He struck.
The mayor cried out.
Sand bit only once, and quickly, so fast he was back in his coil before an observer could be sure he had moved. But the mayor was sure. He had begun trembling violently again. Dark blood and pus oozed from the two small puncture wounds.
The rest of Snake’s work was smelly and messy but routine. She opened the wound and let it drain. Snake hoped Gabriel had not eaten much dinner, for he looked ready to lose it, even with the brandy-soaked cloth over his face. Brian stood stoically by his master’s shoulder, soothing him, keeping him still.
By the time Snake had finished, the swelling in the mayor’s leg was already considerably reduced. He would be well in a few weeks.
“Brian, come here, would you?”
The old man obeyed her hesitantly, but he relaxed when he saw what she had done. “It looks better,” he said. “Already better than when he last let me look at it.”
“Good. It will keep draining, so it’s got to be kept clean.” She showed him how to dress the wound and bandage it. He called a young servant to take away the soiled cloths, and soon the stench of infection and dying flesh had dissipated. Gabriel was sitting on the bed, sponging his father’s forehead. Sometime earlier the brandy-soaked cloth had slipped from his face to the floor, and he had not bothered to replace it. He no longer looked so pale.
Snake gathered Sand up and let him slide across her shoulders.
“If the wound hurts him badly, or his temperature rises again — if there’s any change that isn’t an improvement — come get me. Otherwise I’ll see him in the morning.”
“Thank you, healer,” Brian said.
Snake hesitated as she passed Gabriel, but he did not look up. His father lay very still, breathing heavily, asleep or nearly so.
Snake shrugged and left the mayor’s tower, returned to her room and put Sand in his compartment, then wandered downstairs until she found the kitchen. Another of the mayor’s ubiquitous and innumerable servants made her some supper, and she went to bed.
Chapter 6
The mayor felt better in the morning. Brian had clearly been up all night beside him, yet he accepted his orders — not exactly cheerfully, for that was not Brian’s style, but without reservation or resentment.
“Will it leave a scar?” the mayor asked.
“Yes,” Snake said, surprised. “Of course. Several. I took out quite a lot of dead muscle, and it will never all fill back in. You probably won’t limp, though.”
“Brian, where’s my tea?” The tone of the mayor’s voice revealed his annoyance at Snake’s reply.
“It’s coming, sir.” The fragrance of spices drifted into the room. The mayor drank his tea alone, ignoring Snake while she rebandaged his leg.
When she left, scowling, Brian followed her to the hall outside.
“Healer, forgive him. He’s not used to illness. He expects things to go his way.”
“So I noticed.”
“I mean… he thinks of himself scarred… He feels betrayed by himself…” Brian spread his hands, unable to find the right words.
It was not that uncommon to find people who did not believe they could get sick; Snake was used to difficult patients who wanted to get back to normal too soon, despite the need for recuperation, and who became querulous when they could not.
“That doesn’t give him the right to treat people the way he does,” Snake said.
Brian looked at the floor. “He’s a good man, healer.”
Sorry she had let her anger — no, her annoyance and hurt pride — touch him, Snake spoke again, more gently.
“Are you bound here?”
“No! Oh, no, healer, I’m free. The mayor doesn’t allow bonding in Mountainside. Drivers who come with bondservants are sent out of the city, and their people can choose to go with them or give the city a year’s service. If they stay the mayor buys their papers from the driver.”
“Is that what happened with you?”
He hesitated but finally answered. “Not many know I used to be bound. I was one of the first to be freed. After one year he tore up my bonding papers. They were still valid for twenty years, and I’d already served five. Until then I wasn’t sure I could trust him — or anyone. But I could.” He shrugged. “I stayed on afterward.”
“I understand why you feel grateful toward him,” Snake said. “But it still doesn’t give him the right to order you around twenty-four hours a day.”
“I slept last night.”
“In a chair?”
Brian smiled.
“Get someone else to watch him for a while,” Snake said. “You come with me.”
“Do you need help, healer?”
“No, I’m going down to the stables. But you can nap while I’m gone, at least.”
“Thank you, healer. I’d rather stay here.”
“Whatever you say.”
She left the residence and crossed the courtyard. It felt good to walk in the cool morning, even down the steep hairpin turns of the cliff trail. The mayor’s pastures spread out below her. The gray mare was alone in a green field, galloping back and forth with her head and tail high, bouncing stiff-legged to a halt at the fence, snorting, then wheeling to run in the opposite direction. If she had decided to keep on running, she could have cleared the chest-high fence and hardly noticed it, but she was running for no other reason then play.
Snake walked along the path to the barn. As she neared it she heard a slap and a cry, then a loud and furious voice.
“Get on with your work!”
Snake ran the last few steps to the stable and pulled open its doors. The inside was nearly dark. She blinked. She heard the rustling of straw and smelled the pleasant heavy odor of a clean horsebarn. After a moment her eyes became more accustomed to the dimness and she could see the wide straw-carpeted passageway, the two rows of box stalls, and the stablemaster turning toward her.
“Good morning, healer.” The stablemaster was a tremendous man, at least two meters tall, and heavily built. His curly hair was bright red and his beard was blond.
Snake looked up at him. “What was that noise?”
“Noise? I don’t — Oh, I was just countering the pleasures of laziness.”
His remedy must have been effective, for whoever had been lazy had disappeared very quickly.
“At this hour of the morning laziness sounds like a good idea,” Snake said.
“Well, we get started early.” The stablemaster led her farther into the barn. “I stabled your mounts down here. The mare’s out for a run, but I’ve kept the pony in.”
“Good,” Snake said. “He needs to be shod as soon as possible.”
“I’ve sent for the blacksmith to come this afternoon.”
“That’s fine.” She went inside Squirrel’s stall. He nuzzled her and ate the piece of bread she had brought him. His coat shone, his mane and tail were combed, and his hooves were even oiled. “Someone’s taken very good care of him.”
“We try to please the mayor and his guest,” the big man said. He stayed nearby, solicitously, until she left the stable to bring the mare inside. Swift and Squirrel had to be reintroduced to pasture slowly, after so long in the desert, or the rich grass would make them sick.
When she returned, riding Swift bareback and guiding her with her knees, the stablemaster was busy in another part of the building. Snake slid off the mare’s back and led her into her stall.
“It was me, mistress, not him.”
Startled, Snake turned, but whoever had whispered to her was not in the stall, nor in the passageway outside.
“Who’s that?” Snake said. “Where are you?” Back in the stall she looked up and saw the hole in the ceiling where fodder was thrown down. She jumped on the manger, grabbed the edge of the hole, and chinned herself up so she could see into the loft. A small figure jumped back in fright and hid behind a bale of hay.
“Come out,” Snake said. “I won’t hurt you.” She was in a ridiculous position, hanging down in the middle of the stall with Swift nibbling her boot, without the proper leverage to climb the rest of the way into the loft. “Come on down,” she said, and let herself drop back to the ground.