"Make your own measures, then," the man said. "I have a powder I'll mix
for the patient, and we can discuss what you think while we clean the
gravel out of our friend "lamiya."
Eiah's touch was harder, less assured. Where the physician had hardly
seemed present, Eiah gave the impression of grabbing for something even
when pressing with the tips of her fingers. It was an eagerness Liat
herself had felt once, many years ago.
"You seem to be doing very well here," Liat said, her voice gentle.
"I know," the girl said. "Loya-cha's very smart, and he said I could
keep coming here until Mama-kya or the Khai said different. Can I see
your tongue, please?"
Liat let the examination be repeated, then when it was finished said,
"You must be pleased to have found something you enjoy doing."
"It's all right," Eiah said. "I'd still rather be married, but this is
almost as good. And maybe Papa-kya can find someone to marry me who'll
let me take part in the physician's house. I'll probably be married to
one of the Khaiem, after all, and Mama-kya's running the whole city now.
Everyone says so.
"It may be different later, though," Liat said, trying to imagine a Khai
allowing his wife to take a tradesman's work as a hobby.
"There may not be any Khaiem, you mean," Eiah said. "The Galts may kill
them all."
"Of course they won't," Liat said, but the girl's eyes met hers and Liat
faltered. There was so much of Otah's cool distance in a face that
seemed too young to look on the world so dispassionately. She was like
her father, prepared to pass judgment on the gods themselves if the
situation called her to do it. Comfortable lies had no place with her.
Liat looked down. "I don't know," she said. "Perhaps there won't be."
"Here, now," the physician said. "Take this with you, Liat-cha. Pour it
into a bowl of water and once it's dissolved, drink the whole thing. It
will he bitter, so drink it fast. You'll likely want to lie down for a
hand or two afterward, to let it work. But it should do what needs doing."
Liat took the paper packet and slipped it into her sleeve before taking
a pose of gratitude.
"We should have a lunch in the gardens again," Eiah said. "You and Uncle
Nlaati and me. Loya-cha would come too, except he's a servant."
Liat felt herself blush, but the physician's wry smile told her it was
not the first such pronouncement he'd been subjected to.
"Perhaps you should wait for another day," he said. "Liat-cha had a
headache, remember."
"I know that," Eiah said impatiently. "I meant tomorrow."
"'T'hat would be lovely," Liat said. "I'll talk with Nlaati about it."
"Would you be so good as to get the stiff brushes from the back and wash
them for me, Eiah-cha?" the physician said. "Famiya's anxious to be done
with us, I'm sure."
Eiah dropped into a pose of confirmation for less than a breath before
darting off to her task. Liat watched the physician, the amusement and
fondness in his expression. He shook his head.
"She is a force," he said. "But the powder. I wanted to say, it can be
habit-forming. You shouldn't have it more than once in a week. So if the
pain returns, we may have to find another approach."
"I'm sure this will be fine," Liat said as she rose. "And ... thank you.
For what you've done with Eiah, I mean."
"She needs it," the man said with a shrug. "Her father's ridden off to
die, her mother and her friend the poet are too busy trying to keep us
all alive to take time to comfort her. She buries herself in this, and
so even if she slows us down, how can I do anything but welcome her?"
Liat felt her heart turn to lead. The physician's smile slipped, and for
a moment the dread showed from behind the mask. When he spoke again, it
was softly and the words were as gray as stones.
"And, after all, we may need our children to know how to care for the
dying before all that's coming is done."
MAAT1 RIBBED HIS EYES wlTH THE PALMS OF HIS HANDS, SQUINTED, blinked.
The world was blurry: the long, rich green of the grass on which they
lay was like a single sheet of dyed rice paper; the towers of Machi were
reduced to dark blurs that the blue of the sky shone through. It was
like fog without the grayness. He blinked again, and the world moved
nearer to focus.
"How long was I sleeping?" he asked.
"Long enough, sweet," Liat said. "I could have managed longer, I think.
The gods all know we've been restless enough at night."
The sun was near the top of its arc, the remains of breakfast in
lacquered boxes with their lids shut, the day half gone. Liat was right,
of course. He hadn't been sleeping near enough-late to bed, waking
early, and with troubled rest between. He could feel it in his neck and
hack and see it in the slowness with which his vision cleared.
"Where's F,iah got to?" he asked.
"Back to her place with the physicians, I'd guess. I offered to wake you
so that she could say her good-byes, but she thought it would be better
if you slept." Liat smiled. "She said it would be restorative. Can you
imagine her using that kind of language a season ago? She already sounds
like a physician's apprentice."
Maati grinned. He'd resisted the idea of this little outing at first,
but Cehmai had joined F,iah's cause. A half-day's effort by a rested man
might do better for them than the whole day by someone drunk with
exhaustion and despair. And even now the library seemed to call to
him-the scrolls he had already read, the codices laid out and put away
and pulled out to look over again, the wax tablets with their notes cut
into them and smoothed clear again. And in the end, he had never been
able to refuse Eiah. Her good opinion was too precious and too fickle.
Liat slid her hand around his arm and leaned against him. She smelled of
grass and cherry paste on apples and musk. He turned without thinking
and kissed the crown of her head as if it were something he had always
done. As if there had not been a lifetime between the days when they had
first been lovers and now.
"How badly is it going?" she asked.
"Not well. We have a start, but Cehmai's notes are only beginnings. And
they were done by a student. I'm sure they all seemed terribly deep and
insightful when he was still fresh from the school. But there's less
there than I'd hoped. And ..."