~ TEMA ~

Emmeline Maynard had promised a clinic of her own, fully equipped—just like being in the hospital. What Tema had actually been given was a two-story terrace squeezed in between two tenement halls. It was all that could be whipped up at short notice, apparently. To cover for the paucity of supplies, Tema had begged favours from some of the friendlier nurses—Lily Day or Phina Janley, Lucy Jaine or Cherry Aspwell. On shifts they shared with Caroline, they’d subtly liberate useful bits and pieces from storerooms that had yet to be touched, and bring them to Tema.

She barely spent any time actually in the building. What was the point? Anybody who fell ill, or who became injured, made their way to the hospital. It would have surprised her to learn that more than a dozen people even knew of the existence of her practice. Barbara had cleared it with Caroline that her allotted hours would align with Tema’s, and that she’d spend them in the stuffy ground floor of that stuccoed hovel she had to call a workplace. Tema appreciated the moral support. Barbara only lasted a week before the boredom and the lack of proper air circulation got the better of her. She’d been almost tearful as she apologised to Tema. “I need to go back to the hospital. I hope you understand.”

Tema didn’t blame her. Often she felt like going there herself, calling Doctor Maynard’s bluff. A big part of her was still ashamed that she’d been browbeaten by the threat of Doctor Staniforth. She ought to just come out with it, tell him in front of everybody that she intended to continue to do her job, just as she is, and if that wasn’t to his liking well then that was just too bad. But the trepidation always built up as she walked towards reception, and she could never hold her nerve any longer than catching a glimpse of whoever was sat on the front desk. The nurses must have thought somebody was going mad—either themselves or Tema. It wasn’t ordinary behaviour for the second senior doctor to consistently walk right up to the hospital and then turn and walk away.

But then, ordinary could fuck itself with a fishing pole. Ordinary had brought Tema years of suppression, eating her from the inside out. Ordinary had brought her the ravages of a male puberty, and a youth denied.

Why couldn’t she just have been ordinary?

The hospital was not an option, but neither was her little cubby. The lack of ventilation was too much for her to bear. So instead she wandered the valley’s streets. She had a grey peacoat she liked to wear, with an echinops of the most brilliant violet embroidered over the heart. The echinops was the healer’s flower, the sign of Iscané. The coat was a gift from a friend at Raconesta with a penchant for needlework.

As a wandering physician, work was hard for her to come by. People generally sought medical attention when they needed it, rather than carrying on about their business. It would take her an hour on an average day to make a round of the whole town—emerging maybe a few centilitres of salve or a sticking plaster down from the stock she’d carried in the morning. When that was done she carried herself to a quiet place to work on her treatise.

What it was a treatise on was still up in the air. Tema had a bound leather book in her sidebag, intended for taking notes, but she’d quickly learnt that it was easier to use the scrappy paper book in her breast pocket for this purpose, making up the notes nice and proper when she was next able to get into her office. One day she’d sat on the grass beside the burbling Clearwater, munching on a hasty lunch of meat in pastry, and started to write. She had four full sides of her thoughts when she realised that the sun was starting to set and her lunch had gone cold. The book evolved into a collection of her worries and aspirations. There were some odd fragments of poetry, deaf to metre, illustrated by sketches of wildflowers blind to what wildflowers actually looked like. It was a hodge-podge, a mess. But it was her. The words were authentically Tema.

Today, for a change, she’d stopped by her little clinic. In the old stories there was a prison, Peseltane. It was small and silent, its air thick with death, and it was where the Margrave of Camistane sent the people he didn’t know how to deal with. When the lover of the Margrave’s daughter Floriel was captured making war with his father-in-law’s mark, poor Floriel had begged that his life had been spared. And so he’d been consigned to the doorless walls of Peseltane, to live out his days rotting in isolation.

The clinic was Tema’s Peseltane. She wasn’t sure what had drawn her to go there. A feeling, perhaps. Lector Cavanauh at Rindehall often talked about those little feelings. They were usually bad, he said, but always to be listened to. There was a school of thought that they were seeds, planted by the Gods to nudge things in the right direction. The Gods couldn’t bear the thought of the world going by without their influence. It was their garden, and it had to be just so.

Peseltane was deserted, and Tema quickly ran out of busywork to do. Everything was arranged neatly, exactly how she liked it, and she’d paced up and down the stairs enough to meet her weekly exercise quota. So she’d slung her peacoat over her shoulder and made to leave.

And there, standing at the door, was Viola Watling.

Tema hadn’t seen Viola since the confrontation with Maynard. She’d forgotten how nice it was to see the girl’s face. At first glimpse she burst into a grin, and leaned to hug Viola. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you were getting on.” Viola’s lip quivered. “You never said what had happened to you. We were all getting worried—one day you just stopped turning up. I was beginning to wonder if you’d died.”

“I didn’t die,” said Tema. “I’m just working a new post, for a little while.”

Viola rolled her eyes. “I can see that. Why?”

“Change of scenery. I was getting bored at the hospital.” There was no way to explain her row with Maynard, without explaining what had brought it about. And she wasn’t ready to start spilling about her past to new coworkers with whom she had finally found some form of kinship. Viola didn’t need to know.

She also didn’t buy Tema’s story. “You nearly hugged my spine into diamond. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’m stupid, Doctor Caerlin. You wouldn’t be here if you had somewhere else to go. What’s happened?”

Tema looked at Viola. She could feel her eyes growing damp. It was just the hormones, they made her weepy. She wasn’t upset at having to lie to Viola—most definitely not.

“Whatever it is, I won’t judge you,” said Viola. “But I can’t be there for you if I don’t know where ‘there’ is.”

Somehow Tema knew it was time to come clean. “You promise you won’t judge?” She spoke over the shuddering of her own terrified body.

Viola shook her head. “I won’t,” she said, softly.

Tema took a deep breath. “I should have been honest with everybody from the beginning. Doctor Maynard read my file. When I was born, I had a different name. A... a man’s name. I’ve been Tema for five years. Before then... well, some would have said I was a man.” She let the silence rush in to fill the space left by her words, and waited for some reply to wash up in the tide.

Viola’s reply came in the tsunami of a mirthful laugh. “That’s a strange joke, Doctor Caerlin. Forgive me, but there is no way that’s true. I can’t look at you and not see a woman.” Tema smiled at that. “Why does Doctor Maynard care about what you looked like five years ago?”

“I’d rather not go into the details,” said Tema. “But suffice to say my records say I’m male.”

“But you’re not,” said Viola.

Tema shook her head. “Doctor Staniforth won’t agree. If he knew, I’d be in danger. I may even be killed. The best case scenario, I’d be forced to wear a male uniform, go by a male name. I can’t go back to that, I won’t go back to that, so I’m here until Doctor Ballard can get my records amended.”

Viola spat on the ground. “Staniforth can do one. Man never leaves his office. What does it matter to him which uniform you’re wearing?”

Tema smiled weakly. “It’s not worth the hassle, Viola. If I suck it up for a few more weeks, everything will be sorted, and quietly. If I go back, there’s a risk Doctor Staniforth will raise hell. I can do without having my identity smeared in public.”

“I’ll spit in his coffee,” said Viola.

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Then I’ll pour the coffee over his head.”

“An even worse idea,” Tema chuckled.

Viola sighed. “I wish I could stick around, but I should get going. I don’t want to be too late for my shift.” She began to walk away.

Tema nodded. “I understand.”

A few paces along, Viola turned back briefly. “I love your coat, girl,” she called. “You look really pretty in it.”

There was no fighting back the tears now. Tema ducked inside Peseltane so nobody would see as she sobbed her heart out. So what if she looked a mess? She was pretty.

It had only taken thirty years for somebody to call her pretty.

Once she’d cleaned herself up, Tema made her way through the town. A hunger had settled in her stomach, so she traded a silver granney for a sandwich heaping with tender strips of pink meat and a pot of hot potatoes in gravy from the Tavern in the plaza. She liked to get her lunch from the Tavern when she could. The waitress always complimented her outfit, and she always got a kick out of that.

With her sandwich in hand, she headed north, following along the narrow tributary of the Clearwater that crept up out of the town then peeled away towards easterly headlands. This was a peaceful route. Even on the brightest days, most merrymakers preferred the wider stretches of the river closer to the Eia. It was purely happenstance that Tema had come to learn of this trail. Even the point where it became separate from the main body of the river was obscured. High earthen banks overgrown with thick leafy trees made the confluence difficult to find. It was shady there, and peaceful.

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Tema planned to spend her lunch in the company of the little critters that dwelled here. Theirs was the sort of chatter she could bear to listen to.

She’d not even taken a single bite when she saw a familiar face. This arboreal pocket was right beside the grassy slopes upon which the Northern Road lead out of the valley, and on these slopes a man was walking briskly. Macel Donea. The sleeves of his serge were rolled back to his elbows.

How could she fail to recognise that great big nose of his? She’d got on well enough with Macel, during her stint with the Advanced Party. It had been a long time since she’d seen him, months. He had a girlfriend now, if she remembered what Sam Preston had said. Bessily. The same Bessily who had fallen in with Caroline.

Tema wondered if Macel knew about the stablegirl’s special gift. It might be worth finding out. If he didn’t, well then at least she’d have had a chance to catch up with a friend.

She stuffed her food into its paper wrapping and pushed through the trees directly towards him, calling his name as she went. He didn’t seem to hear.

For the most part the greenery was easy to pass through. The trunks of the trees were narrow, and the branches spindly. Much of the mass was pure vegetation, easily bending in the wake of even gentle pressure. But there was the occasional thorny thicket, rewarding her for her endeavours with a mass of annoying little nicks. She’d ignored these as best she could, and as Macel was passing directly by so she was but a single row of trees from the open incline.

“Macel!” She called his name once more, and this time he heard. He paused and looked around him, looked in all directions. He looked right past her. There was nothing on his face to suggest that he’d spotted her. The leaves were dense, in fairness. Sure, there were gaps enough to see through, but only if you knew what it was you were looking for. She’d got lucky that she’d spied Macel through a wider gap in the trees, the rivershore having a higher vantage point.

After a few seconds, Macel seemed to have satisfied himself that he’d imagined the wild voice calling out his name. He shrugged and carried on his way.

That wasn’t acceptable. Tema had forgone her peaceful lunch in the woods because she wanted to talk to Macel. If she were now to lose sight of him, it would be just as if she’d chosen not to talk to him in the first place. Only it would be worse, because she wouldn’t have eaten her dinner. It would be cold by the time she got back to a good spot.

She charged forward, hoping to push through and get onto the grass. She should have watched the ground. As she moved, so her feet caught in a knot in the ground, and her momentum was too great. She found herself falling. There was just time for her to put out a hand to try and break her fall. The potatoes in their pot went tumbling to the ground, and she got a face full of congealed gravy.

The commotion she caused drew Macel’s attention. It must have been an odd sight for him to see, turning around to find a mad woman looking feral on the ground. He didn’t act concerned.

“If it isn’t Tema Caerlin,” he said. “Did you have a bit of a fall?”

“I was just testing the ground.” Tema used to be better at coming up with explanations on the spot. She pushed down at the soft soil, smearing more of the gravy on her hands. “Yep. It’s really there.”

Macel laughed. “I didn’t know you were funny,” he said.

“Now what do you mean by that?” She got to her feet, arms folded. “I told more than my share of jokes.”

“That’s what I mean,” Macel nodded.

“Is it too hard to play along? You’ve just crushed a girl’s dreams of being an entertainer.”

“Aren’t you a doctor?”

Tema nodded. “Well, yes. For the moment.”

Macel took a step towards her. “You make it sound like any minute now you’re going to lose your doctorship.”

She felt her lip beginning to tremble, so she bit down on it to make it comply. “If there’s a way, I’ll manage it.”

Macel jabbed a thumb downwards, in the direction of the town which seemed from here to stretch all the way to the horizon. The Eia seemed but a tiny speck in the distance. She’d always focused on the woods and the water, when it came to finding nice places to relax. A view like this was a treat. If she hadn’t dropped her picnic already, she might have stayed here. She’d have to remember this for next time. “Why don’t you walk with me?” said Macel. “I’ve got an errand to run in town, and then it’s back to the Watch.”

Tema smiled. “I can walk a while. It’s not as though I’ve anything better to be doing.”

For much of the journey back into town, their conversation was limited to general chatter. They shared the stories of what broadly they’d been up to, and a small part of Tema found herself lamenting her return to hospital work. It seemed that Macel had had a more interesting time. And a less insulting one, presumably. Still, she couldn’t say she missed Anna Bennett. Lieutenant Bennett had raised her hackles for the entirety of her time amongst the soldiers, and from what Macel said she’d got no better with time.

She’d sent him into town today, in fact. “It’s my fault for being late to breakfast, apparently,” he said. “I was with Bessily all night. She needed me.”

“Is that Bessily the stablegirl? Sam Preston mentioned her.”

Macel shook his head. “Nothing’s a secret with Sam, is it? Let me guess: he spun a story of how I’ve been fucking Bessily for months? And somehow, somewhere along the way, he had to have a go to show her what she’s missing out on by staying with me? Is that accurate?”

“Not the second part,” said Tema. “But he did say you and her have been having sex.”

“Well, we haven’t,” said Macel.

As the conversation died down, an awkward silence took its place. Tema wanted to probe further, to ask more questions and see what exactly Macel knew about Bessily the stablegirl. It was a question of working out how to do so without coming out and saying what she had already been told—and she wouldn’t do that unless she was certain Macel already knew the same things. Bessily deserved her secrets, just like everybody else.

“This place has grown up a lot recently,” said Macel, eventually breaking the silence. They were approaching the Eia, and the last grotty row of tenements surrounding it. “I was expecting an easier time finding my way around.”

“I don’t think the layout’s changed, so much as the buildings have all sprung up now. It’s harder when you can’t just look over the top of the foundations.”

Macel nodded. “That sounds like the sort of thing lectors like to tell you is profound. Stick a philosopher’s name next to it, and you could probably sell it as some deep quote.”

“There’s nothing deep about it,” Tema laughed. “Every word was one hundred percent literal.”

“Wallwork’s is this way.” Macel indicated the road south-east. It was a road seldom travelled by Tema. Little in the way of construction had taken place here. Tenement buildings aside, there was only the little crescent of tradesmen’s workshops—Toby Wallwork’s glaziers included—which had been spun off halfway down the road. Further on, when the road came nearest to touching the valley walls, a branching track meandered towards Tasha’s house. Tema didn’t need an excuse not to venture that far.

“This girl. Bessily.” Tema took the opportunity to sound Macel out, as they followed the south-east road. “What’s she like?”

Macel shrugged. “I like her. She’s lonely—it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d never had a friend in her life before she came to Essegena. But she’s friendly enough.” He paused. “Sometimes she has bad dreams. Not proper dreams, more like she can see the future. I think it’s just coincidence, but to be honest I don’t really know. She gets really spooked by it, though. That’s why I was up all night last night, actually, and thus why Bennett sent me to the glazier. She had a bad one.”

“Foresleepers see the future in their dreams, so they say.” She took care to word things so as not to make it obvious that she knew.

“Bessily mentioned that word,” said Macel. “They’re a myth, aren’t they?”

“Myths are based on something.”

Macel laughed. “Bessily’s a normal girl—a bit fragile, maybe, but normal. I highly doubt there are any great myths based on her.”

“Normal or not, she sounds fun,” said Tema. “If ever you’re in town with her, swing by. I’d like to meet her.”

They came upon Toby Wallwork’s workshop then, and that brought the conversation to an end. Macel headed inside, leaving Tema in the sunlit yard. There was a woman there in a smock the colour of terracotta, a dark pinafore in front of it and blonde hair piled into a net atop her head. She was moving bags of sand into a pile beneath the linen awnings at the front of Wallwork’s shop. She could only be his wife. The old man with her, leaning on a spindly wooden cane as he stood beside a wooden barrel, was immediately more recognisable. Everybody who’d grown up in Unity schooling knew Edward Ruddingshaw by sight. There were few bigger celebrities.

Tema was surprised to see him. She thought he’d died years ago.

“Excuse me, sir.” She inched towards him. “You’re Edward Ruddingshaw, aren’t you?”

Master Ruddingshaw turned to her with a genial smile. “Another fan? I’m afraid I’ve no mementos to give you.”

“I don’t want anything, Master Ruddingshaw. I just... I wondered if I could ask you a question?”

The blonde woman put down the bag of sand in her hands. “I’ll make sure Toby gets to your request as soon as he has a minute,” she said, rubbing her hands clean, and she bustled indoors.

“Mistress Wallwork is good to me,” said Ruddingshaw. “A rare perk of being old. You had a question, dear?”

“Everybody loves you, Master Ruddingshaw. It’s like the whole Unity’s agreed to never say a bad word about you. Not that I’d want to, of course—I loved how you invoked the Tally Vaux case when you were defending Bel Jephnum.” Tally Vaux was a bloodthirsty tale from a few centuries past, a series of grisly murders—the name ‘Tally Vaux’ daubed in blood at every crime scene. A local butcher had been tried and arrested for the murders, and all was well. And then the dreaded Tally Vaux had struck again. The butcher had been set free, of course—he couldn’t possibly have been the killer, since he’d been at the bottom of a deep cell when the last murder happened. But they never caught the real culprit. To this day, debate endured. Some even theorised that the butcher was guilty after all. Tally Vaux wasn’t an individual—it was an identity, used by multiple killers.

Nobody had been quite sure how that related to the Bel Jephnum case, when Ruddingshaw first brought it up. Tema still didn’t understand the link. But clearly it had worked. Bel Jephnum was never convicted of any crimes.

Tema looked to Ruddingshaw. “How did you get people to respect you? I thought it came with experience, but the higher I climb the more it seems like people want a bite of me.”

Master Ruddingshaw looked at her with a glint in his eyes. “You’re Tema Caerlin—is that right? Doctor Ballard is rather fond of you. She’s nominated you as her deputy, if my understanding is correct.”

Tema nodded. “That’s right, sir. But it still feels as though I’ve got to watch my every move. If I make one move wrong, everyone will pounce, and my career will be over. How did you get past that point?”

“I didn’t.” Ruddingshaw shifted his cane in the dirt. “Being an expert isn’t knowing everything there is to know. It’s knowing enough that everyone expects you to know everything. Sometimes there’s something beyond the breadth of your knowledge, but try telling people that. You know what they’ll say? ‘How can you not know? You’re an expert’. You have to get in the mindset that what other people think is completely irrelevant. It’s the same with respect. You don’t earn respect by getting people to like you. High Commissioner Graystone wanted me disbarred when I stood behind Jephnum, but I did it anyway. I did a good job, and I kept doing a good job whenever I could. That’s where the respect came from. And you know something? I still worry that I’m going to be found out for a shyster. I haven’t entered a courtroom for fifteen years, and part of me’s still expecting all the respect to disappear.”

“Master Ruddingshaw... oh, I’m making a fool of myself even talking here... but you were one of my heroes, growing up,” said Tema. “That won’t change. Not ever.”

“And yet no matter how often you say that, I won’t stop fearing. It’s human nature to fear. You have to put that fear aside to be great. Whatever you do, people will judge you for it. Let them judge you for what you do, not the other way around. When you start letting others’ opinions inform your decisions, you’re lost.” He hobbled over to Tema, and rested a bony hand on her shoulder. “Do the right thing, and do it for you. If you do that, you’ll get the respect you deserve. You look a pretty young woman, Tema Caerlin. I’m sure the respect will come.”

“I’m not young,” said Tema. “I’m thirty.”

“And I’m thrice that.” Ruddingshaw turned away from her, casting his gaze at the brilliant sky. “All the adoration, all the love I get, I’d trade it all for a chance to be thirty years old again. To be with my Vera. If you catch yourself wishing your youth away, Tema Caerlin, remind yourself that I told you not to. And yes, you do still have youth. When it’s gone, you’ll know. It’s the worst feeling in the world.”