She put the kettle back on the top of the stove, as he rummaged in his kit for herbs and a mortar and pestle to grind them.
Steam. How can I get steam over to the bed-
If she put a pan of water on the stove, the steam would never reach as far as the bed; if she brought a pan to boil and took it over beside the bed, it would stop steaming quickly, wasting the precious herbs.
Then she thought of the little nomads' brazier out in the shop; one of the curiosities that Tonno had accumulated over the years that had never sold. If she were to put a pan of water on that, and put the whole lot beside the bed-
Yes, that would work. She ran out into the shop to get it; it was up on one of the shelves, one near the floor since it was ceramic and very heavy. It was meant, Tonno had said, to use animal-droppings for fuel. If she took one of the burning lumps of coal out of the stove and dropped it into the combustion chamber, that should do. As an afterthought, she picked up the wooden stool she used to get things just out of her reach, and took that with her as well. There was a slab of marble in the living area that Tonno used to roll out dough on; if she put that on the stool, and the brazier on that, it would be just tall enough that she could fan steam directly onto Tonno's face. And the marble would keep the wooden stool from catching fire.
She set up the stool with the marble and brazier atop it, then carefully caught up a lump of bright red coal in the tongs and carried it over, dropping it into the bottom on the brazier to land on the little iron grate there. Then she got an ornamental copper bowl, put it atop the brazier, and filled it with water. She didn't look at Tonno; she couldn't. She couldn't bear to see him that way. When the water began to steam, and she started fanning it towards Tonno's face, the Doctor looked up in surprise and approval.
"Keep that up, lad," he said, and dropped a handful of crushed herbs into the water. The steam took on an astringent quality; refreshing and clean-smelling. It even seemed to make her breathing easier.
She tried not to listen to Tonno's. His breath rasped in his throat, and wheezed in his chest, and there was a gurgling sound at the end of each breath that sounded horrible. The Doctor didn't like it either; she could tell by the way his face looked. But he kept mixing medicines, steeping each new dose with a little hot water, and spooning them into Tonno's slack mouth between rattling breaths.
She lost track of time; when the water in the bowl got low, she renewed it. At the Doctor's direction, she heated bricks at the stove and kept them packed around Tonno's thin body. When she wasn't doing either of those things, she was fanning the aromatic steam over Tonno's face.
And despite all of it, each breath came harder; each breath was more of a struggle. Tonno showed no signs of waking-and the hectic fever-spots in his cheeks grew brighter as his face grew paler.
Finally, just before dawn, he took one shallow breath-the last.
Rune huddled in the chair beside the bed, silent tears coursing down her cheeks and freezing as they struck the blanket she'd wrapped herself in. The Doctor had gently given Tonno Final Rites, as he was authorized to do, then covered him, face and all, so that Rune didn't have to look at the body. He'd told her to go home, that there was nothing more to do, that the Priests would come and take care of everything-then he'd left.
But she couldn't leave. She couldn't bear the idea of Tonno being left alone here, with no one to watch to see that he wasn't disturbed.
She let the fire go out, though, after piling on the last of the wood and coal. There was no point in saving it for the damned Priests-
Let them buy their own, or work in the cold, she thought savagely. I hope their fingers and toes fall off!
But she just couldn't see the point of buying any more, either. After all, Tonno didn't need the warmth any more. . . .
It's all my fault, she told herself, as the tears continued to fall, I should have gone after a Doctor before. I should never have gone to the Priests. I should have found Brother Bryan and had him help me. I should have seen if Brother Pell was any use. I should have told Amber that Tonno was sicker than I thought-
But what could Amber have done? Oh, there were Herb-women attached to the Whore's Guild that kept the members of the Guild healthy and free of unwanted pregnancies, but did they know anything about pneumonia?
Probably not-but I should have tried! I should have gone to everyone I knew-
If she'd done that, Tonno would probably be alive now.
She'd spent hours talking to the empty air, begging Tonno's forgiveness, and promising him what she was going to do with the rest of her life because of what he'd taught her, and trying to say good-bye. She'd cursed the Priests with every curse she knew, three times over, but the essential blame lay with her. There was no getting around it. So she stayed, as the shop grew colder, the water in the pan beside the bed froze over, and the square of sun cast through the back window crept across the floor and up the wall. It wasn't much of a penance, but it was something.
She'd long ago talked herself hoarse. Now she could only address him in thought. Even if her voice hadn't been a mere croak, she couldn't have said anything aloud around the lump of grief that choked her.
I'm sorry, Tonno, she said silently to the still, sheet-shrouded form on the bed. I'm sorry-I did everything I could think of. I just didn't think of things soon enough. I really tried, honestly I did. . . .
And the tears kept falling, trickling down her cheeks, though they could not wash away the guilt, the pain, or the loss.
The Priests finally arrived near sunset, as another snowstorm was blowing up, when she was numb within and without, from cold and grieving both. A trio of hard-faced, vulturine men, they seemed both surprised and suspicious when they saw her beside Tonno's bed.
When they asked her what she was doing there, she stammered something hoarsely about Tonno being her master, but that wasn't enough for them. While two of them bundled the body in a shroud, the third questioned her closely as to whether she was bonded or free, and what her exact relationship to Tonno had been.
She answered his questions between fits of coughing. He was not pleased to discover that she was free-and less pleased to discover that Tonno was nothing more than her teacher. She had the feeling that this one had been counting on her to have been a bonded servant, and thus part of the legacy.
I'd rather die than work for you bastards, she thought angrily, though she held her tongue. I can just imagine what the lives of your bonded servants are like!
"I see no reason why you should have been here," the Priest finally said, acidly. "You did your duty long ago; you should have been gone when we arrived." He stared at her as if he expected that she had been up to something that would somehow threaten a single pin that the Church could expect out of Tonno's holdings. That was when she lost her temper entirely.
"I was his
friend,"
she snapped, croaking out her words like an asthmatic frog. "That's reason enough, sir-or have you forgotten the words of your own Holy Book? 'You stayed beside me when I was sick, you fed me when I was hungry, you guided me when I was troubled, and you asked no more than my love-blessed are they who love without reward, for they shall have love in abundance'? I was following the words of the Book, whether or not it was
prudent
to do so!"
The Priest started, taken aback by having the Holy Words flung in his face. It didn't look to her like he was at all familiar with that particular passage, either in abstract or in application.
She dashed angry tears away. "He gave me something more precious than everything in this shop-he gave me
learning.
I could never repay that! Why shouldn't I watch by him-" She would have said more, but a coughing fit overcame her; she bent over double, and by the time she had gotten control of herself again, the Priest who was questioning her had gone out into the shop itself. She looked outside at the snowstorm, dubiously, wondering if she should just try to stay the night here. It wouldn't have been the first time-in fact, she'd been sleeping on the couch, just to keep an eye on him these past two weeks. Then one of the other two Priests came back into the room and cleared his throat so that she'd look at him.
"You'll have to leave, boy," the Priest said coldly. "You can't stay here. There'll be someone to come collect the body in a moment, but you'll have to leave now."
"In this snow?" she replied, without thinking. "Why? And what about thieves-"
"We'll be staying," the Priest said, his voice and eyes hard and unfriendly. "We'll be staying and making certain the contents of this place match the inventory. There might be a will, but there probably isn't, and if there isn't, everything goes to the Church anyway. That's the law."
What would I do if I didn't have anyplace else to go?
she wondered-but it didn't look as though the Priest cared. He'd have turned anyone out in the snow, like as not-old woman or young child. Unless, of course, they were bonded. Then, no doubt, he'd have been gracious enough to let them sleep on the floor.
He stared at her, and she had the feeling that he expected her to have a fortune in goods hiding under her cloak. She took it off and shook it, slowly and with dignity, trying not to shiver, just to show them that there wasn't anything under it but one skinny "boy." Then she put it back on, stepped right up to him as if she was about to say something, and deliberately sneezed on him. He started back, with the most dumbfounded and offended look on his face she'd ever seen. If she hadn't been so near to tears, and so angry, she'd have laughed at him.
"Excuse me," she said, still wrapped in dignity. "I've been tending him for two weeks now. Out of charity. I must have caught a chill myself."
Then she pushed rudely past him, and past the other two, who were already out in the shop with Tonno's books, candles, and pens. She managed to cough on them, too, on her way out, and took grim pleasure in the fact that there wasn't a stick of fuel in the place. And at this time of night, there'd be no one to sell them any. Unless they sent one of their number back to the cloister to fetch some, which meant going out into the storm, they'd be spending a long, cold night. There wasn't any food left, either; she'd been buying soup for him from one of his neighbors.
I hope they freeze and starve.
She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself before stepping out of the door-which she left open behind her. One of the Priests shouted at her, but she ignored him.
Let him shut his own damn door,
she thought viciously. Then the wind whipped into her, driving snow into her face, and she didn't have a breath or a thought to spare for anything else but getting back to Amber's.
This wasn't as bad a storm as the one that had killed Tonno, but it was pure frozen hell to stagger through. She lost track of her feet first, then her hands, and finally, her face. She was too cold to shiver, but under the cloak she was sweating like a lathered horse. It seemed to take forever to beat her way against the wind down the streets she usually traveled in a half hour or less. The wind cut into her lungs like knives; every breath hurt her chest horribly, and her throat was so raw she wept for the pain of it and tried not to swallow. She was horribly thirsty, but icicles and snow did nothing but increase the thirst. She wondered if she'd been the one that had died, and this was her punishment in the afterlife. If so, she couldn't imagine what it had been that she'd done that warranted anything
this
bad.
When she got to Flower Street, she couldn't bear to go around the back; she staggered to the front door instead. Amber would forgive her this once. She could clean up the snow later, or something, to make up for it. All she wanted was her bed, and something hot to drink . . . her head hurt, her body hurt, everything hurt.
She shoved open the front door, too frozen to think, and managed to get it slammed shut behind her.
She turned in the sudden silence and shelter from the wind to find herself the center of attention-and there wasn't a client in the place. All of the ladies were downstairs, gathered in the common room, around the fire, wearing casual lounging robes in their signature colors. And all seven sets of eyes-Amber's included-were riveted to her, in shocked surprise.
That was when the heat hit her, and she fainted dead away.
She came to immediately, but by then she was shivering despite the heat; her teeth chattering so hard she couldn't speak. She was flat on her back, in a kind of crumpled, twisted pile of melting snow and heavy cloak. Sapphire and Amber leaned over her, trying to get her cloak off, trying to pry her hands open so they could get her unwrapped from the half-frozen mass of snow-caked wool. Amber's hand brushed against her forehead, as Rune tried to get enough breath to say something-and the woman exclaimed in surprise.
"I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry," Rune babbled, around her chattering teeth. "I-I-I'm j-j-just c-c-c-cold, that's all." She tried to sit up, but the room began to spin.
"Cold!" Amber said in surprise. "Cold? Child, you're burning up! You must have a fever-" She gestured at someone just out of sight, and Topaz slid into view. "Topaz, you're stronger than any of the boys, can you lift her and get her into bed?"
The strange, slit-pupiled eyes did not even blink. "Of course," Topaz replied gravely. "I should be glad to. Just get her out of the cloak, please? I cannot bear the touch of the snow."
"I'm all r-r-r-right, really," she protested. "Th-th-this is s-s-silly-"
Rune had forgotten the cloak; she let go of the edges and slid her arms out of it. Sapphire pulled it away, and before Rune could try again to get to a sitting position, Topaz had scooped her up as easily as if she weighed no more than a pillow, and was carrying her towards the stairs.
I didn't know she was so strong, Rune thought dazedly. She must be stronger than most men. Or-maybe I've just gotten really light- She felt that way, as if she would flutter off like a leaf on the slightest wind.