The Monk's Habit (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 2) Read online

  “Another boil,” a woman said, coming to the head of the line.

  “Where?” Searl said.

  “In a sensitive place.”

  “Where you sit down?”

  The woman nodded. “Can you help me without taking all my clothes off in public?”

  “If you allow me to touch the spot through your clothing,” Searl said.

  The woman’s eyes grew. “Out here? Certainly not.”

  “Come tomorrow. We will fashion a screen.”

  The woman left to the laughter of waiting patients.

  Searl gave Pol a look. “Go back to the travel shop and see if you can get a tent of some kind that we can put up in the street. Maybe something that wouldn’t require tent pegs. She’s not the only person who we’ve turned away because we didn’t have any privacy. Other street healers must have some kind of contrivance.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  Searl lifted one side of his mouth in a half smile. “I need you to help me lug all of this stuff back to the inn.”

  Pol ran through the streets of Alsador and entered the travelers’ shop. The clerk looked up from straightening goods on a table. “You’re back. Did something break?”

  “No. My master is a healer, and we bought items to heal people in the streets. We need some kind of a tent we can set up and maybe a cart to carry out things.”

  “I can do that!” the clerk smiled. “I have to go into the back.”

  Pol watched the curtain for some minutes, but the clerk walked through the front door.

  “Another shop has a small tent he rents out to merchants from out of town to erect in one of Alsador’s many marketplaces, which are cobbled. The cart came with it. You can even hitch it to a horse, if you need to.”

  Pol followed the clerk out of the shop to examine the conveyance. The cart had two wheels that were four feet high and the pulling bar had a strut that lowered to keep the cart’s bed level. Pol could see how a horse could be hitched to the cart by removing dowels and re-positioning the large pulling bar. They wouldn’t use either of their horses in Alsador’s streets, but they both could pull the cart wherever they wished.

  The clerk gave Pol cursory instructions on how to erect the tent.

  “Honestly, I’ve never put one of these up, so you can figure it out better than I just told you.”

  “How much?”

  “To buy? These aren’t cheap. A dolphin, I’m afraid.”

  Pol knew that a Listyan dolphin was a small gold coin. It would be equivalent to a South Salvan lion, a square block of gold. Pol pulled out his purse and brought out the square tube that held six lions stacked on top of each other.

  “Will you accept this?”

  “Hmm. A lion. I see these more often with the people our new queen has brought to Alsador. You don’t look like you’re from there.”

  “Hardly. My mother was a Listyan, but I am Aron Morfess from Hill Creek. That’s in the Hardman foothills of the Spines. I’ve been traveling for awhile and picked this one up in a card game.”

  The clerk looked like he didn’t believe Pol. Pol wouldn’t believe that story either, but it would have to do. Putting the Lion in the clerk’s hand smoothed any lingering questions.

  “It’s yours. Let me draw up a bill of sale, so my source doesn’t think you’ve taken one of his rentals.”

  Pol appreciated the large spoked wheels while he trudged through the Alsadoran streets. Searl only had a few patients left to treat. The sun had dipped behind most of the buildings, and the crowds had thinned while Pol made his way to the monk.

  “What is that?”

  “Our portable infirmary,” Pol said. “The cart carries the tent, plus we’ll have enough room for our collapsible furniture and our supplies. We’ll both have to pull it, though.”

  “Better that than lugging everything all over Alsador.” Searl looked over the tent, which still took over a good portion of the cart’s bed. “Shall we give it a try once I have taken care these three fine souls?”

  “I’ll start while you treat.”

  Pol dragged the tent frame out of the cart and looked at it for a while before he began to set the tent up. It didn’t take him long to realize that the wooden frame had been cracked.

  He ran his hands along the wood and used the same pattern for fixing bones to fix the cracks. He could feel his strength diminish, but he had developed a better sense of when he might overdo his spells. Pol pushed it a bit, but the frame was whole again.

  His success surprised him. He put the frame in place and fashioned the cross bars on the top. Then he draped the light tenting over the frame. Inside the tent, he inspected the cloth and found a few rips and holes in it. He had paid a gold lion for this? Even in the expensive city of Alsador, he knew he had been taken advantage of, but with a judicious use of tweaking here and there, the rips and tears were magically repaired.

  He stepped outside. Searl had started to collapse the chairs.

  “That was a pretty bold use of magic, but no one walking by would know, unless they were a magician themselves,” Searl said, looking up at the tent. “Eight feet square. That’s not large by tent standards, it will fit two chairs and the cot inside.”

  “We take up that much space in the street, anyway. The cart can carry our supplies.”

  Searl ran his hand along the cart’s rail and smiled, inspecting Pol’s work. “This will get us more customers.”

  “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life learning healing on the streets of Alsador,” Pol said.

  Searl grinned, a heartening sight. “Lighten up. You’re much too serious, lad. You don’t have to behave as if every day is your last, at least not in a morose way. Enjoy life, now that it’s been lengthened.” Searl put his arms out and extended his hands. “There are people to meet, food to eat, and learning, so sweet.”

  The little verse made Pol smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Best is good enough,” Searl said, nodding, as he returned to breaking down their mobile clinic.

  ~~~

  Chapter Thirty

  ~

  “YOU ARE DOING JUST FINE,” SEARL SAID during a lull in the second day’s work with their new setup. “Magic is better suited to injuries than to illnesses. Remember the lady innkeeper at our first stop in Listya who talked about the Little Plague that killed your grandparents?”

  “I do.”

  “The plague was caused by insect bites. Do you know what kind of magic saved the most people?”

  Pol shook his head.

  “Mosquitos were the culprits. Somehow they had been imported on a ship or ships from the southern part of the Volian continent, maybe The Shards, but no one really knows. No one suspected the little demons. The summer was hot and wet, and the insects thrived in all the puddles in Listya, Daftine, and the Dukedoms. A Seeker of all people discovered that mosquito bites caused the illness. Healers went around giving salve to everyone and told them to cover their arms and legs with clothing.”

  “No magic?”

  Searl frowned. “Tragic, eh? The Emperor at the time, Hazett’s father, brought in his troops and emptied every vessel of standing water. Black oil was poured on stagnant ponds and lit, burning the eggs.”

  “Magic healers could have destroyed the patterns in the eggs,” Pol said.

  “Do you know how many magicians there are in the empire?”

  “Ten or twenty thousand?”

  “With the power to destroy insect eggs? Maybe two or three hundred.”

  “But there are that many acolytes in Deftnis.”

  “It was tried, but it took a Level Three to kill the eggs in any quantity, and not all of them could do it. There were a number of magicians at the time who wouldn’t dare expose themselves. Not one Teslan magician traveled to southwestern Eastril, for example. We called out for any magician. One didn’t need to be a healer, of course.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I prescribed the salve and long sleeves and long pants. The
salve we had formulated repelled the mosquitos. Not all people died. A majority of those bitten had a natural immunity, and those that survived after contracting the disease developed their own. I also spent a lot of time scouting out ponds in the Dukedoms on the southern side of the Wild Spines.”

  “What happened to the mosquitos?”

  Searl shrugged. “The little plague lasted two summers. We had a very cold winter after the second summer, and that killed most of the mosquitos, we think.”

  “Has the plague returned?”

  Searl nodded his head. “It has, but never as badly. Healers know what to do. The outbreaks are localized. My wife died from an outbreak, just like your grandparents, but my daughter and I made it through. You might be surprised what a little hygiene and isolation can do to stop an epidemic.”

  A few patients showed up, and Searl continued to show Pol how to clean and dress wounds and remove surface infections.

  “What causes disease?”

  “Tiny little things. You can call them critters or tiny, tiny animals, but when they grow in a person’s body, you can see clumps of them with your magic sight. Healers have different names for them. Some call them bad humors. Remember the dot board that Malden probably used to test you?”

  “I do.” Pol remembered all the colored dots on the board and how he had to relax his mind to see a pattern in the dots.

  “To see them you have to do the same thing except the dots are incredibly tiny. Infection is caused by the body trying to kill the tiny things. That is often what causes fever. The body is trying to burn the things out.”

  “I remember talking about that before,” Pol said.

  “I know. It takes a skilled and controlled magician-healer to attempt to kill infection in the blood stream, rather than in a wound.”

  “Can I learn to do that?”

  “You could, but I don’t think you have the right temperament to be a healer. Come to think of it, I don’t either, but I’ve become so adept at healing the inner workings of a body, that I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  Pol wanted to mention his addiction, but kept his mouth shut. More patients arrived, and the line began to grow, stopping their conversation, but the learning went on.

  After each patient, Searl or Pol would ask about new healers in town, especially from Dasalt. They picked up a lot of information about healers, which Pol documented. In a few days, he would be out talking to the daughter’s competition.

  Towards the end of the day, a squad of guards sauntered up to their tent.

  “Permit?”

  Pol looked at Searl, wondering what to do. The monk just waved his hand. Pol took the gesture to mean stay calm.

  “No one has told me I needed a permit to heal in Alsador’s streets,” Searl said.

  The lead guard looked sympathetic. “The edict was signed yesterday by King Landon.”

  “How much?”

  “How much do you have? The fine is forty dolphins.”

  “You must be filling up your prisons,” Searl said. “We wouldn’t make that much in six months.”

  “We are, but I’m going to have to ask you and your friend for your purses.”

  “And we still have to come along?”

  “One of you, I don’t care which, will head to the city jail,” the guard said. “The other has to get your cart off the streets.”

  Pol handed over the purse that he had used to gather their fees. Searl’s purse wasn’t much larger than Pol’s fee purse, since they both didn’t want to possess too much money as healers in the streets.

  The lead guard peeked in both and weighed them in his hand. “The penalty is two weeks in jail, then. No more healing from now on, unless you practice from a shop and pay for a license from the new Healer’s Guild.”

  “Healer’s Guild? I’ve never heard of such a thing before,” Searl said.

  “An innovation of Queen Bythia’s,” the guard said. “She will also set the fees that healers can charge.”

  “And the crown gets a percentage of the fees?” Searl asked.

  The guard nodded, looking surprised. “That seems to be the new rules. Get used to them. There are a number of new guilds.”

  Searl just smiled. “It’s up to you to find a suitable place for our cart, Pol, now that we are destitute. Keep it off the streets. Am I right, sir?”

  The guard nodded. “Another new rule. If the cart is left on the street at night, it becomes the property of the crown.”

  “Is this another project of Queen Bythia?” Pol asked.

  “Of course. She is interested in the beautification of Alsador,” the guard said evenly. “I suggest that you watch what you say, young man. The King and Queen of Listya are in the process of making their mark on the city, and then they will do more to create a new Listya.”

  “Are you from Alsador?” Searl asked.

  The guard shook his head. “I’ve recently arrived from South Salvan to help Queen Bythia make Listya more like her beloved home.”

  “Where is the jail?” Pol asked.

  The lead guard looked at one of the other men in the squad. Evidently he didn’t even know the plan of the city.

  “At Hawker’s Cross. Are you new to Alsador?” a shorter guard asked.

  Pol nodded. “We’ve recently arrived after spending some time in Hill Creek in Hardman. Can I bring meals to my grandfather?”

  “A good idea,” the squad member said grinning. “Visiting hours are the two hours around noon.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Grandfather. I’ll find some way to scrape up enough for something good for you to eat.”

  “You do that, Aron,” Searl said as the guards took him away. Pol wanted to save the monk, but he only had a few knives on his body, and there were too many guards and other citizens wandering around wearing swords.

  Pol suddenly had a lot more to do before he would retrieve Searl. First, he would have to find Searl’s daughter, while the monk sat in his prison cell. Pol wheeled the cart around town to make sure he wasn’t being followed before he headed back to their inn.

  Evidently there were guards out all over Alsador confiscating purses and imprisoning all kinds of street craftsman. The men and women in the common room of the inn argued and shouted in anger. Some supported the crown, but most were anxious to leave Alsador before Queen Bythia had levied some other tax, hidden or overt on the citizens.

  The innkeeper walked over to Pol. “You two were healing in the streets, weren’t you?”

  Pol nodded.

  “Your grandfather was taken?”

  Pol made a face. “He was. Has our room rate gone up? We paid two weeks in advance, luckily.”

  “Not yet. It might happen. I heard they were confiscating purses. Are you without funds?”

  Pol didn’t know what position the innkeeper had in regards to the new regulations. “We have some laid aside that the guards didn’t take. I’ll pay you for another week’s stay plus stable fees for our cart. It should fit in one of your stalls. My grandfather has to stay in jail for two weeks, and then we will likely leave Alsador shortly after that.”

  “I might be able to find a place for you to practice healing in town,” the innkeeper said.

  “Once I pay for our room and board, I’ll be out of money. The Queen’s guild will require a membership fee.”

  The innkeeper thought for a bit. “Let’s see what happens. Edicts have a habit of being modified over time. It took the North Salvan regent a few years to understand us in Listya. I imagine the same will happen with the new royal family.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind. Do you have any odd jobs I can do?” Pol asked.

  “What can you do, other than heal?”

  “I know how to care for horses and gardens. I’m also educated if anyone needs a tutor.”

  The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “You can read and write?”

  Pol nodded. “And do sums. I know my
geography and history better than most.” In his mind ‘most’ meant his stepsiblings.

  “I can use a secretary to help me with my paperwork. It’s mostly nighttime work. Can you handle it? I can give you credit on your room, but the stable fees still come from your payment.”

  “I accept your offer,” Pol said. “When do I start?”

  “We’ll give you a tryout tonight. See that door off the lobby?”

  Pol looked and noticed a door with a sign. He couldn’t read the sign from where he sat in the common room. He nodded to the innkeeper.

  “Eight hours after noon. Will that work?”

  Pol smiled. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  ~

  The innkeeper didn’t show up until closer to nine. He didn’t comment on the fact that he was late, so Pol kept his mouth shut.

  After the innkeeper opened his office with a key, he let Pol in. The man’s desk was piled high with paperwork. Bills, receipts, and letters were stacked haphazardly. “If the crown wants an accounting of my business, I’ll soon join your grandfather.” He pulled a key from the desk drawer. “You can come in and work during the day, too, if you like, while you get things organized. Sort everything by dollar value for bills and receipts. A separate pile for my daily tallies. Letters sort from oldest to newest. When you get that done…if you get it done…find me. Your work will tell me if you are good enough to be hired. Don’t go looking for money. I don’t keep any in my office.”

  Pol didn’t believe that, but he let the innkeeper’s comment pass. “I’ll work on this for a few hours tonight.”

  “I’ll want it all sorted by dinnertime tomorrow.”

  Pol nodded and went to work.

  “Make sure you lock the door on your way out.”

  Pol nodded again and went to work. He had thought the lessons Mistress Farthia had taught him about paperwork and logistics at Borstall Castle would never be put to use, but now he had that opportunity. Everything was familiar enough.

  After sorting through all of the various shapes and sizes of paper, Pol finally could recognize patterns in the papers. Receipts were generally half-sized paper and bills would be a full-sized paper. Letters didn’t have lists of numbers, and he had finished before the twelfth hour.