Freelance Heroics (17 page)

She rushed over to the tree and circled it, looking for clues. “Wow. I wonder if he uses a divine magick to do that? Or maybe illusions. That could be useful for infiltrating the camp.”

“Naw. I saw him sneak away.” Raedren stood up and stretched. Gavi winced as his back popped. “It just didn’t seem polite to point it out.”

Mazik glowered. “I regret this already.”

Gavi cuffed him on the head. “Quit complaining. No one likes a whiner.”

Mazik grumbled. “I guess it’s time for us to figure out where the orck camp is as well.”

“Do I need to think up a plan for that too?” asked Gavi.

“Naw, I’ve got this one.” Mazik rubbed his head where his friends kept hitting him. “We just need to ask someone who already knows. And preferably, someone who doesn’t know they’re not supposed to tell us. I have an idea.”

Mazik and Raedren stood in front of a tiny, two-story hospital near the center of Saffir. Aegisian medicine being what it was—most doctors no longer believed in the efficacy of bloodletting, though only just, and they routinely papered over their ignorance with magick—the medical industry was in its infancy. This hospital was nicer than most they had seen, save for its modest footprint—the building looked like it had started life as a bookstore, with its red-shingled roof and tastefully frosted windows, only to be transformed into a hospital barely larger than Mazik and Raedren’s old apartment building. It was also where most of the injured from the failed attack on the orck camp were being treated, which was why Mazik and Raedren were there.

Mazik took the steps to the hospital’s side door two at a time. Dressed in trousers and a collared shirt with one too many buttons open—and not his robes, which he had left with Gavi, who was continuing her magick practice in a nearby park, along with his knives, Raedren’s staff, and anything else that identified them as adventurers—Mazik strode through the swinging doors like he owned the place. Raedren followed him, trying to look inconspicuous.

Unlike the front door, which opened directly into the reception area, the side door was for employees only—or was supposed to be. Inside, the hospital’s quaint exterior gave way to a soothing hallway of stained wood floors and blue-green walls. To one side, a doctor wearing a white blazer was examining a fistful of forms, a thin unlit cigar between his lips. Mazik breezed right past him, Raedren dutifully following. The doctor never even looked up.

Looking like you’re supposed to be there is half the battle
, thought Mazik, fighting to keep a grin off his face as they strode past an—
um, orderly? I think I’ll call them minions.
They paused at an intersection. Mazik chose a corridor at random and kept moving.

Unlike the hospital—which had taken several hours of careful questioning of guards and soldiers, mostly by Raedren, who was less intimidating and could honestly claim he wanted to help heal the wounded—they found who they were looking for quickly. There were a number of injured soldiers on the first floor alone, all of them lying on rickety beds separated by thin cloth dividers. Their bloodstained uniforms and brand-new weaponry had been laid on the tables beside them.

But they weren’t looking for any soldier. They were looking for one type in particular.

Mazik nodded. “That guy looks good,” he said as they strode down the middle of a room crammed full of beds. The cloth dividers had been arranged so that there was only a small opening at the foot of each bed, giving the injured soldiers some privacy. Mazik and Raedren stopped at the opposite door and leaned together.

“He’s young, injured—though not
too
injured—and everyone around him looks asleep. Him, too, but that’s fixable. Also, he looks gullible.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Come on. It’s
me
you’re talking to.” Mazik tried to look hurt. “I know gullible when I see it. I could probably sell him a new sword while we’re at it.”

Raedren looked doubtful, but he didn’t object. Mazik took that as agreement.

They walked back down the aisle and slipped into the young soldier’s “room.” Each room was only two paces wide, and between the bed and the table near the soldier’s head, there was little space left for standing. The cloth partition waggled as they shimmied along the side of the bed. Raedren’s hand began to glow dark green as Mazik prepared to shake the soldier awake.

“Remember, don’t Du—don’t you know what, until we’ve talked to him,” whispered Mazik. He had almost said the name of Raedren’s divine magick, Dull Pain, until he remembered that declaring he wanted to deny a man some sweet, pain-killing relief when the person in question might not be totally asleep probably wasn’t wise. “After, sure. Until then, you ‘forgot.’”

Raedren nodded.

Mazik shook the soldier awake. He came to slowly, his eyelids opening and closing like they had been stuck together with gum as he struggled toward consciousness.

“Hmm?” The soldier rubbed his eyes. He was definitely young, Mazik decided—no more than a year out of high school. The yawning soldier still had the familiar awkwardness of youth, with his gangly arms and shoulders that looked one size too large for his body. He ran a hand through his hair, which was lightly frosted with blonde. He wore a ring with an expensive focus crystal on his right hand, a crystal larger and purer than the standard Jihnsruckian military-issued crystals Mazik had seen.

The young soldier looked between Mazik and Raedren. “Is it time for another treatment?”

Look at that lack of suspicion
, thought Mazik.
I wonder if he’s a rich kid? How adorable
.

“Absolutely,” said Mazik quickly. He kept his voice low, to avoid waking the other patients. “Doctor, would you mind getting started? In the meantime, I need to ask you a few questions”—Mazik glanced at the insignia on the man’s folded uniform—“Private.”

“Yes sir,” said the soldier.

“Is any place bothering you in particular?” asked Raedren, his glowing hands poised to begin. “If so, I can start there.”

The young private tapped his chest and described a few of his pains. Once Raedren had begun, Mazik flipped open a random report he had plucked off a desk on the way here.

“Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions. It’s very important that you answer me clearly. Do you understand?”

Worry knitted the private’s brow. “Is something wrong with me, doctor?”

Mazik clicked his tongue and flipped back to the first page. “No . . . well, maybe. That’s what we’re here to figure out. There’s something strange going on with your treatment. We’re trying to figure out what that is.”

“Something strange?” There was worry in the private’s voice for only a second, and then his military training slid into place. “Yes sir. What are your questions, sir?”

Mazik patted the private on the shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry. My guess is that you were exposed to a poison or some kind of spore, hopefully a mild one, during your operation. I just need to ask you a few questions to find out what it may be.”

The private frowned. “What happened to my usual doctors, sir?”

“They called us in,” said Mazik.
You’re not going to outsmart me that easily, kid.
“I’m a specialist on plants in this area, while Doc Morlil here”—he patted Raedren on the shoulder, inventing names wildly—“is my partner.”

The private started to say something, but Mazik cut him off. “Now, I said I don’t want you to worry, and that’s because we’re going to help you. But if you don’t talk to us, your life could be in danger.” Mazik shifted his feet so he was leaning over the soldier, counting on his height and standing position to subtly intimidate. “Please remember that regeneration magick can do little when a poison is present, save for slow the pace of its spread, and barriers don’t always prevent them. You may have encountered one and not even realized it. Now, please. May I continue?”

The soldier nodded.

“Good. I see that you suffered some fairly serious wounds in your last engagement. Were they dressed in the field, or did you wait until you returned to Saffir?”

“Upon our return, sir. We couldn’t stop with orcks on our tails.”

“Mmm, of course.” Mazik drew a checkmark in the margin of his stolen report. “Were you in a heavily wooded area when you received your wounds?”

“Yes sir.”

Another checkmark. “Were there any lakes or streams nearby?”

“A stream, sir. We passed it on the way there.”

Mazik drew a tiny stick-figure dog. “Do you remember how close the stream was to the site of your operation?”

The soldier frowned. “What does that have—”

“These orcks might have dumped something in the water, or it may be a result of their urine or other waste,” said Mazik. “I need to know if the water itself was perhaps the problem.”

The soldier shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry sir. I don’t feel comfortable answering that.”

Mazik scowled. He crossed out his doodle and started again. “We’ll come back to that, then. What gate did you reenter the city through?”

“Sir, I don’t—”

“Private, this is important,” snapped Mazik. “You may not have encountered the poison in the field, but rather once you got back. I need to know everything.”

The soldier was still frowning, but he settled back. “The west gate, sir.”

Mazik continued doodling. “Hmm. How long did you have to travel before you arrived back at Saffir?”

“I couldn’t tell you, sir. I was feverish at the time. Barely knew what was going on.”

“Of course, of course.” Mazik finished his picture of a rabbit having a knife fight with the dog. It was terrible. “So is it safe to say you were injured to the west of town?”

The soldier pursed his lips, but nodded.

“Mmm.” Mazik twirled his pencil. “If you were feverish on the way back, can you describe the route you took to get
to
the site of your injury?”

“Sir, I’m not sure—”

“Private, this is
important
. You could be in mortal danger,” said Mazik. “There are at least three different poisonous plants in that area which could have led to your symptoms. We need to know which one.”

The soldier nodded. “I understand that, sir. I would just feel a lot better if I could consult with my superior officer first. We were told to keep the location of the engagement a secret, lest we incite a panic.”

“Soldier, we may not have time for that. If it’s one of the more virulent poisons, you could—”

“It shouldn’t be a problem, sir.” The private pulled the cloth partition behind Mazik aside and shook the man in the next bed. “He’s right here. Sir?”

The other soldier snorted as he bolted awake. “What’s the matter, private?” he asked, waking with the speed of a career soldier.

Mazik looked between the two soldiers. His mind blanked. “Uh . . . we’ll pay you fifty marcs if you tell us where the camp is.”

The soldiers went for their swords.

Mazik and Raedren burst out of the hospital, shouts echoing behind them. They turned out of sight as quickly as possible, and kept running.

“So, was any of that useful?” asked Raedren as they weaved between other pedestrians.

Mazik laughed. “Have you really gotten that used to being chased out of places with me?”

Raedren shrugged. “Pretty much. It’s part and parcel of being your friend.”

Mazik grinned and slapped him. “You know you love it!” He looked behind him. “But in all seriousness, run faster.”

The trio’s hotel rooms were on the third floor of the Barleywater Inn. Before they left Houk, they had discussed how they would handle sleeping arrangements on the road. They had decided to share a room whenever possible, to save money until they were more established as adventurers. That’s what they did two days ago, on the way to Saffir, with uneven results. Mazik and Raedren had been sure to give Gavi some privacy, which she later told them she appreciated, but Raedren snored.
Loudly.
That had never bothered Mazik, who was a deep sleeper, but Gavi wasn’t. Apparently she ended up covering his head with dirty clothes, to muffle the sound. Raedren never even noticed.

Fortunately, when they got to Saffir, the inn master gave them two rooms for the price of one. Apparently, full-scale orck attacks were bad for tourism.

Mazik didn’t look up when Gavi returned from her room next door. It was about an hour before sundown, and she was dressed for battle.

“All ready,” said Gavi. “Think up anything else?”

“Not yet.” Mazik sighed. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, a pillow on his lap. Spread in front of him was a map they had borrowed from the inn master. Three of Raedren’s books and one of Mazik’s daggers lay on the map’s corners, keeping it pinned down. Raedren himself was sitting by the windowsill, watching for the Blue Boar’s signal.

Mazik kept staring at the map as Gavi set down her sword, knife, and small holdout crossbow—the crossbow having been replaced after her last one broke during the duels in Houk. Mazik kept staring at the map, but no more answers revealed themselves.

Gavi settled on the other bed. “So, unless the Blue Boar has more information, we just have to search this whole area.” She traced her finger around the wide swath of forest west of Saffir.

“Pretty much,” said Mazik glumly. “I mean, the spots we picked earlier seem like good possibilities, but we don’t have a way to narrow it down even between them.”

Other than confirming the general direction, the only useful information they had gotten out of the private was that there was a stream between Saffir and the orck camp, and it was in the woods—and that was more than they had gotten out of anyone else, before or since. That still left them with a problem, though.

“We don’t even know how far this stream goes when it stretches right off the damn map,” Mazik grumbled, jabbing at the edge of the page. He leaned back against the headboard. “Hopefully Pajama Man has something for us.”

“You can ask him now,” said Raedren.

Mazik wasn’t surprised to find the Blue Boar kneeling on the windowsill of their third-story room. “Hey, BB. It’s adequate to see you again. You find anything?”