Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (9 page)

Damaged.
They'd too much wood in their construction to stop the fire easily. A
burned brick shell faced the street now. And in front . . .

That
was my shop.
Kessa stared at a jagged ruin, where her large
glass-chunk window had cracked and shattered, mayhap even melted. The
bricks above had come down. There were only blackened piles left of
her counter and the wall between her front shop-room and the
storeroom where she'd kept her cot.

The
wooden floor of the apartment above had crashed down after, along
with the roof. The alley behind her shop, where the apartment's
stairs'd led, was filled with burned boards and cracked clay
shingles. Probably the family'd been seeking their own possessions.

Two
watchmen, their tabards covered by cloaks, stood guard to either
side. One walked towards Kessa; Brague waved in Jeck's direction,
shooing the watchman away. Probably a man whose stipend was paid by
the Alchemists' Guild, then. No one Kessa could bear to talk to.

Numbly,
leaning on Brague, she walked across the street. Her door was an
empty gap in the wall now; no telling if it'd been smashed in before
or after the fire. As she prodded the rubble beyond with her toe,
Brague said, "Careful. Could be coals left."

"Ah."
She edged inside gingerly; hopefully she'd feel heat before some
board cracked and put her foot into a nest of embers. Her herbs and
jars wouldn't have survived. The rest of the ingredients . . .
No. Even if they had, they'd be ruined for herb-witchery.

A
few shattered clay pot-shards lay here and there, she thought. One
seemed to be red-striped, like the jar that'd held her experimental
mix. Nothing fancy, just a way to take the potency from beer, to keep
one's wits intact a bit longer. Just something she'd come up with on
her own, by trial and error and careful tasting.

With
Brague following, she made her slow, careful, painful way to where
her cot had been. There wasn't even a larger lump to hint of anything
under the boards.

Still,
Brague helped her shove charred floorboards off, that'd come from the
apartment above, until they came to ember-nests. Kessa stood. "He
must've used the mattress for kindling," she said, distantly,
and sidled to where the wall'd been. It'd been lathe and plaster,
with a roof-beam that went a bit low, supporting the stairs and
anchoring the door-frame into her storage room. With her small, thin
hands, she'd hidden things between the beams: alchemical preparations
that perhaps she shouldn't have made, by guild laws; money she didn't
carry with her.

She
prodded and clawed at the rubble, hands cold and dirty, coughing from
the dust, and eventually came up with a single copper half-flower,
melted and deformed. She stood, letting the coin slip back into the
mess. "Perhaps the family above found the rest." She
sounded thin and faraway even to herself. "I suppose they'd need
it more."

Brague
slapped his hands back and forth on his coat to knock off the ash.
"M'lord's sent messages to make sure everyone hurt by the fire
has someone to help. They catch who did it . . . Well,
there'll be a huge debt to pay back on the work-gangs."

"Oh."
Kessa looked around, vaguely. "The clothes you gave me, for
night patrol . . ." She'd gone in her guise of a
young man, "Kellisan," and ranged back and forth with
Brague, keeping watch over Iathor as they walked the streets.

"There
are other spares."

"But . . .
I liked . . ." The alchemist-gray cloak'd had
small pockets within, at the chest and sides, where little vials
could go. She was sure it'd been Iathor's, and hadn't known how to
feel. "I liked the ones you gave me!" she wailed, and
couldn't stop the tears, nor the pained half-screams, half-moans
coming up from her gut and chest.

Brague
tugged her hands away from her face and pulled her close so she
sobbed into his chest. She took handfuls of his coat in her fists and
muffled her cries against him, but that was all she could do. She
might've taken Purgatorie, heaving up emotion without any more choice
than she'd had last night, physically retching out bile and poison
until nothing was left.

All
she'd been able to do then was hold her dress over her chest, and
brace herself against Iathor's carriage.

All
she could do now was try to weep into Brague's coat, not letting the
raging, anguished sounds get past him. The dramsman held her
shoulders.

She
couldn't stop crying, even when her voice went hoarse and rasping
again. It scared her, which made the sobbing worse.

Someone
called, "
Kessa?
"

She
jerked her head up, sobs catching in her throat like kitten-claws,
and saw the white-blonde hair and heart-shaped face above a beige
cloak, more flattering than warm.

"Laita!"
Kessa tried to step away, to go to her sister in everything but
blood, and stumbled hard.

Brague
caught her and, despite her incoherent, protesting squeaks, picked
her up. She'd the wit to freeze as he carefully made his way back to
the empty door-frame and set her down. Then he had to steady her
again as Laita grabbed Kessa in a hug at speed.

"I
was so
worried
, they said there was a fire, no one killed, no
one knew where you were, someone said the watch, someone said your
Guild Master, someone said you'd just
vanished
, Kessa–"
Laita babbled next to her ear.

It
stopped Kessa's own weeping, at least. She had to be strong for her
sister, who was graceful and beautiful and sick so very often. Being
upset made it more likely Laita'd catch some chill. So Kessa patted
her sister's back, murmuring, "It's all right. I'm fine. I
wasn't there. The Guild Master picked me up. It'll be fine."

Laita
took breaths of air, composing herself. Freelance courtesans couldn't
afford worry lines, or frown lines, or even terribly obvious smile
lines. "You didn't send word!"

"I
wasn't thinking clearly. Laita, it's cold. You shouldn't be out in
this."

"I
shouldn't be out in this? Kessa, your shop burned down!"

"Yes.
I think it was Wolf. Could be wrong, I suppose. Can we talk in the
carriage?"

"I
suppose!" Laita held onto Kessa as they made their way back to
it.

Kessa
lifted her head when they got there, eyes closed, and asked, "Jeck?
Is there some place . . . nearby, or further down
Broad Street, where everyone'd be warmer? And the horses?"

"Aye,
miss. Anything worth salvaging in the mess?"

She
lowered her head again. "No. Not really. Thank you."

The
driver sighed. "Blighted shame."

Brague
held the door, and Kessa gave Laita a little shove so she'd go up
first. To Brague, Kessa repeated, "Thank you."

He
just grunted, and closed the door after she was inside.

"Kessa,
are you all right?"

She
smiled wanly. "Alive, nothing broken that matters."

"That
matters?" Laita dropped her voice. "Kesskess, I saw you
crying on his . . . Well, not shoulder, quite. What
happened?"

The
nickname of wariness. Kessa shrugged. "Someone burned down my
shop. I'd meant to visit you last night, too." She pulled the
smile back. "Herbmaster Keli, whose daughter I've been tutored
with? She's in need of a counter-clerk for her shop. None of her
apprentices want to bother with selling, and she's offering room,
board, and four copper trees a month, plus a copper leaf of every
twenty you sell. I thought perhaps you could try for the winter, and
our brother take care of himself . . ."

All
their brothers could, really: Jontho, thief; Burk, body-guard,
dockworker, and occasional smuggler; Tag, a fagin with his own crèche
to train and watch over. She'd not mentioned them to Iathor or his
household. Laita and Burk had mentioned themselves.

"How
can you talk about a job for me when
your
shop–! Oh, you're
impossible
sometimes!"

Kessa
kept smiling. "Her apprentices should practice cures and
restoratives, she said, so even if you did catch something . . .
Laita, won't you try? I know being counter-girl for my shop wouldn't
have worked, but that would've been feeding two on the same take, or
three if . . . our brother didn't make enough to feed
himself." No need to risk Jeck hearing a name not Burk's.

"I–!
You–! Fine, I'll try it. But what will
you
do? Will your
guild pay for your lost stock, at least?"

"Oh.
Well." Kessa's smile wobbled, as she directed it at the
cushionless back bench. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"Kessa . . ."
That was a warning tone. If she kept stalling, Laita'd probably start
shaking her.

"I
said I'd marry him. No point, really, setting up another shop so far
away."

Laita
was speechless for several heartbeats. Then she said, "Kessa . . .
What happened?
"

Nothing
I want haunting you.
"I just . . . didn't
feel safe, really. And I'd begun to think, anyway, mayhap I could
make a bargain. Give him an heir, get a stipend to replace the lost
profits from getting maiden's blood so cheaply."

Her
voice a low growl, Laita asked, "And how'd you get from that to
yes
? I'd thought you'd take till spring or past to decide if
you liked him."

"What
does liking have to do with it?" Kessa closed her eyes.
It's
all about hatred, really.

"Makes
things rather less unpleasant in bed, at least!"

"Oh.
I doubt that'll matter. There's potions to ensure conception."

"Kessa,
if you're still trying to have me be his kept concubine . . ."

"It's
a thought!" Kessa put a happy little smile on her face and
flashed it at Laita, keeping her ugly eyes closed so they'd not spoil
the expression. "You like him, don't you?"

"From
what I know of him, but that's not all that much! Kesskess . . ."

"It's
all right, Lai-love," Kessa said, meeting the nickname of
wariness with the endearment of safety. "Everything will be all
right."

"Usually
when you say that, I'm seeing wind-spirits dancing in the fever-heat
above me. Fine. But I
will
visit you."

"Good.
I'll have Tania do up baskets for you." She could feed her
family, if nothing else. "I'm not sure where Herbmaster Keli's
shop is. They'd know at the offices. Though . . . I'd
not go there. Not with Master Iasen sometimes there."

"No.
I don't want to meet him." She hadn't, yet; Kessa'd told her of
how Iathor's brother'd sneered at her, dangerously. Laita paused,
and changed the subject. "Does your family get invitations to
the wedding?"

Kessa
stared at her chip-nailed hands. "I . . . don't
know if that's safe."

Laita
sat back, a frown in her crossed arms. "I'll see what our
brother can arrange. Or your Iathor's household."

"I'll
try to keep you informed." Kessa took a breath. "Will you
be all right walking back, once we're stopped? I'd ask Jeck, but I
don't want anyone following this two-horse carriage with the Lord
Alchemist's crest on it, and finding your apartment along the way."

"I'll
be fine. Our brother . . . will follow as he can."
Laita chuckled. "If you'd ask one of these nice men to pick up
some warm rolls? There's likely something near the public carriage
house, and we could all have something to eat, and a little left
over."

"Yes.
I'll ask." Kessa leaned her head on her sister's shoulder.

Chapter
VI

A
fter
Laita'd gone, they went to the guild offices, Kessa huddling in the
carriage till Brague fetched his master. She'd been tired from
pretending nothing'd happened save her shop burning, and when Iathor
hesitantly put an arm over her shoulders . . . She'd
leaned against him, breathing in the alchemical mix of him and the
office above her own ashy smell. He spoke of her immunities being
tested soon, reassuring her (or perhaps himself) that she'd all the
signs, all the indications, of being as immune to the draught as to
lesser brews.
"I'll need formal clothing,"
she'd
said, and he'd said,
"Ah, yes,"
as if he'd not
thought that far.

He'd
asked her on night patrol with him, too. If she'd not been
bleeding . . . but she was. Better to stay inside.

When
they were back at his house, he bowed over her hand and went to nap.
And she . . . went to research.

Iathor's
library wasn't much bigger than the hospice's. Like that one, it was
lined with books: mostly newer ones, printed with wooden plates and
thick, potion-soaked vellum, so the ink could be taken and pressed
onto sheets of paper. There was a low table in the middle of the
room, side tables for Incandescens Stones (she wondered, vaguely, how
many silver trees – or gold ones – the house's lighting
was worth), high-backed, leather covered chairs and a short,
cloth-covered couch that all faced the table. Two chairs were shades
of alchemist gray, but one was a faded earth-brown; Kessa liked it
best.