He said, “First good wine I’ve had in years. Have I thanked you so much you’re tired of hearing it?”
“Not at all,” I said with a laugh. “Your manners tell me you were raised well.”
What I meant by that opening was that I wanted to hear his story. There was far more than merely a crippled beggar sitting across from me. My instincts wanted answers.
“My family had influence. I was the fourth son, but still, my father managed to purchase a commission in the King’s Army for me.” His head lowered as he concentrated on eating, and his actions seemed to tell me to mind my own business.
So, he had been an officer, as suspected, and he had been educated. He wanted me to stop asking questions. That was something I couldn’t do. As I ate, I reached out mentally again, very slightly, and probed his leg as he sat with no weight on it. An area of his knee drew attention as it flared red in my mind. He winced once but otherwise was not aware of my intrusion. Since I’d never done anything like it before, my progress was not only careful but slow. I turned my head to the window at my side and pretended to look outside as my small-magic flicked near his knee as gently as a feather falling from a bird flying past.
My ignorance told me things I didn’t understand. The outside of his bad knee was warmer than the rest of his leg. My energy touched skin first, then penetrated soft flesh, and later rigid hardness—not bone. His bones were further inside the leg. Retreating somewhat, the hardness was encountered again. I mentally moved above it, then below.
“How did you injure your knee again?” I asked so abruptly he was startled.
He rolled his eyes. “Early in my capture, I tried to escape.”
That didn’t provide the answer. “Did you fall?”
A wry grin appeared on his face. “Yes. I fell right after the arrow hit me.”
“In the knee,” I said, already knowing the answer. “The outside of your knee.”
His humor changed to an expression of wariness, and I knew I’d said too much. His left hand went protectively to his left knee. He placed his spoon on the table and waited.
A lie seemed appropriate. “There was an ex-soldier who had a limp like yours in Dire.”
He seemed relieved and interested.
My tale continued, “A battle wound from the frontier, they said. A member of his unit had pulled the arrow free, but the iron arrowhead remained inside and festered. It didn’t heal until they cut it out.”
“And then?” Flier asked.
“He healed.” I shrugged casually. “Still limped a little but he used no cane or crutch.”
Flier began eating again, slowly and obviously thinking. I ate too, without talking to disrupt his thoughts. He needed time. My mug needed a refill, and without thinking, I took Flier’s mug too. When I returned, he was looking at me strangely, as if the common courtesy of the act impressed him.
He said, “I was unconscious from a beating when they carried me back to the dungeon. Now, the wound seeps pus and never heals. I can feel something hard in there with my fingers, but never knew what it is. I thought it bone so left it alone.”
“My sister has some skill in nursing.” The words escaped my mouth before thinking. Kendra did have some skills in healing but was no physician. I’d volunteered her services when I had no right. Trying to cover for my misstep, I said, “We could always ask her opinion.”
I’d expected reluctance on his part. He showed none. His eyes lighted up, and he sat up straighter. Our conversation stalled until we finished eating.
He asked in a hopeful tone, “Do you know where your sister might be?”
“We can check the cabin.”
His expression was hopeful, and the girls were in their cabin when we knocked. Kendra had no problem sitting him on the bed and rolling his pantleg high enough to examine him. He winced at her touch but waited for more. She felt all around the area and finally said, “I think Damon is right. It is an iron arrowhead. Part of it is just below the surface and will probably get worse over time. I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten infected and killed you. It should come out, no matter if it improves your walk or not.”
“Don’t look at me, I’m not a doctor,” I said.
She scowled at me. “This is a passenger ship. Passengers have health problems and accidents. There must be one of the crew who is trained.”
“I’ll go see,” I said and slipped out the door before drawing more of her ire.
A sailor splicing a rope told me they had a man with medical training and where to find him. Within a short time, he knelt on the floor of our cabin examining Flier’s knee. The man was short, pudgy, and in need of a haircut because it fell well below his shoulders. He continually had to brush it aside with his hand, and he looked at Flier’s knee, his fingers probing. Still, he had a competent bedside manner and pleasing attitude. He offered a name of Spike, which didn’t sound encouraging.
He said, “Yup, I can feel it right here. It moves around, too, so I think it’s worked its way loose, but causing the puss and pain. Probably kill him sooner or later. Once there was this . . .”
“Can you remove it?” Kendra interrupted.
“Can’t tell until cutting. But, I have to clear it with the purser, first. Extra services have to be paid for before, and all that.”
I said, “We’ll pay whatever.”
“Not to me to decide or not to take your coin. Haggling for the price of services is done before the service is provided. I mean, I can’t put the arrowhead back in if you think it’s too much cost, can I? Sort of a law on a ship to pay first.” He stood upright as if that ended the conversation.
“How certain are you?” I asked Spike.
“That I can get it out? Without looking, I’d say pretty damn good. But you can never tell for sure, and that’s the other reason why you pay first.”
That sounded good enough to me. “You go get whatever tools you need and come back here. I’ll go find the purser and get it approved and pay him.”
Kendra winked at me. Flier sat quietly and grinned. I left and went in search of the purser and found him in the salon meeting with another passenger. He took a few coins from me, fewer than expected, and I headed back to Kendra’s cabin wearing a smile of my own.
The chubby man called Spike was already there, a tool bag on the floor, of the sort a carpenter uses. He accepted my word about already paying. Spike looked at Flier, “You’re sure you want to do this? It’s going to hurt. You could wait until we make port and get a real doctor to do it.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Just don’t do anything that can’t be undone.”
“It’s going to hurt, I say again.”
“Do it.” Flier gritted his teeth in anticipation. When the tools were removed from the bag, he paled at their sight but didn’t change his mind.
Kendra said to me, “The girls would enjoy a walk.”
“I may be able to help Flier. I’ll stay,” I said.
She looked at me and understood the underlying message. My small-magic might be of help, and for that, I needed to remain. She said as if it was true and for their benefit, “Blood makes me faint. Would you mind staying?”
When they were gone, Spike pulled a cork cap from a small bottle. “This is from a tree bark near Dire. It kills the sense of touch on skin.” He spread a few drops around the knee, careful not to get any on himself. “Takes just a few minutes to work. Now, you lay back and look anywhere but down here. I don’t need you jerking and pulling away.”
Flier settled himself on his back and waited. Spike pulled a handful of dirty, bloodstained rags and handed them to me. I watched him use a small item that looked like a nail to stab the flesh around the knee gently. Flier didn’t react. Spike pulled a small knife with a thin blade, a larger one, and pliers. He spread them neatly on the edge of the bed and placed rags under the knee to catch the dripping blood.