Healers (15 page)

Daussie arrived back with the bottle of saline and Eva proceeded to hold it up against the right side of the child’s head. Tarc had already begun cooling the facial nerve and when he thought it was cool enough, he nodded to Daussie. His ghost was already in the child’s ear and it was odd to feel a tiny piece of the child’s eardrum just disappear. The child gave a little moan, but Tarc couldn’t tell whether it was in reaction to the hole punched in her eardrum, or perhaps to the oddly numb feeling in the side of her face from having the nerve chilled.

Tarc tried to push the pus through the little hole Daussie had created, but it was too thick. He thought about asking Daussie to move some saline into the ear to thin the pus, but instead tried pushing the pus down the Eustachian tube. That proved to be pretty easy, though the child frowned and moaned more suggesting the facial nerve block either wasn’t very good or didn’t cover the Eustachian tube.

The child didn’t really wake completely up though, so Tarc kept pushing the pus out. Once he had most of it out, he looked at Dauss, then looked at the saline. A moment later, he felt a big drop of fluid appear in the child’s middle ear. He sloshed it around with his ghost and washed it down the Eustachian tube. He gave Daussie the eye again, and this time washed some of the fluid out of the hole she’d made in the eardrum.

Eva, who’d been following developments with her own ghost, smiled hugely and turned to the mother. “There, it’s done. You should bring her back tomorrow morning for another treatment.”

“Oh,” the young woman said, uncertainly. Tarc thought she probably wondered just what kind of treatment Eva had accomplished by holding a jar of water up against her daughter’s head. After a moment, she reached for her purse.

“No, no,” Eva said. “We’re just trying to help. We’re not
selling
treatments. You don’t owe us anything except perhaps a ‘thank you’ if your child gets better.”

Mrs. Lee urged the woman to her feet and they left, the young mother still appearing concerned she should have done more. As they walked away from the Hyllises’ stall with the sleeping child, Mrs. Lee looked back over her shoulder and flashed them a tremendous smile. She mouthed the words, “thank you,” and they continued on their way.

Daussie, looking after them, said, “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

Eva put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, “Dauss, many times there will be few thanks for what we do. People won’t understand what we did, or be sure we did
anything
. But, when you do good things in this life, karma can repay you in the strangest and most wonderful ways.”

They got back to work, preparing for the lunch rush.

***

That evening, the musicians broke out their instruments and started to play. Eva, Daussie, and Kazy joined them to sing. Daum and Tarc sat nearby to listen. Daum asked about the little girl who’d come into their stall crying and Tarc explained about her ear infection and what they’d done.

Tarc found himself pretty excited as he explained it in quiet tones to keep anyone else from hearing. When he glanced up at his dad though, he thought Daum’s expression combined pride and wistfulness. He realized his father probably wished he could use his telekinesis to help people instead of just guiding knives and arrows.

Daum got up to go check on his moonshine still. Tarc mouthed the words of the song being played, careful not to sing it loud enough anyone could hear how far off key he was. Someone sat down in Daum’s place next to him. He looked around…

Lizeth!

Startled, Tarc leaned away from her a little bit.

She laughed, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Well, uh…”

“Um, what?”

“Your
boyfriend
told me to stay the hell away from you.” Tarc shrugged, “I’m pretty sure he still figures it applies even if it was you that sat down next to me.”

Lizeth’s eyes narrowed angrily, “Who’re you talking about!”

“Your ‘just a friend,’ Sam. I’ll guarantee
Sam
doesn’t think he’s, ‘just a friend.’”

Eyes flashing, Lizeth turned to look around the caravan, “Is that right?!” she growled. She stood up and stalked off.

Tarc hadn’t considered the possibility she might go confront Sam about the whole thing. He called after her, “Um, Lizeth! Wait!”

Lizeth didn’t slow, giving Tarc a dismissive wave behind her back as she stepped around the wagon and moved out of sight.

“Crap,” Tarc breathed. Sam would really be pissed about this. Worse, Tarc felt like he was hiding behind Lizeth’s skirts.

After a bit Tarc rolled his tense shoulders up, down, and around, trying to relax them. It didn’t help much, so he stood and shook his arms out.

He sat for a while, but eventually realized he hadn’t actually enjoyed the music, or even noticed it since Lizeth had left. He got up and walked to the wagon. He’d stopped carrying his forearm and boot knives when the caravan wasn’t out on the road, but all of a sudden he felt naked without them. He climbed into the wagon and got them out of the small storage area assigned to him.

As he strapped them on, he thought back on his promise that he wouldn’t kill any more.

He seemed to be unwilling to die to keep his promise.

He sat and breathed deeply, but slowly for a while, eyes closed while he went over in his mind all the ways he could use his ghost to stop someone without killing them. After a while, he felt a little more relaxed. He got out of the wagon and started walking towards the area where the musicians were playing.

Sam appeared out of the dark, and Tarc startled back.

Then Lizeth appeared beside Sam. She’d been walking with him and Tarc hadn’t noticed her at first.

Sam said, “Sorry
boy
, didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve come to apologize for yelling at you earlier today… I got carried away.” Sam was saying one thing, but his
eyes
said something else entirely. Tarc saw hate in them, presumably hate for being made to apologize to someone he despised and
certainly
didn’t respect.

Lizeth cheerfully said, “See, that wasn’t so bad.” Tarc realized she had no idea how Sam actually felt. She continued, “Now, Tarc, if you’d just accept his apology, you guys can shake hands and we’ll be done with this.”

“Sure, no problem,” Tarc said, putting his hand out to shake. He did his best not to grimace when Sam smiled grimly and crushed his fingers
. Damn, the son of a bitch is strong!
Maybe wrestling wouldn’t be such a great idea.

“All right. We all good?” Lizeth asked, looking back and forth from Sam to Tarc.

“Sure,” they both said and Sam gave Lizeth a fake smile.

“Great!” Lizeth said, walking away.

She’d been holding hands with Sam, Tarc realized when she tugged Sam along behind her. However, Sam lingered far enough behind to lean into Tarc’s face and hiss, “Pussy!” at him.

As they walked away, Tarc stomach, which had just calmed down, began roiling again. He didn’t think he’d be able to enjoy the music, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do either so he walked on over.

The open spot Tarc found to sit happened to be next to Henry Roper. Roper turned to him and grinned, “We haven’t been to the museum yet. Wanna go tomorrow morning?”

“Sure,” Tarc said glumly.

“Now
that’s
what I call enthusiasm!” Roper said.

“Sorry, other things on my mind. I’ll have to check it with my parents…” Tarc realized the little girl was coming back about her ears in the morning. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I can’t go tomorrow morning. Maybe the next day?”

“No problem. Whenever your folks say it’s okay.”

***

The next day, the girl with otitis was markedly improved. Her mother was effusively thankful. They did the trick with the saline again, washing out the pus that had reaccumulated. There wasn’t enough to create pressure and pain yet, but cleaning it out hopefully would keep it from causing a problem in the near future.

Mindful of Tarc’s request to go to the museum with Mr. Roper, Eva told them to bring the girl back the next afternoon instead of the morning.

To Tarc’s relief, he didn’t see Sam the entire day, though he knew it was only going to be a matter of time.

***

As soon as the breakfast rush was over the next day, Tarc and Roper headed into the city. Tarc had the old black horse with him so he could buy supplies once they’d gone through the museum.

Roper took Tarc through the museum, enthusiastically pointing out and explaining what he knew about the different artifacts. Tarc saw ancient carriages made mostly of metal. They apparently pulled
themselves
without the use of horses! There were slender two wheeled “bicycles” that Henry said you could ride on without falling over, turning a crank with your feet to make them go.

The most astonishing things to Tarc were all the things that had been manufactured with amazing precision. Rows of cans, each one exactly like the other. Tarc was aware of his mother’s astonishing glassware and their stack of cone-shaped metal cups that all fit one perfectly inside the next, but he’d always had the feeling those were “one off” unusual and astonishing examples of the ancients’ prowess. Looking through the museum, he realized the ancients thought nothing of making 1000 things that were
exactly
alike. Tarc just couldn’t grasp how it could be done. The skill of an artisan who could do that, and the hours they would have to put in… it was simply too difficult to comprehend.

When Roper took Tarc into the room where the ancient guns were displayed, Tarc grasped how this ability to make things exactly alike made guns that could shoot quickly possible. He stared in awe, not so much at the pistol on display, though it was an astoundingly complex machine, manufactured of many small parts that all fit together
perfectly
. They actually had two pistols, apparently exactly alike. One completely assembled, and the other one with all its parts laid out so you could see how they went together. The disassembled one had the barrel placed so Tarc could see into it. Tarc couldn’t imagine how a blacksmith could possibly hammer together a hollow tube of metal like that. But even if he could, how could he make two barrels so
exactly
alike they could shoot the same sized bullets?! And
how
did they make the little spiral ridges inside the barrel?!

The thing that amazed Tarc the most, however, was the large stack of things called “bullets.” They were small cylindrical things, gray lead on one end and brass on the other. There were literally hundreds and hundreds of them and Tarc couldn’t see
any
difference between them, other than some discolorations of the metal. This incredible uniformity of size apparently let the bullets fit into the gun one after another without sticking or jamming. Some kind of mechanism pushed them into the gun and popped them back out. Roper told him the gunpowder was contained in the brass part of the bullets. Apparently the brass section was like a tiny can! The little brass can was filled with just the right amount of gunpowder to push the lead part of the bullet out of the tube of the gun, called the “barrel.” Always exactly the same amount of gunpowder so the bullets would go the same speed and hit the target in the same place! Just measuring the powder out precisely must take the artisan a lot of time!

When he’d first heard the description of the gunpowder at the end of the barrel with the bullet put on top of it, Tarc hadn’t been able to imagine how this could be done quickly enough to compete with an arrow. Now, seeing all of these bullets, ready to be stuffed into the barrel, fired, popped out and replaced, he could see how someone with a bow wouldn’t stand a chance.

As he thought about how Roper had described the gunpowder being set on fire through a little hole, Tarc realized he hadn’t seen a hole in any of the little brass cans. He went back to look at them. The museum had them set up so different ones could be viewed from different angles, but there just
wasn’t
a hole. “Mr. Roper, how did they set the gunpowder on fire? There’s no hole to do it through!”

Roper shrugged, “It’s a damn good question. I’ve been told there’s supposed to be some kind of funny chemical hidden in the bottom of those little brass cans. It’s really easy to set on fire. So easy, that if you just hit it with something it starts burning. The gun itself has a little metal pin that hits the brass can in this sensitive area and starts the chemical on fire, then the chemical starts the gunpowder on fire.” He shook his head, “So even if you had a metalworker so good he could make all those little brass cans,
and those
lead bullets, all
exactly
alike.
And
you could make good gunpowder—‘cause you’ll hear some people who say they can make gunpowder, but what they make doesn’t burn very well. Even if we could do all that… we still wouldn’t know how to make the chemical that starts the fire in the gunpowder if you just tap it with a pin!”

Tarc finished looking through museum as if in a daze. He missed many of Roper’s comments as his mind tried to imagine the immense number of hours it would take a blacksmith to fashion even three or four of those bullets with such precision that he couldn’t tell the difference between one and another. Because of the man hours involved, each bullet would have to cost a fortune! Making hundreds of them was simply beyond belief.