“I don’t think it worked,” he finally said.
Sonea regarded him thoughtfully. He had first come to the hospice nearly a year before, refusing to say what was wrong with him. She’d assumed something embarrassing and private, but what he’d revealed, slowly and reluctantly, was an addiction to roet.
It had taken some courage to admit it, she knew. He was the sort of man who worked hard and prided himself on doing “honest” work. But when his wife had died bearing their first child, which hadn’t survived, he had been so wrapped up in grief and guilt that he’d tried the wares of a rot-seller with a persuasive tongue. By the time the pain had receded enough that he could resume his former work he found he could not give up the drug.
At first she had encouraged him to reduce the amount he took and endure the aches, cravings and bad moods that came over him. He had done well, but it had exhausted him. The desire for the numbing, freeing sensation of roet did not diminish, however. Eventually, after several months, Sonea took pity on him and decided to see if magic could speed the process.
All Healers had agreed that roet addiction was not an illness, so to use magic to cure it was a waste of a precious resource. Sonea had agreed, but Berrin was a good man who had been taken advantage of when most vulnerable. She had Healed him in secret.
“Why do you think it didn’t work?” she asked him.
He looked down, his eyes wide with distress. “I still want it. Not as bad as before. I thought the need would grow less and less. But it hasn’t. It’s like... a tap dripping. Quiet, but if it’s quiet it’s there, nagging at you.”
Sonea frowned, then gestured for him to move closer. He shuffled the chair toward hers. Reaching out, she placed a hand on either side of his head and closed her eyes.
Healing him had been a strange experience. There had been nothing obviously wrong with him. No break or tear or infection that his body was already trying to deal with. Most of the time a Healer could pick up from the body what was wrong and let it help guide the application of magic to repair damage. Sometimes the problem was too subtle, but allowing the body to use magic to return it to its right state nearly always worked.
In Berrin there had been a feeling of distress coming from several directions. It resided in the paths of sensation, and in his brain, but was so subtle she could not comprehend how to fix it. So she had let his body guide her, and when the feeling of distress had gone she knew her work was done.
The aches had gone, and his mood had lifted. He hadn’t said anything about a lingering craving for roet, however. But maybe it had been too subtle for him to notice initially. Or maybe he had started taking it again.
Sending her mind forth, she sought the feeling of distress within his body. To her surprise, she found nothing. Concentrating harder, she detected natural healing around blisters on his hands and some muscular soreness in his back. But as far as his body was concerned, he was fit and well.
She opened her eyes and removed her hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, smiling. “I can’t feel any of the indicators I felt before.”
His face fell and he searched her gaze. “But... I’m not lying. It’s still there.”
Sonea frowned. “That’s... odd.” She considered his steady gaze and what she knew of him. He’s not the type to lie. The very idea that people might think he’d lie is distressing to him. In fact, I expect his next question to be—
“Do you think I’m making it up?” he asked in a low, fearful voice.
She shook her head. “But this is puzzling. And frustrating. How can I heal what I can’t detect?” She spread her hands. “All I can say is, give it time. It could be there’s some echo of the craving there. Like the memory of someone’s touch or the sound of a voice. In time, if you don’t refresh that memory, your body may forget it.”
He nodded, his expression thoughtful now. “I can do that. That makes sense.” He straightened and looked at her expectantly.
She rose, and he followed suit. “Good. Come back and see me if it gets worse.”
“Thank you.” He bowed awkwardly, then moved toward the door, glancing back and smiling nervously as it swung open at a tug of her magic.
As the door closed behind him, Sonea considered what she had found – or failed to find – in his body. Was it possible that magic couldn’t heal away addiction? That roet made some sort of physical change that was permanent and undetectable?
If that is the case, can a magician’s body heal away the effects of his or her own roet addiction? A magician’s body healed itself automatically, which meant he or she was rarely ill and often lived longer than non-magicians. If it can’t, then it’s possible a magician could become addicted to the drug.
But not straightaway, surely. Plenty of magicians and novices had tried roet and not become addicts. Perhaps only some people were susceptible to addiction. Or perhaps it had an accumulative effect – they had to take it several times before permanent damage was done.
Either way, it could have both tragic and dangerous consequences. Magicians addicted to roet might be bribed and controlled by their suppliers. And the suppliers are most likely criminals, or linked to the underworld.
Suddenly she remembered Regin’s assertion that novices and magicians of the highest classes were associating with criminals more often nowadays. She had believed the situation was no worse than it had always been. But was he right? And was roet the reason? A chill ran down her spine.
As another knock came from the door, she took a deep breath and put the thought aside. For now her concern was the sick of the lower classes. The Guild would have to deal with the consequences of the Houses’ more foolish members.
But it wouldn’t hurt to see if any of the other Healers – and even the hospice helpers – had heard of magicians becoming addicted to roet, or being drawn into the world of criminals. And it might be useful to have them ask a few questions of their patients, too. There’s nothing bored patients and their families like doing more, to pass the time, than gossiping.
Lorkin had no idea what time it was when the visitors finally left and he and Dannyl were free to retire for the night. Once the last guest had gone, they looked at each other and grimaced in relief.
“They’re friendlier than I expected,” Dannyl said.
Lorkin nodded in agreement. “I could sleep for a week.”
“From the sounds of it we’ll be lucky to have a day to recover from the journey. Best get some sleep while we can.” Dannyl turned to a slave – a young female who promptly threw herself face down on the floor. “Take Lord Lorkin to his rooms.”
She leapt up again, glanced at Lorkin once, then gestured to a doorway.
As Lorkin followed her through into a corridor, he felt his mood sink a little. Every time they do that it feels so wrong. But is that only because I know they’re slaves? People bow to me because I’m a magician, and I don’t mind it. What’s the difference?
The people who bowed to him had a choice. They did so because it was considered good manners. Nobody was going to have them whipped or executed or whatever the Sachakans did to disobedient slaves.
The corridor curved to the left, following the odd circular shape of the Master’s Room. Now it split into two and the slave took the right-hand divergence. I wonder why they don’t make their walls straight. Is it easier to construct them this way? Or harder? I bet it leads to some odd little nooks here and there. He reached out to touch the smoothly rendered wall. It was strangely appealing. No harsh edges. The slave abruptly turned through a doorway. Lorkin followed and stopped in the middle of another oddly shaped room.