Flamecaster (Shattered Realms #1)(69)

Ash pushed lightly on the skin and watched with satisfaction as the blood returned. “Have they put anything on it?”

“Some kind of ointment,” the baker said, over his shoulder.

Aloe, probably. That’s what it smelled like.

“I don’t think you’ll have any scarring. Make sure you drink plenty of water. Keep a pitcher by your bed and empty four before the day is over. Eat as much as you can. No alcohol at all for now. If it suddenly seems worse, or there’s any new drainage, or swelling, any fever, get word to me.” Years of training were reasserting themselves. “I’ll be here, instead of the stable, from now on.”

Hamon nodded solemnly, committing the instructions to memory. Ash hesitated, then said, “Hamon, do you know if they found . . . if anyone else was hurt in the fire?”

He was immediately sorry, because the big man teared up again. “I don’t know. I hope not. Nobody told me, if they were.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s all my fault.”

Ash put a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t be sure you had anything to do with the fire. Fires break out all the time, especially in a kitchen, and there were flammables stored in the basement. Maybe you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Maybe,” Hamon said grudgingly. “And you happened to be in the right place. I see you burned your face, rescuing me. I’ll pray to Saint Malthus for you, every night.” Ash’s discomfort grew as the baker went on.

Merrill made them wait another good long time. Finally he returned with a tray and a cloth sack. The tray held numerous small bags and glass bottles. There was also linen for bandaging and small surgical tools.

Ash set the tray down on a table. Then he took the list and ran through the items on the tray, matching them, and putting them into the cloth sack. He uncorked the bottles and sniffed them and tasted some, and opened the drawstring bags, sometimes shaking a bit of dried herb onto his palm. Merrill waited impatiently, clearly annoyed that his new apprentice was rechecking his work. Finally, Ash looked up at Merrill and extended his palm toward him, with a bit of brown, rootlike material.

“This is water hemlock. I asked for chamomile.”

Merrill stared at him, his mouth opening and closing. Then he snatched back the bag. “Those blasted apprentices! I’ll have their hides for this.”

“If you’d like, I can go into the garden and find it,” Ash offered.

The healer furiously shook his head. “I’ll be back.”

“The leaves and flowers, not the root,” Ash called after him.

“What’s water hemlock?” Marc whispered.

“Poison,” Ash replied calmly.

The master healer was quick this time. Ash finished putting his bag together and thanked him.

“We don’t have any rooms to spare, boy,” the master healer warned. “You’ll have to share.”

“That’s all right,” Ash replied. “I’m used to that.” Frankly, he would have felt more at ease in the stable than in the palace, between the Darian brother and his hostile new master. “My name is Adam,” he added, with little hope that Merrill would ever actually use it.

Merrill ignored him. “You can bring your things over any time. You’ll be sharing with Harold and Boyd. I’ll expect you to be ready to work this afternoon.”

“I don’t really have anything to bring. I can start to work now.”

“As you wish,” Merrill said. “You can start in the garden, since you fancy yourself an expert at telling one plant from another.”





24


AN EARLY MORNING SUMMONS


Ash shared a tiny room in back of the extraction laboratory with two other apprentices, both much younger than him. Harold and Boyd seemed surprised to be teamed with someone who was nearly grown. Over a period of days, as they realized how knowledgeable he was, they began turning to him for guidance when they had a question. Merrill wasn’t much of a teacher. He seemed to be threatened by anyone with a smattering of talent or skill.

Ash was happy to help them, but only when Merrill wasn’t around.

The apprentices were expected to clean the extraction lab and set up materials for the master healers. When the lab was in use, their sleeping room was almost unbearable because of the odors. So Ash spent very little time there.

Since the healers’ quarters were out of the way, it was more difficult to keep track of events in and around the palace. But Ash was just as happy to lay low, in case more Darian brothers came looking for him. After days passed and there was no sign of them, he began to relax a little. It was possible the priest who’d spotted him had kept it to himself, not wanting to share with his brothers.

Ash had hoped that a position in the healing halls would give him better access to the king, but that didn’t happen. When he asked Harold and Boyd who took care of the king, they said Montaigne hadn’t called for a healer since they’d been there.

“He’s never sick?” Ash asked.

“If he is, he don’t call on us,” Harold said.

The nobility, including the Ardenine thanes, were treated in their own quarters by the master healers. Apprentices often went along to assist, but Ash was never invited. The other healers gave him a wide berth, making the sign of Malthus if he got too close.