"Why?" I said.
"Hmm?"
"Count Saekeresh. Why did he start a school?"
"It wasn't him, it was his grandfather. Because you have to be able to read to work in the mill, you see. It isn't just brawn; you need to use your head to make paper. At least, to make it right. The process—"
"All right," I said. "I get it." He sounded proud. He wasn't a peasant. He was superior.
That, too, was a piece of the puzzle.
Don't be distracted by shadows, Vladimir. Concentrate on the target.
There were shadows everywhere.
There were shadows covering the actions of people who didn't want what they did to be known; and there were shadows covering the minds of people who didn't want to see, and even shadows covering the minds of those whose lives became easier if they believed themselves to be powerless. Shadows, shadows everywhere. Don't let them distract you, Vlad.
In a town this size, you'd think that nothing could be concealed; that everyone would know everyone else's business. I'd mentioned that once to my grandfather, when he'd suggested Cawti and I leave Adrilankha and find a small town somewhere. He'd said it wasn't as true as people thought—that small towns were full of secrets. If he was right, it was just possible that—
"My lord?"
Saabo was looking at me.
"Sorry, I was thinking. I was remembering things my grandfather told me about the East."
"The East?"
"This country. Fenario."
"What did he tell you, my lord?"
I shook my head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. I was getting tired of that ceiling. "Is there a house here?"
"My lord?"
"A house of, ah, I'm not sure what term you'd use. Boys and girls who, no, I guess it would be only girls here. Girls who, for money—"
"Oh!" First he blushed, then he gave me a puzzled look as if wondering how, in my condition, I could possibly make use of a place like that. Then he said, "No, my lord. But there are girls who work out of the Mouse."
"I see. And have you made use of their services?"
He didn't blush this time, he just shook his head. "I never wished to, my lord. In my youth I, ah, I never needed to."
I decided he wasn't lying, which was unfortunate, because it meant he couldn't tell me one of the things I needed to know. "Does the Guild run these services?"
"Oh, certainly, my lord."
"And it's legal?"
"My lord? Of course. Why—"
"My grandfather told me it was often forbidden by law, but ignored by custom."
"Ah. I see. No, there are no such laws here."
And at exactly that moment, with one of the best incidents of accidental good timing of my career, there was the light tapping at the door that I'd come to recognize.
"That would be my physicker," I said. "Thank you for taking the time to visit a sick kinsman."
He managed a slight smile to go with his bow, and, hat in hand, walking backward, he left as Aybrahmis and the witch came in. I noticed that Aybrahmis nodded to Saabo, who gave him a smile of recognition as well as the polite bow he also gave the witch.
He wasn't all bad, was Saabo. But he was still a deferential little wretch I'd like to kick.
Some time later, Aybrahmis remarked that I was making good progress, and complimented me on being in generally good shape. For someone who couldn't even stand up to—couldn't even stand up, I didn't take it too seriously. The witch muttered and murmured and changed my dressings, and when they were about to leave I said, "A moment, please."
Aybrahmis got that look physickers get when they're prepared to reply politely to an enormity about your condition, or to an impossible-to-answer question about when you'll be able to do something or other. I said, "What do you know of the Art?"
"Me?"
"Yes."
"I know how to apply the dressings and poultices made by those who study it; I don't need more than that." He seemed slightly offended.
"Your pardon," I said. I used my friendly and sincere voice. "I've never entirely understood the relationship between the healing Arts and the Art of the witch, and it has become important that I do. In the Empire it is different. There are certain sorcerers who specialize in ailments of the body, and they are the ones we call physickers. Here, I don't know."
I looked back and forth between Aybrahmis and the witch. They both stood over my bed, both with hands clasped in front of them. Aybrahmis looked like he wanted to ask why it was important, but instead he said, "We cooperate a great deal. If I deem a patient requires some medication, a witch will create it. Also, certain urgent problems are best tended by a witch."
"So then, other than the most urgent things—such as, for example, me—you might enlist the aid of a witch to concoct poultices, medications—"
He nodded.
I kept looking at him. He flushed just the least bit, but didn't say anything. My nod I kept entirely to myself.
I said, "Are you familiar with something called nemaybetesheg?" You'll have to excuse me, but there's no word in the Northwestern tongue for it. My grandfather, however, made certain I knew the Fenarian word for it when he was drilling me for my first visit back here. "Hard for a physicker to cure, but easy for a witch to prevent, Vladimir," he'd said. Sometimes I wonder what he thinks of me.
The physicker's eyes widened. "I, of course I know it. I never thought to ... what makes you think—?"
"I don't," I said. "I don't have it. I just wanted to know if you're familiar with it."
"Well, there are many of them, not just the Sheep Disease as most people think. And, certainly, I know something about it, but why—"
"Does it come up often in your work?"
He frowned. "I don't believe that is an appropriate question."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You look at me like this, and you don't realize that people did this to me? And that they might be willing to again? When I ask a question of you, it is because it relates to my condition, one way or another."
"How could it—?"
"No. I'm not about to tell you, physicker. And you wouldn't want to know anyway."
He thought that over, then nodded and addressed the witch. "I will join you shortly," he said.
"No," I said. "I need to ask him about this, too."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Very well," he said.
I mostly closed my eyes—the old trick of watching someone from under your lashes. You can't see all that well, and it isn't all that convincing a deception. But once in a while it can lull someone into thinking you aren't paying attention. I doubted I would fool Aybrahmis.
"Does it come up often in your work?" I repeated.
"No," he said. "Hardly ever. Once in a while, when a young man goes to the City, or a visitor..." He trailed off. I chuckled. His nostrils flared and he said, "I am not about to give you the names of anyone I have treated."
"I don't need to know," I said. "What I need to know is why."
"Eh?"
"I've been to the Mouse. I've seen the number of girls who hang out there, and I know what they are. How is it you aren't busy day and night with such treatments? Is there another physicker who handles it?"
"There are two others in town who are called on by some to—"
"Does one of them treat this disease among the, ah, the Velvet Ladies, as they're called where I come from by people I don't talk to?"
"Not that I am aware of." He enunciated each word carefully, the way you do when you feel it is beneath your dignity to be answering such questions at all. In Fenarian, the effect is much more pronounced than in Northwestern, because it takes all the flowing musicality out of the language. It was all I could do not to laugh.
"Do you do, ah, something to prevent such diseases? Or check for them?"
"No."
"Does one of your colleagues?"
"Not to my knowledge."
I said, "Then explain to me why such diseases are not a constant problem for you?"