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Chapter XXXIV : Friend or Foe
Latemorn of Tertius, Fourth Day of Autumnmoon
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Géorg lived in a small, single-room shack, part of a row of homes in Saladin’s residential district. The residences spanned across multiple city blocks, creating a grid of low-cost housing for the city’s merchants and laborers. The space was meager, but he was single and alone, and it served his modest needs. A thin layer of dust coated the top of everything. Ridding it was nearly impossible in the desert city.
He arrived with the young woman from the base of the Zeugma Pass, laid her on his bed, and began treating her. He poulticed her neck to reduce swelling and elevated her head to aid breathing. He lathered salve atop her wounds to heal the torn, scraped skin. He noticed a fever, but he determined it came from an infection, caused by the endrake’s barbs. They were notoriously dirty creatures. He needed thistlewort to treat it, the same herb he had failed to find while foraging. He’d need to shop for some at the bazaar. Until then, his options were limited.
He hoped to avoid the cost of a professional healer. Sorcerers were hard to come by in Saladin—good ones, at least. Even sloppy healers charged a premium. Besides, he wanted to learn more about this woman. Having already determined that she likely came from a wealthy family, he wondered if he could earn a reward for her safe return. He had the necessary herbs to bring her to consciousness. All he needed were a few moments to pry some answers. So he mixed an unguent and placed it under her tongue. In a few moments, her eyelids fluttered.
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior. She looked around the room, as if trying to recognize her surroundings. She tried to sit up but quickly fell back to the mattress, grunting.
“Miss, be still,” he cautioned. “You suffer from paralytic effects of endrake. Muscles will remain stiff for day, maybe more. But, I assure you, you are safe. You had very bad fall. Lucky to be alive.”
The mention of her fall apparently triggered something. Her breathing elevated, and her eyes darted. “Who are you?” Her voice was hoarse. “Where am I?”
“Don’t be afraid.” He maintained a calm voice, hoping to soothe her distress. “Whatever happened is passed. I am Géorg, a merchant in Saladin. And you are in my home. I found you at base of Ur Mountains, near Zeugma Pass.”
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She appeared disoriented, as if trying to jog a recent memory. Her voice was shaken and unsteady. “How did you … happen to be there?”
Géorg hoped an explanation would put her at ease. “I trade in rare plants. My, eh … search happened to be on south side of desert. I found you injured. Brought you here.”
He handed her a glass of water. She cringed at the muddy contents.
“The water in Saladin is not always clear, but is safe to drink,” he assured her. He waited patiently for her to finish, now more curious than ever to learn her background. “Was hoping you could give name.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to.”
She paused, as if trying to compose herself. “I don’t mean to be rude. You’ve been kind to treat my injuries, and I thank you. But I’m not comfortable being here. I want to be on my way.”
Géorg had a bad feeling. He wondered what this young woman had to hide, such that she’d even withhold her name. “Very well. You may remain anonymous, if you wish, but you must understand condition. I treat you, best I can. But, you lose much blood. And have, ehm … fever. If left untreated, could worsen.”
It seemed to dawn on the young woman that she wasn’t fit to leave, but Géorg didn’t want her to despair.
“Not all bad news. You have, ehm … clothes of wealthy family. You must have loved ones searching for you. You tell me names, perhaps I locate, yes?”
Her eyes widened and she spoke forcefully. “No! You mustn’t tell anyone I’m here.” She looked terrified.
Géorg’s uneasiness grew. “Why not? You … in trouble?”
She averted her eyes. “Please, I won’t be any trouble. Just don’t speak of my presence. To anyone.”
Géorg stood up and eyed her thoughtfully. “Your accent is, uh … from Angkor, no?”
She refused to answer, but it was obvious. “Don’t tell me you are criminal?”
She didn’t deny it. Géorg worried. “You were fleeing from authorities when you fall from mountain pass.”
Her silence confirmed everything. His anxiety grew. “Tell me you have not brought wrath of Angkor into my home!”
The woman rolled on her side, facing away. No words, but her silence was deafening.
Géorg cursed. He wrung his hands, thinking of how to handle this newly acquired liability. At last, he leaned over the mattress.
“Cannot in good conscience turn you over to authorities. But, neither will I place myself at risk. I will leave, purchase herbs, and return. You stay. And rest. But, if fever worsens, you must leave. I cannot be accomplice to woman dying in bed!”
She refused to face him, but she mumbled a response. “I understand.”
Géorg removed some fruit from the cupboard and placed it beside the bed.
“If hungry, eat. But, suggest you rest, instead.” He headed for the door.
“Thank you,” she called out. He paused for a moment, wondering how his compassion could have backfired so badly. Ilse would have wanted him to care for the sick and injured, but if this woman was being pursued by a country like Angkor, she could very well get him killed. It was not in his nature to take that kind of risk. He mumbled a few more curses in his native tongue before leaving. He never looked back.