone regularly check on the drain. Little blood is normal, as is clear fluid. Send for me if there is green pus, or if the flesh becomes inflamed and begins to smell.”

She gives him a moment to absorb the details.

“You may move him to one of the beds here, once he awakens. He will be in a great deal of pain when he does. You may need to restrain him. I would prefer to keep him sleeping with milk of poppy, but I imagine the justiciar… will be eager to carry out his duties. So I will send my apprentice tomorrow, with something for his pain.”

Watcher Lowe nods, slowly. His eyes fall to the exile, lingers on the wounds, the thin brass pipe jutting out of the lower one for draining. Then he looks back at her. “Thank you, doctor,” he says at length. “I thought him dead, when he… went out in my arms. I know little about the healing arts, but I have seen enough men die to know, that what you have done here… ”

She finds herself able to smile. “A strange thing, is it not? That we can ward off death with sticks and knives.”

“It seemed such an… injustice, for a man to survive an exile only to die at the gates.”

Her turn to nod.

“What do you know of the… assassin?”

The Watcher turns his head and spits on the floor.

“A stubborn bastard. Not a word since he woke up. Despite, ah, our best efforts.”

“Will he require my expertise, as well?”

A barb in that question, more reflex than intent.

“No, I think not.” The Watcher’s expression is something between a grimace and a smirk. “My comrades are… knowledgeable, at administering pain without doing harm.”

“Ah. I see.” A pause. She stands up from the stool, receives the leather bag with her tools from Jamie. “We will take our leave, too, then.”


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