It was too hot. Coral roused from deep sleep, only to feel like she was being roasted. Groaning, she tugged at the blanket tucked around her. Her arms felt heavy. She cracked an eyelid to a darkened room. She wished she hadn’t. She wished she could go back to sleep. Her mouth was parched, and for several minutes, she lay still and attempted to fall back asleep, ignoring the persistent pressure in her bladder, or the burning, scratchy feeling on her leg.
Coral barely recalled the return trip. There were brief moments of pain slashing across her memory, an odd numbness had swept over her as she was ushered into the carriage. She didn’t remember the ride home, maybe she had fallen asleep?
Coral wanted to sleep now. She kept her eyes stubbornly closed, hoping that the heaviness in her body will outweigh any other sensations. It wasn’t working. The more she tried to return to asleep, the more her mind woke up. She became astutely aware that her leg felt as though someone had taken a hot poker to it. The room felt too stuffy, and there was an herbal, smoky scent that was probably the cause of her headache.
Coral pushed the covers back with a sigh of frustration. The air clung to her sweaty body. She blinked down blearily at herself, noticing that someone had dressed her in an oversized shirt. Her whole thigh had been heavily bandaged, with something bulging beneath the wrappings. She shifted on the mattress and winced, her thigh pinching and burning more than the rest of her.
The hiss of pain through Coral’s teeth was loud enough to wake Pearl, who had been fast asleep with her knees curled up and pressed to her chest. Her hand had been tucked beneath her chin. Pearl’s head came up, blinking sleepily at Coral before full consciousness hit her. She jumped up from the bed in a rush and stumbled a little in her haste to get to Coral. She brushed her hand over the wall, and magelight illuminated the room.
“You’re awake! Thank goodness. How do you feel?” She said, her voice rough from sleep. She looked as exhausted as Coral felt.
“My leg is burning, and it’s too hot,” Coral complained.
“Your fever is breaking,” Pearl said, pushing back the sweaty hair plastered to Coral’s forehead. “Doctor Thornheart said it was likely whatever was on the ghouls’ claws that entered your bloodstream. No one else got a fever, but she’s been with one of the apprentices all night.”
“One of the apprentices?” Coral mumbled, rubbing her hands over her face and frowning. Pearl gave a small hum in acknowledgement of Coral’s question. Coral pushed back the last of the covers with her undamaged leg, they piled down at the end of the mattress. Unfortunately, there was no relief, the room was stifling. She winced as she tried to prop herself up on the pillow. Pearl helped her, settling the pillow more comfortably behind Coral’s shoulders.
“You need to keep the blanket on,” Pearl said, reaching for the covers down by her feet. Coral waved her off.
“Which apprentice?” Coral asked, thinking hard. “Norden Ruesong? Is he alright?”
“I’m not sure. I stayed here with you since you came back. You’ve been unwell for a day and a half. I think. I’m not actually sure what time it is,” Pearl said, looking around as though she hoped a clock would appear. There was no window to judge by the suns position. When no timekeeper appeared, Pearl busied herself by tucking the blankets up to Coral’s chin.
“I’m too warm,” Coral protested.
“You have to stay warm. Doctor Thornheart’s orders. I’ll see if I can get something for your leg,” Pearl said sympathetically. She walked to the door, stopped and turned to give Coral a stern look. “Keep the blanket on,” she said. She left the room, leaving Coral to feel miserable on her own.
Pearl’s warning was not threatening in the least. Nor did she care that it was doctors’ orders. Coral didn’t feel sick. At least, a horrible combination of other sensations was taking precedence. She was very sore, sweaty, uncomfortable, frightfully exhausted and her leg was burning fiercely. As soon as the door clicked closed, Coral peeled back the blanket. She would have to listen carefully for approaching feet to not be caught by Pearl and face the repercussions. Pearl would take nursing her back to health much too seriously and would purposely feed her nutritious, but disgusting food as punishment for going against the doctor’s advice. Coral made a face when Pearl had once practically force fed her brussels sprout soup when she was sick with influenza one winter. All week. Coral did not want to experience that monstrosity of a recipe ever again. She’d rather eat dirt. Only starvation would force her to eat that ever again.
After a few minutes of lying motionless on the bed, Coral’s eyelids drooped when she had nothing but blank walls to watch. The twinging pain in her leg kept her from drifting off to sleep. More flashes of the previous night kept replaying in her mind, with more detail with each new moment. Coral scrunched her face against these memories, trying to pull herself out of them before the dragged her down too deep. She was too tired to want to feel anything other than blissful unawareness that sleep brought. Flashes of teeth, claws and far too much blood kept invading her mind.
Twice now she had escaped from being seriously hurt from a monster. She was thankful for this, though, she didn’t know how bad her leg was. It was pure luck that she had stumbled upon that spell book. Coral’s breathing hitched a little as she realised that for the first time, she had done real magic. Fools Luck.
Coral broke out in a grin. Her first spell, and it had been useful. Really, it had only required a few attempts, she must have gotten the sigil right in her last attempt. A bubble of elation fought back the fatigue that weighed her down. She had secretly spent hours reading magic texts, though she had never dared to put anything into practice. After all, mage craft was dangerous.
Her smile drooped as she recalled the description in the book regarding the spell. The caster was likely to experience the reverse effect of Fools Luck at a later time. How did the spell’s reverse effects work? Coral knew it affected her physically. She had felt the magic take hold as she rammed that bit of firewood at the ghoul. Right down it’s throat. Coral placed a hand around her own throat. She hoped this didn’t mean she was going to choke on something. She would have to be extra careful over the next few days. When would the reverse effect take place? There hadn’t been any further explanation other than ‘At a later time.’ That could be anytime.
Coral could only hope that the fever that she had been enjoying for the last day and a half was a result of the Fool’s Luck spell. Or, Coral thought grimly, was it in relation to the curse that had been set on her.
‘Filth’ the letter had said. The insult hadn’t even been worthy of the paper it had been written on. Coral took a moment to reassess her body. She felt normal enough, minus the physical anomalies from the night before. Her hair was likely a mess, her fingernails broken and in need of some tender care. She rolled her tongue in her mouth. It felt dry and sticky, which she now couldn’t ignore that she was aware of it. Her nose didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as it had. A good sign, if any. She probably looked a right mess.
If there was ever a time to indulge, it would be now after the last several days. In fact, a celebratory drink ought to be had. She should extend it to the Adventurer’s that had helped her.
Coral made an annoyed sort of noise at the back of her throat. Maybe she shouldn’t. If she had known from the beginning that the giant wolves that had chased Caspian Acheron into her manor were a group of werewolf Adventurer’s, she wouldn’t have been half as nervous as she had been. Why were they chasing Caspian down in the first place? They seemed amicable enough when he had joined them on their expedition to hunt down the ghoul.
Coral was interrupted from thinking too hard on this, as the handle to the bedroom door turned and the door swung open. Coral reached for the blanket and threw it over herself, but it was too late. Pearl glared at her. Coral knew that she was in for an awful time with whatever recipe Pearl would find this time. Probably something stew-like, her most hated type of food.
Standing behind Pearl was someone that Coral had not expected. Orvil Norwood. He wore a smug expression as he looked down his arrowhead nose at her. His nose hairs were still in a severe need of a trim.
What was it that he had called her? The Scourge of Direwood? Whatever elation Coral had felt, died. Orvil Norwood entered the room and set a brown leather bag down at the foot of her bed.
“Mr. Norwood,” Coral said in way of greeting.
“Lady Seaver,” he said sourly.
“I thought you were fetching Doctor Thornheart,” Coral said, looking at Pearl.
“She is busy,” Orvil Norwood said curtly.
“She is still by the apprentice’s side; he isn’t doing so well.” Pearl said quietly.
“Lady Seaver,” Mr. Norwood said sourly. “Do not discuss our patients’ conditions. You are not fit to make any assumptions to their wellbeing.”
“Oh, my apologies Mr. Norwood,” Pearl said, clasping her hands together and looking ashamed.
The sour man looked mollified by this as he set about rummaging in his bag. Coral glared at him. She didn’t particularly like that haughty expression he wore. He was at the very least, and it irked Coral to admit to it, professional in his approach. He looked her over, taking her temperature and checking her vitals with a firm hand. He made disparaging little “hm’s” constantly, as though he was displeased by the sound of Coral’s breathing. When he asked to look at her leg, he was much gentler in his ministrations, thankfully.
He wound the bandages from her leg, working slow and methodically. When the last of the coverings fell away, Coral inhaled sharply. Four long slashes marred almost the entire length of her thigh. They had been tidily stitched, but the skin was red and itchy in places. There was a fifth cut that had had only required three stitches near her knee. There was a padded gauze over the longest cut, which had a strong herbal scent. Orvil Norwood lifted it away, peeling back a mess of sticky poultice composed green leaves. From the centre of the wound, black veining writhed out beneath the skin.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Coral stared at her leg, her mind reeling. She had always been careful growing up, under her father’s direction. It was important that she was unblemished. Unsightly marks or scars turned away those that her father wanted by his side. She reached down to scratch at the irritated skin, the itching now more pronounced that she was looking.
Mr. Norwood gently smacked her fingers back. “Don’t scratch,” he said.
“Its burning, and itchy,” Coral told him, pushing aside her annoyance of the man. If Orvil Norwood was her only possibility to get something for the burning in her leg, she’d bite her tongue and put up with him.
She could cuss him out when he was out of earshot.
“I know. You have an infection,” he said dryly. “For the last two days I have been drawing it out of your bloodstream. Under my care you have improved significantly. I believe one last application of will be enough to draw the last of it from you. I did, in curiosity, collect a sample. I’m not entirely sure what this infection is. My poultices have never taken so long to take effect.”
Mr. Norwood reached into his bag and pulled out a small jar of leeches. He held it up so that the light illuminated the hateful creatures. Coral really hoped he hadn’t used leeches as a method to draw out her blood for his sample. It was such an outdated practice.
“Hhm. They’ve seemed to have died,” Mr. Norwood tapped the side of the jar. A few of the leeches twitched.
“Is that...” Pearl said, her eyes reproachful as she spotted the leeches. “Did you use leeches on my sister?”
“Yes,” Mr. Norwood said dryly.
Coral grimaced. Charming. Another thing to add to her list of firsts. And to the lists of things that she never wanted to happen again, right beneath having the appearance of walking straight out of a murder.
“I didn’t see you,” Pearl said, her note of accusation too light to be truly confronting. “I was here by her side, I watched you. You only took a vial of her blood.”
“Perhaps you aren’t as observant as you would like to think, Lady Seaver. Besides, I wanted to see what effect this infection had on the leeches.”
A muscle in Mr. Norwood’s cheek twitched. “A shame they’re dead. Lady Seaver, would you permit me to apply the leeches-“
“No,” Coral said firmly.
“Come now, it will only take a moment. It won’t hurt at all.”
Coral shook her head once. Orvil Norwood looked so genuinely put out by this, that he stared at her for a long moment. He breathed deeply, making his nose hairs flutter. He placed the leeches back into his bag, then rummaged about once again, the contents tinkling as glass knocked against glass. He pulled out a small brown vial, gauze, a small packet smelling strongly of herbs that Coral was unable to identify, a bowl, a flat applicator and three more bottles.
He measured out a portion of one bottle, then passed it to her. “Swallow this,” he said, sounding sulky.
Coral took the proffered cup and sniffed cautiously. “What is it?”
“A tonic for the pain and infection. Drink,” Mr. Norwood said.
Coral looked at the syrupy content of the cup, then up at Pearl. She subtly widened her eyes then flicked them towards Orvil Norwood, who was preoccupied with measuring out a second bottle.
‘If I die, you go after this bastard,’ Coral thought at her sister.
Pearl gave a small nod of her head in acknowledgement, barely perceptible. Their wordless exchange went unnoticed by Mr. Norwood, who was now stoppering the bottle and placing it back into the bag. Coral pressed the cup to her lips, then drunk. The tonic was horrible. Quite possibly the single worst thing she had ever put in her mouth. It was highly sour and had a strong aftertaste of wet socks rolled in crushed leaves. Coral grimaced, curling her tongue up against the roof of her mouth as though she could press the taste out. It was as bad as Pearl’s brussels sprout soup.
This wasn’t Pearl’s first instance with pain tonics. Those had always been sickly sweet to mask the bitter taste of the medicine. Either Mr. Orvil Norwood purposely didn’t sweeten the concoction, he lacked the ability to taste things, or had no sympathy for those that consumed his tonics. Likely all three.
Mr. Norwood unstoppered a second brown glass bottle. Coral watched on apprehensively as he reached down to a cup left on the bed. When his fingers closed around some gauze, she let out a small sigh of relief. Coral had worried for a moment that she would be required to drink a secondary vile elixir. The strong scent of disinfectant filled the room as Mr. Norwood splashed the gauze with the contents of the bottle, the liquid a deep orange.
He didn’t give any warning before swiping the gauze at her leg, wiping away the poultice that had been left to stew over the infection. Coral clenched her teeth together at the sting of pain and focused on anything in the room. The texture of the walls, the grain of wood in Pearl’s bed frame, Pearl’s transfixed expression as she watched Mr. Norwood, none of it was enough to keep Coral’s attention. When Coral’s eyes found her neatly folded blouse and skirt, placed at the end of Pearl’s bed, that was when she noticed Crowcaller’s jack of plate. It was laying on the floor, looking quite worse for wear. The front had several long tears, exposing the small steel plates beneath the cloth. That could have been Coral’s stomach. She could have died, gutted out like some kind of animal out in the forest.
Coral hated to think what Crowcaller thought of her armour now. Would she take compensation out of the debt Coral owed the Guild for the damage done to the jack of plate? Damaged as it was, it was still a highly prized item. Mr. Norwood finished wiping away the paste. The skin no longer burned hot. Instead, the air felt cool against her leg. Even the redness and swelling lessened in the time that Mr. Norwood dropped the dirtied gauze into the cup.
“Apply this once a day for the next week. This will help with any inflammation and burning, though I’m afraid I cannot eliminate the sensation completely. Don’t get your stitches wet, and no movement that could tear the stitches open. This one,” Mr. Norwood indicated to the longest of the cuts. “Is quite deep. So don’t go running about or visiting The Widow’s Poison unnecessarily. Send your sister instead and I or Doctor Thornheart, if she isn’t attending to someone who is in actual need of medical assistance, will come to you. I will also provide you with some further strong pain medication, however it will make you tired, and do not go mixing it with alcohol. You’ll become delirious.”
“Very well,” Coral said, uncaring of Mr. Norwood’s backwards comment about needing proper medical assistance, or mixing medicine with alcohol. The relief from the burning was so profound, that she could feel her body release muscles that hadn’t even known she was clenching.
There was a gentle tap on the door. Coral reached for the blanket and covered her legs. It was one thing to have a doctor… well, Apothecary such as Orvil Norwood attend to her, as much as she disliked the man. It was entirely a different matter when random people came to call. Pearl answered it, cracking the door open a slither so that only her head could poke through and see who had come calling. There was a gentle murmur on the other side, and Pearl pulled the door open to let Crowcaller enter.
“Welcome back,” Crowcaller said, a smile pulling on her red-painted lips. “How do you feel?”
“Exhausted, mostly. Thanks to Mr. Norwood here, significantly less irritated,” Coral said. Mr. Norwood looked confused and shocked by her words and squinted at her as though she were ill.
“May I see?” Crowcaller asked, her violet eyes bright with interest.
Coral gestured for her to go ahead, pulling the cover from her left leg. Crowcaller leant over, puckering her lips as she inspected her leg. “That’s going to leave a nice scar. You’ll be swapping stories in The Dog’s House with the rest of us in no time. That’s a badge of honour, that is. I’ve something similar myself, not as many, just two long thick scars that go right over my hip. It’s an interesting story, if you have the stomach for a little blood.”
“Perhaps another time,” Coral said. She had enough of adventures and monsters for the time being.
“The infection is almost gone, it looks much better than yesterday,” Crowcaller said.
“Will she still have a fever after this?” Pearl asked.
“Her fever has broken, and she is no longer delirious,” Mr. Norwood said mildly. He had opened the packet that had the strong herbal scent and was sprinkling out the contents into a bowl that already had some kind of blue liquid.
“Delerious?” Coral repeated.
“Yes, delirious,” Mr. Norwood said, as though it were an afternoon tea gossip session. “Raving about fools’ luck and a man named Eirek Farley who enjoys the company of toads.”
Coral settled her head back against the bed headboard a little more comfortably. “Yes, I suppose that does surmise Eirek Farley quite well.”
Orvil Norwood stirred vigorously at the contents of his bowl, then applied the vividly green poultice to the top of her stitches, completely covering the black veining from the infection. He placed more cloth over this to keep it in place, then continued to firmly wrap from knee to the upper half of her thigh.
“What kind of infection is this?” Pearl asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. I thought infections were inflammation and oozed pus and the like. This is black, and squirmy.”
Coral could have gone without hearing that.
Mr. Norwood gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I believe it has some magical basis, though I can’t be certain without some research. Ghouls are not often caught and studied. A shame they couldn’t keep a part of it” Mr. Norwood said a little wistfully.
“I took a sample of your blood, I do hope you don’t mind Lady Seaver,” Mr. Norwood said.
“Whatever for,” Coral said crossing her arms. Was Mr. Norwood even qualified to draw her blood?
“I want to study the infection. See if I can isolate it and study how it affects the body.”
Crowcaller’s shoulders went stiff, and she turned to look at Orvil Norwood. “I thought you were warned off your experiments. Doctor Thornheart wasn’t pleased with your theories and experiments with the stinging root.”
Mr. Norwood looked affronted. “Nobody died,” he said sourly. “And it was all within perfectly legal grounds.”
He turned to Coral, motioning at her to stand. “Now. Let me see you walk. You shouldn’t find it difficult, I’m quite the tidy stitcher.”
Coral pulled herself up out of bed and winced a little at the stiffness in her leg. The pain had subsided to a point where it was bearable. She limped heavily, the stitches pinching and pulling at her skin. There was very little room already, so Pearl and Crowcaller sat down on the opposite bed to allow Coral to wobble back and forth. Standing seemed to take a great deal of effort. She wasn’t tired, but her body was completely drained of energy, and her breathing soon became laboured as she went for her third turn back towards Orvil Norwood.
Mr. Norwood watched with a frown pulling down the edges of his mouth and making disgruntled noises in his assessment. Coral sunk back down to the bed, her arms and legs trembling slightly from the effort.
Mr. Norwood passed her healthy enough to return home, then passed a piece of parchment to Pearl which had, as he claimed, instructions for when and how to take the medicine. It was some of the worst handwriting Coral had ever seen. When he left, it was with a stern warning to not consume any alcohol, as though he thought she were addicted to the drink, and that he would be billing her when she returned to her manor “Where you have conveniently left your purse,” Mr. Norwood said sourly.
She had definitely left a lasting impression on that man.
Coral didn’t care. Orvil Norwood was an old lemon that had been left out in the sun to wilt for far too long. Besides, being called the Scourge of Direwood had a nice ring to the name. Those sorts of descriptions in gossip circles could give Coral an edge. This was likely how Adventurer’s earned their titles, earning the ire or admiration of those they interacted with. Though, from what Elwin had said, it didn’t sound like anyone took Orvil Norwood’s ramblings too seriously.
Coral wiped at her sweaty forehead, wishing for a wash basin to dab away the clammy feeling from her skin. It would be a while yet before she could have a bath. Not that she particularly wanted to experience another bath with ghosts bobbing about with nothing better to do than torment the living.
Except, she couldn’t return home. Not yet.
“Have I missed it?” Coral asked. At Crowcaller’s blank expression, she clarified further. “Mr. Claysend’s funeral”
Crowcaller shook her head. “It’s this evening. I’m sure the town would be understanding if you didn’t attend.”
“I want to attend,” Coral said firmly. “I’m too tired to make the trip home and back to town. May I intrude on your hospitality for a while longer, so I can join in the farewell.”
Mr. Claysend deserved what respect and honour Coral could give. He had died to keep her and the two apprentices’ safe. He was a good, honourable man, and a loving father. This more than anything broke Coral’s heart, knowing that he left behind a little girl that needed his love.
If she could, she would help the family that he left behind. Coral had very little to offer, but she would always welcome Valerie Claysend and her mother a place to stay at her inn.