Chapter 37: Improve, Pizza Ovens, and Free Health Care

[Folder]->[Title]->

1. [Experimental Pioneer]

(Congratulations! You were stupid…BOLD…enough to play with fire and create a new, unique scroll. +10% chance to successfully discover new applications of [mana] with intent in regards to magical scroll making.)

2. [Improvisational Combatant]

(Wow, impressive! You corrupted a noble [Class] for personal defense, using imagination and available materials in new and unexpected ways. +10% chance to successfully improvise magical scrolls during combat. +10% chance to cause harm to self on implementation.)

Alright, it's a bit of a double-edged sword on the new [Title], though it did track. Sort of a last-ditch measure, if you asked me, but that was exactly what it had been at the time. As long as I didn’t do more damage to myself than my opponent, except…isn’t that what happened? Still, any animal in a trap would rather chew their leg off than die. I’m not above that, to keep breathing.

Speaking of breathing, the elf bandit-slash-adventurer had cracked a couple of my ribs. My hand hurt worse, unless I, you know, breathed or moved. Or worse, Mother of Trees, I sneezed!

Also, when did I start thinking of getting into combat again? Me? Ha! Not likely, no way, no how ( Jhok?). Eh, why would I be worth his time? I’ll never see the thug again. Probably.

I was sitting straight on the stool at my workstation, my right hand cradled against my chest and left wrapped around my midsection. For some reason, my mind thought this would help.

‘Silly rabbit! Denials are for Humans!’

Was I though? Still human, under a candy elf shell? Such a deep thought (bother), so much so that I didn’t hear my Master walk up behind me.

“Book.”

Alric set a hand on my shoulder, and I started violently.

“Wha…oooww-ow-ow! Mother Trucker!” Ooh, that sucked. I tried to simultaneously twist and stand, clutching my ribs way too tightly, and smacked my seared hand on the table.

“Book?!” Master Alric was taken aback at my severe reaction. “Are you hurt? Kessel told me there was some trouble at her place, but didn’t tell me anyone was seriously hurt.”

“Just me, Master. The others are OK.” I tried to put on a brave show but doubted it took. “You should see the other guys! Uh, the bad ones, not my friends.”

“Let me see your hand.” He took it, being more gentle than I thought he was capable of. “Tsk. As a [Scrivener], your hand is your life. You should know that, Book. And you should have come to me. You are my apprentice, and I car…you are my responsibility. It is even your dominant hand, Bless her roots.”

Who was this guy? Why hadn’t I met him before?

“Kolin gave me some salve for it, and it helps. But I ran out of it last night.” It was One-day, two days after the fight. I’d slept most of yesterday away, a reaction to the artificial adrenaline dump, then drain. I had barely been able to move when I woke up. Tess had to help me out of bed, and she was none too gentle about it, either. My roommate wasn’t much of a nurse. Luckily, this morning she was gone before I got up, back to her regular routine. It took me a long time to maneuver out of my bed, but I managed it without an excruciating amount of pain. Sort of. The walk into work made me wish for an Uber.

“Come with me, apprentice.” The formality was back.

Once I was settled firmly on my feet, Master Alric led me from his shop and down several streets. Every jarring step was agony on my ribs. My Master surely noticed as he slowed his pace to match mine. He wasn’t one for idle chit-chat—and I didn't have the breath—so the trip was made in silence.

Fifteen very long minutes later, and we were in front of an unmarked, blue door. Alric gave two sharp raps on it, then pushed inside. I followed like a little, lost duckling with a broken wing. We were past the threshold before I realized something was wrong. Where was the ubiquitous bell announcing our arrival? This was the first place outside of a dwelling that hadn’t greeted me with a tinkling chime. I missed it (did you hit your head?). ‘More like the lack of oxygen, but never mind. When are we going to have that long overdue talk?’

Silence, naturally.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Philly?” Master Alric called out.

“Keep your robes on, I’m coming.” A stout woman around Alric’s age limped out past a pair of swinging doors, a tantalizing odor hard on her heels. Cookies! Sniff-sniff. Cinnamon and sugar; do they call them snickerdoodles here? “The door let me know you are here, Alric. What do you want? You know I can’t cure your ail…oh. Hi, young man. You need a [Healer]?”

I looked at Alric, and he shrugged and gestured for me to talk.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s my hand, see?’ I held out the offending appendage, palm up to show the deep burn. It was pocked with oozing blisters and—more worrying—specks of black charring. That couldn’t be good. My hand was still a bit shiny from the last of Kolin’s salve I’d applied to it. I’d wanted to see a [Healer] on my own, but alas, medical insurance wasn’t a thing, and most people wanted actual money. Any coins I had in my possession were earmarked for supplies. And rent. Food, incidentals, and I still owed Tess. She had said I could pay her in trade with scrolls, but no supplies meant no scrolls.

Philly took my hand in both of hers, pulling it closer to her face. She squinted as she inspected it, muttering under her breath. She even held it up to her nose at one point, getting a good whiff.

“When did this happen, young man?”

“Two days ago. I, uh, had an accident with one of my scrolls.”

“Scrolls? So you are Alric’s apprentice then?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Philly.”

“Book,” I responded.

“Good name. So, you did this on Eight-day, then waited for One-day? Not very smart; a [Scrivener]’s hands are their life.” She shook her head at my stupidity, mirroring Master Alric's earlier words.

I gave a sheepish half-shrug, wincing as my rib pain flared. I had to suck air through my teeth to avoid screaming in the kind woman’s face. Being a [Healer], she didn’t fail to see it.

Philly gave Alric an acidic glare.

“He didn’t tell me.” My Master didn’t bend in his firm tone, showing no guilt.

“Is that right, Book?”

I nodded this time, careful not to jar my body. She was right, too, about my stupidity. I couldn’t earn coin with scrolls if I had no use of my dominant hand, so hoarding them for materials was just dumb (yup).

“Let me guess, you were afraid to tell him?”

“Kind of, Philly.” It was the truth, but more in the sense I was afraid he’d make me pay for it myself.

“Is that so, Book?” Master Alric’s face frowned in reproach, including both of us. “Certainly, I will pay. It is my responsibility to care for any injuries.”

Sure, in training, but outside of work?

“I gave you that address, Book. In essence, I am the one that sent you into the arms of that criminal gang, Team Nightshade.”

Did he know every detail? That felt a little too much Big Brother for my taste. I suppose he was only looking out for me, but I could not help but feel smothered.

Oh, and…address book? Ha!

“No Master, you didn’t know they would attack us. It is on them, not you.”

“Run-in with those thugs?” Philly raised…both eyebrows, yay! Another underachiever in that regard to warm my soul. “And this is your only hurt? That and the cracked ribs you’re trying to hide.”

Yep, she noticed. Why was I keeping it close, anyway? Don’t tell me I’m going all macho, for Acorn’s sake. First, fighting (self-defense), and then wanting to look tough (for who?).

‘Now you are supporting me?’ At least, half-supporting, although the last part was ambiguous. (Dolt.) See? No venom!

“My friends were with me, they did the heavy lifting. One of them is an official Team Adventurer.” Soon to be two.

“Impressive, anyway. Now, come with me.” She led me past the door hiding that enticing aroma, and I found myself not in a kitchen like I’d expected, but instead something resembling a triage room. “Take a seat on the edge of the table.”

I did as told, gently shifting my body up onto a padded exam table, one butt cheek at a time. Cabinets and shelves decorated the room, along with multiple, hand-drawn anatomy charts. No lollipops, sad emoji, but where was that delicious smell coming from?

That is where the resemblance to modern medicine ended. Philly the [Healer] replaced Philly the kind, older woman. She firmly took hold of my injured hand again, cupping one of her own hands under and the other over it then closed her eyes and bowed her head until it touched our clasped hands. An unpleasant warmth suffused my tender skin, on the edge of being too hot. Burns don’t react well to more heat, like peering into a pizza oven with a sunburned face.

Blue light shown through the skin of Philly’s top hand, highlighting her delicate bones and seeping from between our pressed flesh. The heat intensified until I was on the edge of passing out from the intensity, then it went cold. All of the pain vanished in the blink of an eye, before being replaced. First the lava, now the frostbite began the cycle of agony anew. How can I stand this?

“Aah…oooh. Wow, that feels so much better, thank you.” Sweet, blessed relief! But the [Healer] wasn’t done with me. The deep chill traveled my veins to my chest, then enveloped my torso with an arctic grip. I felt a shifting along my ribcage, the cracks closing as the bones knit themselves into a solid whole. Next came the heat as the opposing cycles came around to the start. My chest went from nipples that could cut glass to the swampy mangrove of matted chest hair (that is just plain gross!). ‘Ha, English Major, so suck it!’

Philly abruptly let go of my hand and patted me on the cheek. “There you go, dear. You should be all better.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely, good as new.” I couldn’t thank her enough.

“You are most welcome, Book. Your Master is more than happy to pay for it. Right Alric? I thought so.”

I didn’t see Master Alric’s expression but I could imagine it. I was too busy looking at my palm, which now looked like shed snake skin covered in malignant black dots. Before I could say anything, Philly rubbed the skin vigorously with a damp cloth soaked in something vinegary. The flesh peeled away—along with all of the charred bits—and left unblemished, slightly sensitive skin, just like the first healthy layer of skin under a sunburn. It was pink and soft; back to normal, for me.

I took a few tentative twists with my core, the movement free and loose, with no pain.

Gotta love Magic.

And free—for me—health care.

Where was the cinnamon, anyway?