Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(23)

“How dare this woman—” the old guy began and Kat shoved herself to Achilles’ side.

“She’s a healer,” Kat told Achilles.

“I am a healer!” the old man sputtered in outrage.

“No, you’re a quack. And one with dirty hands,” Jacky said.

Kat ignored both of them and focused on Achilles. “She’s been given special knowledge by Athena.”

The old man rounded on Kat. “And who are you?”

“Athena’s oracle and Achilles’ war-prize bride,” Kat said smoothly.

“Athena’s oracle is a war prize! Bah! What game is this? Do you think Kalchas, soothsayer and prophet of the Achaians, would not know of the arrival of a divine oracle?”

Odysseus cleared his throat. “Kalchas, my old friend, we’ve just returned from the Goddess’s presence. Athena did, indeed, gift Achilles with Polyxena, who she has proclaimed her oracle.”

Kalchas narrowed his rheumy eyes. “You say you saw Athena yourself?”

“That is what I say.”

“And I say you have always been a better prophet than healer, Kalchas,” Achilles’ deep voice silenced everyone. “Polyxena’s servant will heal Patroklos. That is if my cousin has no argument with it.”

The bleeding guy’s voice was good humored. The sound of it made Kat glance over at Patroklos and she saw that he was cute, young and very, very blond. “I bow to your will, cousin,” he said, and then he flashed white teeth at Jacky, adding, “And, of course, to the will of the gods and my beautiful healer.”

“Good. I’ll need this mess”—Jacky held up the filthy needle—

“boiled. I’ll also need—” She paused and Kat was sure she was discarding words like “disinfectant” and “penicillin.”

“I’ll need the strongest alcohol you have.”

The men blinked at Jacky, faces question marks.

Kat turned to Achilles and touched his arm, noting but not reacting to the fact that his body twitched under her hand like a skittish horse. “She means the strongest drink you have. Something that gets men drunk easily.”

Achilles looked at Odysseus. “Didn’t you say that vile drink Idomeneus brought with him from Crete would take the hair off a hound?”

Odysseus smiled. “I did indeed. Idomeneus owes me a favor.” He turned his smile on Jacky. “Rest assured, I’ll get you your strong drink, little Melia.” He jogged off in the direction of the rest of the Greek camp.

“What else does she need?” Achilles asked Kat.

“I need thin, clean linen strips,” Jacky said as if he had been speaking to her. Kat noticed that Achilles’ wide mouth twitched up at one edge in just the hint of a smile, and he addressed his next question directly to Jacky.

“Anything else, little Melia?”

“Something to numb the pain,” Jacky said, barely glancing over her shoulder at Achilles as she continued her examination of the nasty wound. “Like, uh, the juice of the poppy, maybe.”

“I thought that was what the strong drink was for,” Patroklos said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to pretend like her poking and prodding wasn’t causing him excruciating pain.

“No, and hold still. The drink is to clean this out. By the by, what cut you?”

“Who cut me is the better question. Ajax did,” Patroklos said, and then couldn’t help wincing as she prodded the wound too deeply.

Achilles snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t get your arm and your fool head cut off sparring with Ajax.”

Patroklos started to shrug, caught Jacky’s severe look, and obviously thought better of it. “He’s bigger than me, but he’s not as fast.”

“Looks like he was fast enough,” Jacky said. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Achilles again. “Is someone going to get me that stuff, or are we just going to let him bleed to death?”

“Get the healer everything she asks for,” Achilles commanded, and several men took off.

It didn’t take but a few minutes for everything to be assembled. Soon, much too soon for Kat’s stomach, the needle and thread had been boiled, and Patroklos had been dosed with something that looked and smelled like cough syrup. He’d also taken several gulps of the “vile drink” Odysseus had fetched, so he was bleary eyed and happy, and Jacky was currently giving her the look—the one Kat had dreaded—and motioning her to “come here.”

Kat sighed and walked over to her.

“Yes, you have to help me,” Jacky told her.

“You know I’m crappy at this blood stuff. Can’t you get the old guy to help you?”

“No, he scuttled off when I started boiling the needle. I think he’s allergic to clean. You’re it.” Jacky handed her a wad of clean linen. “Just blot the blood while I sew. It’s easy.”

“It’s disgusting, and I may puke.”

“You’re a shrink. That’s kinda like a doctor. I don’t know how you can get queasy at the sight of blood.”

“Hello—I treat people with emotional wounds. The only blood a shrink deals with is metaphoric.”

“You two have an odd type of speech,” Patroklos slurred at them.