One Realm Beyond (10 page)

“Poor dear,” said one old lady with a cart full of vegetables pulled by a lanky young boy. “She’s so pale.”

Cantor looked at Bixby’s face. Her pallor was her natural color, but she’d rubbed charcoal from the fire under her eyes, leaving sickly shadows. She had crushed leaves in her hands and applied a small amount of green on her face, neck, and one arm. The infected arm received a blush of red from berries. Cantor suppressed a grin. She looked awful.

When they reached the massive wooden gates, a scar-faced soldier stopped them. He peered at Bixby. “What have you got here?”

“My daughter,” said Lem. He gestured at Bixby’s inert body, then clasped her right hand with both of his. He patted it as he continued to explain.

“She cut her hand on a scythe, and it didn’t heal. Now the whole arm’s infected. Clear up to her elbow. She fell this morning, right on that hand. Passed out, she did, and hit the table on the way down. The skin burst open, and green and gray pus flowed out with blood, lots of blood, just as bloody as when she first sliced it.”

Cantor had to work to keep his face straight. Lem’s comments were perfect. He watched the sentinel to see his reaction. The man’s stony face disappointed Cantor’s desire to see some emotion. Perhaps horror, or at least, disgust.

The guard studied Lem. “So you’ve come to see the healer.”

“Yes, yes, we have.” Lem’s head bobbed. “My neighbor Shankle Simms said the healer here in Gristermeyer is the best in the realm. We’re hoping he won’t charge too much or else lets us pay in goods or service.”

The sentinel leaned over Bixby, then abruptly stood straight. “She smells like she’s rotting.”

“Aye, she is,” said Lem.

Bixby started quaking. She rolled her head back and forth and moaned. Cantor guessed that she’d been overcome with giggles and disguised her mirth in a display of anguish. He clamped his own lips together and bit the inside of his cheek.

The guard looked away from the writhing patient and scrunched his face in a ferocious glower. “Healer Dukmee tends the regiment. He’s not too good and not too bad either. Go on through. Turn right at the first street. It runs around the inside of the wall. Dukmee is on the west side. He’s got the herb sign above his shop. Can you read and write?”

Lem looked again to Bixby. “My girl Windsome here knows both reading and writing. But she’s not fit to help out.”

The guard pointed to a line of people. A citizen stood behind a table where a large book lay open. “Go make your X for Rill. He’ll help you get registered.”

“Thank you,” said Lem as Ruese and Cantor started forward.

They all signed the registry with an X, though Cantor had to grit his teeth to make himself hold the pen long enough even to do that. Lem put an extra X down for Bixby. Rill, in charge of the important log, asked their identities and wrote down the false names they gave.

Finally, they cleared the gate and came to a major intersection. The barracks ran along the east wall, so Ruese turned to the left.

The sentinel’s bellow stopped them. “Wrong way! The other direction is right and will lead you to the healer.”

Lem nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgement. Ruese swung around as Cantor pivoted. The short walk to the
King’s Guard quarters would now be a long walk around the city. Bixby hardly weighed enough to raise a sweat, but the litter-shaped dragon was another matter.

And the people in the streets slowed their progress. Some backed away from the small group as if they hauled a plague between them. Others stood firmly in the way, oblivious to passersby. Still others careened into them in a blind rush.

Ruese slowed to a stop, shifted his burden, and looked over his shoulder. “I’m getting blisters under the calluses on my hands.” He nodded at the corner ahead. “We can take one of these cross streets as a shortcut.”

“Right,” Cantor readily agreed.

Before they had taken another five steps, the sentinel’s voice rang in their ears. “Two more blocks and on your right.”

Bixby groaned. Lem and Ruese glanced back at Cantor. He forced himself to remain calm for their sakes. The two farmers looked like they would bolt with any more provocation. Surely the guard would not have enough interest in them to go all the way to the healer’s shop.

The sentinel lumbered through the crowd, knocking aside people who were too slow to get out of his way. “The captain sent me to make sure what the gal has isn’t contagious.”

Cantor didn’t believe the excuse. “People in Gristermeyer catch scythe cuts like they catch piggypox?”

The guard grinned, stretching the scars on his face into strange lines. “Well, you got to give the captain some slack. He’s been late in delivering new soldiers, and he’s in a peck of trouble with the command post, and the command post is in trouble with the general, and the general is catching it from the king. And the Croguer? Everyone catches it from him. It all passes down, you know.”

Much to Cantor’s annoyance, the man strolled beside them, ruining their chance to take a quicker route to the barracks. He paused under the sign of three herbs: parsley, rosemary, and bay. “Here we are.” He hammered his mallet-like fist against the elaborately carved wood of the door. “Open up, Dukmee. You’ve got business to tend to.”

Sweat beaded on Cantor’s forehead. Now they’d been delivered to the healer’s door, and they had little choice but to go in and take their chances. Perhaps a man dedicated to healing would hear them out. Then again, maybe he cared only who buttered his bread. In that case, he’d be likely to expose the charade in short order.

The door opened. A skinny fellow with straight black hair sticking up in all directions had his hand on the doorknob as if he would slam it shut should the need arise. He wore a plain black jacket that reached below his knees with a shiny green shirt beneath and black trousers. He put thick glasses on his nose and peered out at the sentinel.

“Do they need me to come mend a soldier?” His deep voice didn’t match the wisp of a body under his neatly pressed clothing.

The soldier stepped aside and indicated Bixby with her attendants. “Your fame is spreading far, Dukmee. A farmer brought his girl to you. She’s got a rotting hand. Cut it with a scythe.”

Dukmee squinted against the sun. His Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed. “Bring her in.”

Cantor thought the healer far too young to be much good. He’d never met a healer that looked younger than eighty. This one looked to be no more than twenty.

The room they passed straight through smelled a bit musty
with the fragrance of dried herbs. Tidy shelves lined the walls on all four sides of the tiny shop. Small wooden boxes, vials and bottles of all sizes, and cloth sacks held the healer’s stock. The soldier came in last and shut the door to the street.

They passed through a curtained doorway into a larger room, this one lined with books upon less orderly shelving. A pitiful fire gave off little heat. Pots and a kettle indicated it was used for cooking. Several stacked books made a neat tower on the floor beside a cushioned chair. A lamp glowed on a side table. No windows allowed light into the inner room.

Dukmee gestured toward a high slab on legs, padded with a chunky mattress, covered with numerous old blankets, and tied with ropes to the tabletop. Ruese and Cantor hoisted the litter and placed Bixby where the healer could examine her hand.

The guard had followed them into the inner room, and Cantor entertained ideas for overpowering him once the healer announced Bixby had no wound.

Dukmee stood beside her, but focused on the litter rather than the girl. He placed a hand on the pole closest to Bixby’s head and murmured, “I see.”

He turned a frown on the guard. “What are you doing here?” He shooed the burly man toward the shop room. Then Dukmee grabbed Ruese and Lem by the arm and propelled them after the soldier. “I don’t need a crowd of people watching.”

Lem protested. “I’m Windsome’s father.”

Dukmee continued to drag him toward the curtained door. “Then you won’t want to be watching should I need to cut off her hand.”

Color drained from Lem’s face. Cantor stepped forward to catch him, but Ruese managed to step in front of the healer and grab his brother.

“I’ve got him.” Ruese wrapped his powerful arms around Lem and dragged him toward the front door. “He needs air. Hey, sentinel, lend me a hand.”

The healer returned to his patient, giving a cursory glance at the one remaining male.

“I’m staying,” said Cantor.

“Yes, I thought you might.” He touched Bixby’s sleeve. “You can get up now, girl, and tell me what this is all about.”

Bixby sat up and pivoted on the litter, swinging her legs to dangle over the side. With a hop, she stood on the floor, looking up at the healer.

“We needed to get into the city, and we needed to look like we were on legitimate business.”

Dukmee picked up the pillow from the litter, stroked it as he crossed the room, and placed the pillow on the stuffed chair. The pillow reformed into Jesha. She meowed and stretched, then settled in the chair as if she needed a nap.

“A cat,” said Dukmee. “I couldn’t quite figure that one out.” He sniffed. “Where is the dead thing? I’d like to get that out of my house, if you don’t mind.”

Bixby slipped her bandaged hand under the sheet that had covered the litter and pulled out a mauled, deceased rat. She held it between two fingers by the tail. The body had been ravaged by some hungry animal. As she displayed the carcass, the tail separated from its rump, and the main part of it landed on the floor with a thud.

Dukmee’s pinched face showed his distaste for the smelly corpse. “Out the back door, please. A garbage barrel. Put the lid back on tightly.”

Bixby bent over to pick up the rat. She crinkled her nose. The rodent’s mouth gaped open and yellow teeth showed
through the drying flesh. She picked him up by two long front teeth. As soon as she straightened, the rat fell. The two teeth remained in her hand.

Cantor came to her rescue. “I’ll take it out. Let me have that fake bandage as well.”

He scooped up the rat remains and departed through a door along the back wall. Bixby followed him. Soon they sailed back into the healer’s examining room minus the nasal offender and the blood-soaked bandage from her hand.

Dukmee pointed at the litter. “And since you have a dragon, one or both of you must be realm walkers.”

Cantor grimaced. “We are realm walkers, but Bridger is not our dragon. He’s not a constant for either of us. We just arrived.”

The healer looked puzzled.

Cantor tried again. “Bixby and I met this afternoon. I met Bridger this morning. He tags along. He — ” Cantor stopped before saying the dragon was a nuisance. His forming a litter had been a major part of their plan to get into the city.

“I see,” said the healer. He strode through another curtained doorway and returned with a satchel. Setting it on the floor, he began gathering books. He nodded at Bixby. “Hold it open, will you?”

The bag should have filled up, but Dukmee managed to put three times as many volumes in as Cantor thought would fit. Dukmee took the satchel from Bixby, closed it, and pulled another case from a cabinet.

“You can clean up in that room.” He pointed out another door covered with a curtain. This one was half the height of the others. “Bixby, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Bixby D’Mazeline.”

“Water and towels and soap.”

Bixby ducked through the opening and came back out. “It’s dark in there.”

Dukmee stuck his hand in a pocket and pulled out a fist-sized milky white orb. He shook it, and light radiated from the ball. He tossed it to Bixby. She caught it and grinned. Turning it over and over in her hand, she left to wash up.

Cantor wondered if asking questions of the healer would be prudent. The sentinel mentioned that this man treated the soldiers, which meant he’d likely know a lot about the location of things within the garrison. He hadn’t given away their ploy to the sentinel, but did that mean he was trustworthy?

“What are you doing?” asked Cantor as he watched the healer walk back and forth, adding things to another satchel.

“Packing.”

“Why?”

“I’m going with you.”

“What?” Cantor shook his head as if to clear water out of his ears. “Why?”

“I’ve been a prisoner in this city for five years. I’m ready to leave.”

Cantor let that information sink in. Would they be able to free the captives and get them out of the city? Would one more person complicate their plans enough to cause disaster? Having a healer along might be a great asset should there be a battle.

He wasn’t sure. The healer might be more recognizable and give them away just by being one of the many. “What makes you think we can smuggle you out? You don’t even know what we came to do.”

The healer went through another doorway and reappeared with socks and boots in his hand. He sat on the edge of the big chair, being careful not to bother the cat. As he changed his
fine, highly polished shoes to the more common footwear, he explained his reasoning.

“You and your band of oddly assorted friends were clever enough to get into the city without raising suspicions. Your subterfuge points to some nefarious deed you wish to accomplish while you are here. I assume that whatever this task may be will not be pleasing to the authorities. Since you’ve been successful so far in your endeavor, you’re the best chance I’ve seen in five years to avoid the King’s Guard and escape.”

He stood and picked up his traveling cases. The book satchel alone should have bent the slight man double, but he stood without effort.

Cantor lowered his chin to his chest and studied the floor. Dukmee was not going to be helpful. The healer expected Cantor and crew to provide the wherewithal for their exit from the city. With a large sigh, he lifted his head.

“We’re going to the barracks to set free the new forced recruits before their minds are locked away and they become cruel puppets under the king’s despotic rule. Lem’s son is among them. Then we’ll leave Gristermeyer. No one, so far, has planned the rescue. No one has even a clue as to how we’ll get out of the garrison, let alone the city.”