“Sir,” she said loudly through the glass, “if you can’t wait quietly for the clinic to open, then you will be turned away when it does.”
“I need to see Jory Tillman,” Neil yelled. “I need to see him right now.”
The woman looked Neil over. Compared to the bulk of the crowd, his clothes spoke to more than enough money to find medical help elsewhere.
“Go around to the back gate,” she said. “I’ll see if Mr Tillman is willing to speak to you.”
Neil groaned his frustration but nodded, fighting back through the crowd to go around to the rear of the building. There was a yard enclosed by a wall that he couldn’t see into, but found the gate wasn’t locked when he pushed on it. Inside was a yard covered with colourful tiles and lush greenery in wall planters.
The yard was occupied by three adventurers with bronze rank auras. A huge leonid man and a small human woman were both hoisting heavily laden barbells in each hand. The third adventurer Neil recognised. Rufus Remore was meditating on a woven mat, eyes snapping opening as Neil came into the yard.
“Neil Davone,” Rufus said. “What brings you here?”
Rufus had administered Neil’s field assessment for the Adventure Society. Given Thadwick’s reaction, he almost would have preferred a fail to a pass. Neil had no idea what Rufus was doing there, meditating in the courtyard of an Old City clinic.
A man came out of the building, dressed in clean and simple white linens.
“Who are you and why do you want to see me so urgently?” the man asked. “I’m more than a little busy right now.”
“You’re Jory Tillman?” Neil asked.
“Yes,” Jory said irritably. “What do you want?”
“The Chief Priest of the Healer is coming,” Neil said. “He’s bringing almost everyone.”
“What for?” Jory asked.
“He thinks your new clinic is a usurpation of the Healer’s authority,” Neil said. “They’re coming here to tear it to the ground.”
95
Punishment
The glass doors at the front of the clinic opened. Deftly using his aura, Rufus pressured the crowd away without distressing them. He led the way outside, flanked by his adventuring companions, Jory, and Neil Davone. They stood in front of the doors and waited. Jory explained to the crowd that there would be a delay with the clinic opening. People started asking him to make exceptions, and Gary stepped out.
“It’s an unfortunate situation,” he said, daring anyone to disagree. “It might be a good idea for everyone to leave and come back later.”
“What for?” some yelled out. The crowd could smell a spectacle.
“That,” Gary said, pointing an arm along the boulevard.
All eyes followed. A multitude of robed clergy made their way down the street. People were scrambling to get out of their path. The crowd outside the clinic moved well away, although not so far that they couldn’t see what was happening. Their numbers even grew as others gathered to spectate.
At the head of the approaching religious expedition was the Chief Priest, blasting out his silver rank aura. The group came to a halt in front of the clinic, making an impressive sight. The Chief Priest was flanked by bronze-rankers, with iron rankers and lesser clergy arrayed behind them. The basic robe of the Healer’s clergy was simple brown, but these all wore opulent silks of white and gold, with only brown embellishments.
Facing the Chief Priest was Rufus, flanked by Farrah, Gary, Jory and Neil. Panning his eyes across them, the Chief Priest sneered at Neil before his gaze came to rest on Rufus.
“Rufus Remore,” the Chief Priest intoned, his sermon-practised voice reaching all the gathered onlookers. “I’m not sure what brings you here, but is it your intention to stand with heretics?”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that, Chief Priest,” Rufus said.
“This place seeks to set itself up as a temple of healing, taking that which is the right of the Healer, and the Healer alone.”
“I’m not one to speak for the gods,” Rufus said. “I will say that Jory, here, is an alchemist, not a priest. So far as I can tell, he mostly advocates that people read the little labels he puts on the medicine bottles. He certainly isn’t claiming to be a priest. He’s just trying to help people by healing them. Surely your church would take no offence at someone doing precisely what you advocate.”
“The only truth in your words,” the Chief Priest announced, “is that it is not yours to speak for our church. Do you think that you, better than I, can interpret the will of the Healer?”
“I do,” a voice said softly, yet everyone present heard. Carried on a wave of aura that was benevolent yet overwhelming, the two quiet words somehow crashed into the crowd like thunder.
Dean Truckell watched Jerrick approach the guest house where he and Asano had been talking on the porch. The burly man was the toughest of the thug adventurers Thadwick Mercer took under his auspices, the strongest of Thadwick’s lackeys, outside of the noblemen who followed him around in public. Unlike most of them, he was an active adventurer, regularly hunting monsters. He followed Mercer as a way to overcome his own humble beginnings, having no backing of his own. He had earned his essences through years spent in the Greenstone fighting pits.
“Dean, you’ll want to stay out of this,” Asano said.
“Mr Asano,” Dean warned, “watch out for—”
His warning came too late as Jerrick launched like a ballista bolt, crashing into Asano and through the door of the guest house. The door of woven reeds and bamboo smashed apart at their passage. Dean turned to look inside and saw the pair already moving. They were both on the floor, Jerrick seeking to pin Asano down, but all he got was a handful of empty cloak. It vanished in his fingers, revealing Asano was already gone.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN HIDE FROM ME?” Jerrick called out as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Actually, yes,” Asano voice came from deeper in the house. Clementson’s detached guest house was generously sized, with plenty of rooms to hide in. The outer rooms were well lit but the interior of the brick building had plenty of shadows.
Jerrick threw a gaze at the door, pointing a finger at Dean.
“Don’t even think about running,” Jerrick said as iron plates started magically appearing around his body to encase him in heavy armour. Once it was in place, he started storming through the building.
Dean backed off the porch, winding up next to Clementson. Clearly the man had rushed off to fetch Jerrick the moment Asano had dismissed him. They stood side by side as they listened to the noises coming from inside. Mostly it was loud crashing, Dean easily able to picture Jerrick tossing around furniture. It was occasionally punctuated by Jerrick’s shouting.
“YOU THINK I WON’T FIND YOU?”
“YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER!”
“YOU THINK A SCRATCH CAN HURT ME? YOUR HIT AND RUN TRICKS WON’T LAST YOU LONG!”
“You should never have gone against Mercer,” Clementson told Dean. “Jerrick is going to tear that adventurer apart.”
Dean frowned, then went back up to the porch with determined steps. He grabbed his dimensional bag from where he left it by the swing chair. Coming back down, he paused in confusion when he saw Asano standing behind an oblivious Clementson, even as Jerrick’s shouts continued to stream from the building. Asano was eating a sandwich.
Clementson saw the odd expression on Dean’s face and looked back. Finding Asano right behind him, he stumbled away in surprise.
“Come on, Dean,” Asano complained. “What kind of a poker face is that?”
Asano’s sandwich vanished and a magical cloak of darkness and stars manifested around him. Clementson called out to Jerrick that Asano was outside and Jerrick’s armoured form came stomping out the door. He launched forwards with incredible speed once more, but this time Asano seemed to bounce off, like a scarf tossed into the wind, his cloak fluttering around him as he drifted back to the grass some distance from where Jerrick had stopped.