"May we, mistress?" (And I confess my heart, fevered though it was, leapt at these words, wildly expecting what I knew I could not expect.)
"I think so, Oelph," she said, and took my hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "You may ask me whatever you like. I can always say no, and I am not the type to take offence easily. I would like us to be friends, not just Doctor and apprentice." She tilted her head, a quizzical, amused expression on her face. "Is that all right with you?"
"Oh, yes, mistress!"
"Good. We'll-" Then the Doctor cocked her head again, listening to something. "There's the door," she said, rising. "Excuse me."
She returned holding her bag. "The King," she said. Her expression, it seemed to me, was half-regretful, halfradiant. "Apparently his toes are sore." She smiled. "Will you be all right by yourself, Oelph?"
"Yes, mistress."
"I'll be back as soon as I can. Then maybe we'll see if you're ready for something to eat."
It was a five-day later, I think, that the Doctor was called to the Slave Master Tunch. His house was an imposing one in the Merchants" Quarter, overlooking the Grand Canal. Its tall, raised front doors sat imposingly above the sweeping double staircase leading from the street, but we were not able to enter that way. Instead our hired seat was directed to a small quay a few streets away, where we transferred to a little cabin-punt which took us, shutters closed, down a side canal and round to the rear of the building and a small dock hidden from the public waters.
"What is all this about?" the Doctor asked me as the punt's shutters were opened by the boatman and the vessel bumped against the dark timbers of a pier. It was well into summer yet still the place seemed chilly and smelled of dankness and decay.
"Mistress?" I said, fastening a spiced kerchief round my mouth and nose.
"This secrecy."
"And why are you doing that?" she asked, obviously annoyed, as a servant helped the boatman secure the punt.
"What, this, mistress?" I asked, pointing to the kerchief.
"Yes," she said, standing up and rocking our small craft.
"It is to combat the evil humours, mistress."
"Oelph, I have told you before that infectious agents are transmitted in breath or bodily fluids, even if they are insect body fluids," she said. "A bad smell by itself will not make you ill. Thank you." The servant accepted her bag and laid it carefully on the small dock. I did not reply. No doctor knows everything and it is better to be safe than sorry. "Anyway," she said, "I am still unclear why all this secrecy is required."
"I think the Slave Master does not want his own doctor to know of your visit," I told her as I clambered on to the dock. "They are brothers."
"If this Slaver is so close to death, why isn't his doctor at his side?" the Doctor said. "Come to that, why isn't he there as his brother?" The servant held out a hand to help the Doctor out of the boat. "Thank you," she said again. (She is always thanking servants. I think the menials of Drezen must be a surly lot. Or just spoiled.)
"I don't know, mistress," I confessed.
"The Master's brother is in Trosila, ma'am," the servant said (which just goes to show what happens when you start speaking to servants).
"Is he?" the Doctor said.
The servant opened a small door leading to the rear of the house. "Yes, ma'am," he said, looking nervously at the boatman. "He has gone in person to seek some rare earth which is said to help the condition the Master is suffering from."
"I see," the Doctor said. We entered the house. A female servant met us. She wore a severe black dress and had a forbidding face. Indeed her expression was so bleak my first thought was that Slave Master Tunch had died. However, she gave the tiniest of nods to the Doctor and in a precise, clipped voice said, "Mistress Vosill?"
"That's me."
She nodded at me. "And this?"
"My apprentice, Oelph."
"Very good. Follow me."
The Doctor looked round as we started up some bare wooden stairs, a conspiratorial look on her face. I was caught in the act of directing a most harsh stare at the black back of the woman leading us, but the Doctor just smiled and winked.
The servant who had talked to the Doctor locked the dock door and disappeared through another which I guessed led to the servants" floor.
The passage-way was steep and narrow and unlit save for a slit window every storey, where the wooden steps twisted to double back on themselves. There was a narrow door at each floor, too. It crossed my mind that perhaps these confined quarters were for children, for the Slaver Tunch was well known for specialising in child slaves.
We came to the second landing. "How long has Slaver Tunch?" the Doctor began.
"Please do not talk on these stairs," the strict-looking woman told her. "Others may hear."
The Doctor said nothing, but turned back to look at me again, her eyes wide and the corners of her mouth turned down.
We were led into the rest of the house at the third storey. The corridor we found ourselves in was broad and plush. Paintings adorned the walls, and facing us were wall-high glass windows letting in the sight of the tops of the grand houses on the far side of the canal and the sky and clouds beyond. A series of tall, wide doors opened off the corridor. We were ushered towards the tallest and widest.
The woman put her hand on the door's handle. "The servant," she said. "On the dock."
"Yes?" said the Doctor.
"He talked to you?"
The Doctor looked into the woman's eyes for a moment. "I asked him a question," she said (this is one of the few times I have ever heard the Doctor directly lie).
"I thought so," the woman said, opening the door for us.
We stepped into a large, dark room lit only by candies and lanterns. The floor underfoot felt warm and furry. At first I thought I'd stepped on a hound. There was a perfume of great sweetness in the room and I thought I detected the scent of various herbs known to have a healing or tonic effect. I tried to detect a smell of sickness or corruption, but could not. A huge canopied bed sat in the middle of the room. It held a large man attended by three people: two servants and a well-dressed lady. They looked round as we entered and light flooded into the room. The light started to wane behind us as the severe-looking woman closed the doors from outside.
The Doctor turned round and said through the narrowing gap, "The servant-"
"Will be punished," the woman said with a wintry smile.
The doors thudded shut. The Doctor breathed deeply and then turned to the candle-lit scene in the centre of the room.
"You are the woman doctor?" the lady asked, approaching us.
"My name is Vosill," the Doctor told her. "Lady Tunch?"
The woman nodded. "Can you help my husband?"
"I don't know, ma'am." The Doctor looked round the shadowy, half-hidden spaces of the room, as if trying to guess its extent. "It would help if I could see him. Is there a reason for the curtains being drawn?"
"Oh. We were told the darkness would reduce the swellings."
"Let's take a look, shall we?'the Doctor said. We crossed to the bed. Walking on the thick floor covering was an odd, disconcerting experience, like walking on the deck of a pitching ship.
The Slave Master Tunch had, by repute, always been a huge man. He was bigger now. He lay on the bed, breathing quickly and shallowly, his skin grey and blotched. His eyes were closed. "He seems to sleep almost all the time,"
the lady told us. She was a thin little thing, scarcely more than a child, with a pinched, pale face and hands that were forever kneading each other. One of the two servants was mopping her husband's brow. The other was fussing at the bottom of the bed, tucking in bed clothes. "He was soiled, just earlier," the lady explained.