Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

2.3 Business

Back on the street, the midmorning crowds had just started to thin for the midday meal, and Aeden could smell the rich aromas of roasting meat and baking bread, with the hint of anise and lavender. His path took him near the lord of the city’s estate, and in front of the imposing building—a fortress, really—stood a smaller, more utilitarian structure. The healer’s clinic. The base of operations of the Society of Healers in the city of Elbeth.

Aeden couldn’t fathom why the master healer would invite Priam to join the society. He was an ok swordsman, sure, but he had shown no inclination towards being able to mend his own nicks and cuts, let alone the maladies of others. He was hopeless with social etiquette, not having been raised in a noble family—really, being the son of the “twenty-sixth duke” had done nothing for him.

But why not Aeden? Rumor had it that the members of the society held great powers. Some said deadly powers, which Aeden thought silly since why would a healer require anything more deadly than a small blade for extracting thorns? And their prestige commanded even the respect of the king, who had proclaimed, as the previous king had, that the healers were to have open access to every city and land within the kingdom of Puertamando.

On a whim, and slightly out of jealousy, Aeden veered towards the lord of the city’s estate, saluting the guards standing at the front gate—he recognized them from several upscale parties they had stood guard at before—and marched towards the healer’s clinic.

Several people sat in chairs by the entrance, waiting to be seen by a healer. Tables and couches littered the main floor, while doors lined the walls leading off to what looked like an assortment of offices, bedrooms and storage rooms. He walked across the main floor and approached a seated woman who held her hand against the head of a man lying on the table before her. Large oozing pustules covered the man’s face and neck, and he coughed in fits and spasms. After a minute, she lowered her hand and looked up at him, “Yes?”

Aeden bowed low and said, “I’m looking for the master healer.”

She motioned to the chairs by the front door. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait like everyone else. There is no special line for nobility. Only in times of crisis.” And she placed her hand back on the man’s head.

He stammered, “No, wait! He summoned me,” he looked away so she wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes, “He asked me to meet him here this very afternoon.”

Without even looking at him she continued, “Doesn’t change my answer.” She pointed to the chairs by the door. “Sit.”

Somewhat stunned, he found his way back to the chairs and sat. He passed the time examining the other waiting people who stood one by one as they were called, the newly healed leaving the building with smiling faces, often rotating their shoulders or rubbing their arms or heads in happy disbelief. He looked at the man across from him. Old, toothless, torn clothing. Open sores ravaged his face and hands, and he coughed almost ceaselessly, scratching his arms and shaking his head, as if in deep conversation with himself and disagreeing with what he had to say. Sometimes vehemently. The man noticed Aeden looking at him.

“What do you have?” he croaked.

Aeden, pretending he thought the man was talking to the woman next to him, examined the floor—wood boards fastened to the underfloor with iron nails.

“What do you have?” the man repeated.

“Excuse me?” Aeden looked at the man, faint disgust on his face.

“What do you have? Are you sick?” The man licked his cracked lips, chasing down stray drops of drool.

“I’m … here to see the master healer. On business,” he responded curtly.

“Oh! Business!” The man excitedly bobbed his head, which Aeden thought strange since he thought the man clearly had never done any business in his entire life. “You must be a nobleman!” He got to his feet and approached the wide-eyed Aeden, “Nice to meet you!” he said, extending his scabby hand to the grimacing boy.

Aeden looked at it in horror—though his carefully trained manners prevented much of it from spilling onto his face, and nodded to the man, “Very charmed. I …”

“I will see you now, Tompkins!” Aeden looked up at a tall, robed man standing nearby. He instantly recognized the face, the face that had loomed over him as a child and healed him and Lord Rossam of the plague that ravaged Elbeth.

 Tompkins hobbled away towards the master healer, who continued, “Good to see you again, Master Rossam. Please. I’ll be but a moment.” He strode off with the sick man in tow towards a pair of chairs in the center of the room and the master healer placed his hand on Tompkins’s temple. Aeden rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. What was he doing here? What if the woman told the master healer that Aeden said he was expected? He surmised he wouldn’t be happy, and yet he couldn’t imagine that kind face being angry. Ageless and serene it seemed, like a man who had found his calling and had desires for nothing else.

Aeden nearly jumped out of his seat as a hand grabbed his shoulder. “You awake, boy?” Tompkins cackled with delight in Aeden’s face, released his grip of the startled boy’s shoulder, and swaggered past him, a new spring in his step.

“Thank you kindly, master!” the old man called back.

The master healer stood with hands on hips, watching the old man leave and replied, “Anytime, Tomkins, anytime. Aeden! Come. I told you I’d be but a minute.”