Shops were being closed and taverns being opened. By tomorrow, people would start coming to Snake to ask her aid, but she hoped that for tonight they would leave her to a comfortable room at the inn, a good dinner, a flask of wine. The desert had tired her to her bones. If anyone came now, this late, it would be because of serious illness. Snake hoped no one in Mountainside was dying tonight.
She left her horses outside a shop that was still open and bought new pants and a new shirt, choosing the fit by approximation and the owner’s advice, for she was too tired to try them on.
“Never mind,” the owner said. “I can alter them later, if you want. Or bring them back if you don’t like them. I’ll exchange things for a healer.”
“They’ll be fine,” Snake said. “Thank you.” She paid for the things and left the shop. There was a chemistry on the corner, and the proprietor was just shutting the door.
“Excuse me,” Snake said.
The chemist turned, smiling resignedly. Then, glancing over Snake and her gear, she saw the serpent case. The smile turned to surprise.
“Healer!” she exclaimed. “Come in. What do you need?”
“Aspirin,” Snake said. She had only a few grains left, and for her own sake she did not want to run out. “And alcohol-iodine, if you have it.”
“Yes, of course. I make the aspirin myself and I purify the iodine again when I get it. There’s no adulteration in my goods.” She refilled Snake’s bottles. “It’s a long time since we’ve had a healer in Mountainside.”
“Your people’s health and beauty are renowned.” Snake said, and she was not making any idle compliment. She glanced around the shop. “And your stocks are excellent. I expect you can handle nearly anything.” On one section of the shelves the chemist kept painkillers, the strong and overwhelming kind that weakened the body instead of strengthening it. Ashamed to buy any, to have to admit the loss of Grass again so soon, Snake avoided looking at them. If anyone in Mountainside were very ill, though, she would have to use them.
“Oh, we get along,” the chemist said. “Where will you be staying? May I send people to you?”
“Of course.” Snake named the inn Grum had recommended, paid for the chemicals, and left the shop with its owner, who turned in the other direction. Alone, Snake started down the street.
A shape in robes swirled at the edge of her vision. Snake spun, crouched down in defensive position. Swift snorted and sidestepped. The cloaked figure halted.
Embarrassed, Snake straightened up. The person who approached her was not in desert robes at all, but wrapped in a hooded cloak. She could not see the face, shadowed by the cowl, but it was not any crazy.
“May I speak with you a moment, healer?” His voice was hesitant.
“Of course.” If he could ignore her unusual behavior, she could let it pass without comment, too.
“My name is Gabriel. My father is the town’s mayor. I’ve come to invite you to be our guest at the residence.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’d planned to stop at the inn—”
“It’s an excellent inn,” Gabriel said. “And the keeper would be honored by your presence. But my father and I would dishonor Mountainside if we didn’t offer you its best.”
“Thank you,” Snake said. She was beginning to feel, if not comfortable with, at least grateful for, the generosity and hospitality offered healers. “I accept your invitation. I should leave a message at the inn, though. The chemist said she might send people to me.“
Gabriel glanced toward her. She could not see beyond the shadow of the hood, but she thought he might be smiling.
“Healer, by midnight everyone in the valley will know exactly where you are.”
Gabriel guided her through streets that curved along the mountain’s contours, between one-story buildings of quarried black stone. The horses’ hooves and Snake’s and Gabriel’s boots rang loudly on the cobblestones, echoing back and forth. The buildings ended and the street widened into a paved road separated from a sheer drop to the valley floor only by a thick, hip-high wall.
“Ordinarily my father would have greeted you himself,” Gabriel said. His tone was not only apologetic but uncertain, as though he had something to tell her that he did not know how to phrase.
“I’m not used to being met by dignitaries,” Snake said.
“I want you to know we would have invited you to stay with us under any circumstances, even if—” His voice trailed off.
“Ah,” Snake said. “Your father’s ill.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to be hesitant about asking for my help,” Snake said. “That’s my profession, after all. And if I get a free room, that’s an unexpected benefit.”
Snake still did not see Gabriel’s face, but the tension left his voice. “I just didn’t want you to think we’re the kind of people who never offer anything without expecting something in return.”
They continued on in silence. The road curved, rounding an outcropping of rock that had cut off the line of sight, and Snake saw the mayor’s residence for the first time. It was wide and high, built against the sloping face of a cliff. The usual black stone was highlighted with narrow stripes of white just below the roof, which presented a bank of shiny solar panels to the east and south. The windows of the upper rooms were tremendous panes curved to match the towers on either side of the main building. The lights shining through them revealed no flaws. Despite the windows and the carving on the tall wooden doors, the residence was as much fortress as showplace. It had no windows on its first floor, and the doors looked solid and heavy. Its far side was shielded by a second outcropping. The paved courtyard ended at the cliff, which at that spot was neither so steep nor so high as it was where Snake stood now. A lighted trail led to its foot, where lay stables and a bit of pastureland.
“It’s very imposing,” Snake said.
“It belongs to Mountainside, though my father has been living there since before I was born.”
They continued along the stone road.
“Tell me about your father’s illness.” She felt sure it was not too serious, or Gabriel would have been much more worried.
“It was a hunting accident. One of his friends put a lance through his leg. He won’t even admit it’s infected. He’s afraid someone will amputate it.”
“What does it look like?”
“I don’t know. He won’t let me see it. He hasn’t even let me see him since yesterday.” He spoke with resigned sadness.
Snake glanced at him, concerned, for if his father were stubborn and frightened enough to stand considerable pain, his leg could be so badly infected that the tissue was dead.
“I hate amputations,” Snake said quite sincerely. “You’d hardly believe the lengths I’ve gone to avoid doing them.”
At the entrance to the residence Gabriel called, and the heavy doors swung open. He greeted the servant and had him take Squirrel and Swift to the stables below.
Snake and Gabriel entered the foyer, an echoing chamber of smooth-polished black stone that reflected movement and blurry images. Because there were no windows it was rather dark, but another servant hurried in and turned up the gaslights. Gabriel set Snake’s bedroll on the floor, threw back his hood, and let his cloak slide off his shoulders. The polished walls mirrored his face erratically.
“We can leave your luggage here, someone will take it up.”
Snake laughed to herself at having her bedroll called “luggage,” as if she were a rich merchant about to set off on a buying trip.
Gabriel turned toward her. Seeing his face for the first time, Snake caught her breath. The inhabitants of Mountainside were very conscious of their beauty; this young man went out cloaked so heavily that Snake had wondered if he were plain, or even scarred or deformed. She was prepared for that. But in fact Gabriel was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. He was compactly built and well proportioned. His face was rather square, but not all planes and angles like Arevin’s; it reflected more vulnerability, feelings closer to the surface. He neared her and she could see that his eyes were an unusually bright blue. His skin was tanned the same shade as his dark-blond hair. Snake could not say why he was so beautiful, whether it was the symmetry of his features, and their balance, and his flawless skin, or qualities less definable, or all those and more; but he was, quite simply, breathtaking.