Ash and Quill(23)

"Guilty," Morgan said. "Where's the doctor?"

"There." The young man pointed, and once he had, it was hard to miss the man. The doctor was a tall American native, with long hair tied in a square braid that trained down his back, and a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with a broad red ribbon. The coat was a faded, tattered patchwork of leather and cloth that somehow retained a hint of a Medica's robe about it. Beanpole thin, as most Philadelphians were, but he moved with smooth assurance as he parted a knot of people and knelt beside someone lying on the ground. 

"Come on," Jess said, and he and Morgan ran forward. The circle of watchers had closed up, shoulder to shoulder, but he was well used to slipping in where he wasn't wanted. He hoped their guard wouldn't take Indira literally and start shooting, but if he did, at least they'd have cover.

Once he'd wormed through to clear space, Jess found himself standing at the feet of a fallen young woman who gasped for breath through lips as blue as the clear, enameled sky overhead. The doctor bent next to her, fingers on her wrist, then on her neck. He pressed his ear to her chest, then snapped his fingers without looking up. He pointed . . . directly at Jess. "In the bag there is a covered pot with a red cord. Get it."

The bag in question lay right at Jess's feet, and he bent down and sorted through the contents. Mismatched jars and pots, most chipped and carefully mended. There's another thing they have to reuse, Jess thought. Things so common we throw them out in other parts of the world. Every scrap is precious here.

The pot with the red cord-though red was a generous description; it was more gray with a hint of orange at the frayed edges-lay near the bottom. Jess took it and held it out for the doctor, who glanced up impatiently. "Well? Open it!"

When Jess did, the smell hit the back of his throat and clung there like an oily parasite, and he coughed and gagged and quickly shoved the pot in the doctor's direction. The man took it, sniffed without appearing to flinch at all, and then dabbed two fingers into the liquid mess before smearing it under the nose of the woman lying before him. She took in a gasp, then another and another. Each seemed deeper than the one before, and the bluish tint to her skin began to shift to something less dire. "Good," the doctor said, and thrust the pot back at Jess. "Put the cap on tight; no leaks or you'll be paying for it."

Jess nodded and recapped the vile mixture while holding his breath, but somehow, the stench still crawled deep into his nose and mouth before he could secure the top in place with the cord again. By the time he was done, the girl on the ground was sitting up, clinging to the doctor's hand but breathing well.

"You took in a good dose of fumes," he was telling her, "but keep the tincture on your upper lip and breathe it in until you don't feel liquid in your lungs. It'll burn your skin and leave a bright red patch, but that's better than death, isn't it? Go on, now. Help someone else when you feel strong enough."

"Doctor-," Jess began.

"Who are you?" The doctor climbed to his feet and assisted the girl up. He handed her off to two others waiting anxiously nearby. "What do you want?"

"We need you at the prison," Jess said. "We have someone seriously burned."

The doctor looked at him for the first time with real interest. "Ah. The prisoners. You're still wearing a Library uniform. Strange no one has killed you for that yet."

It was a casual enough observation, but it caught Jess short; he hadn't even thought about it, in the heat of his worry about Santi, but on a day when the Great Library forces were raining destruction and death down on Philadelphia, wearing his High Garda uniform might well deserve a beating from the townsfolk. "I'll worry about appropriate dress later," he said. "Are you coming?"

"I heal my own first. Anyone else? Anyone?" No one stepped forward to claim the doctor's attention, so he sighed and focused back on Jess. "Is your friend also wearing a High Garda uniform?"


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"Yes," Jess said, and held the doctor's cool stare with an effort. "And you took a Medica oath to help any who ask."

"Years and many atrocities ago," the doctor said. "No one is holding me accountable to it."

"No one but the gods."

"Then I'm sure my afterlife will be interesting." The tall man reached out and snatched the bag from Jess's grasp-no mean feat, given Jess's High Garda–trained reflexes-and put it over one bony shoulder. "Well? Go on. If you have a patient for me, show me!"