CHAPTER 26

Wyl mutters to herself as she hops from shelf to shelf in search of Saint Tomason’s Blood, the red herb common to most healing potions and their main active ingredient. After listening to her for a few seconds I realize she’s singing an old nursery rhyme with the lyrics rearranged to make the song dirty and crass. She can carry a tune, however.

She appears by my head again and unfolds one hand to show me a little pile of brittle, crackling leaves that in the half-light look tinged with a deep red. I nod.

“Since after I give you this you’ll be free to go your own way, I think it’s fair you tell me the rest of it. It’s to do with the doors, right. Then what?”

I try to think. I haven’t had a chance to check my pockets and the sacks I’ve tied around my waist and which Wyl kindly removed and left by my feet. It’s also possible that stole the Emerald Keystone while I was unconscious. If so, there goes my leverage.

“Go on,” says Rue, always the fair player. “You promised.”

I frown down at him, but there’s something about his chirpiness that catches my attention.

“It’s about the doors,” I say slowly. “And the gemstones.”

Wyl’s expression remains a barely-polite blank.

“Doors. Gemstones. Like the emerald in your pocket? That makes more sense. First I thought: that’s daft, that is, carrying loot in a situation like this.”

I sigh in relief. The Emerald is in my pocket. I can sit up now, provided I bend, and in that new position begin checking over my body for the more serious injuries.

“There are doors spread across the levels. The black one on the second floor, this white one here, and two more. And there are also gemstones. I think the gemstones are keys. They open the doors.”

“That emerald opens that door?”

“I don’t think so. Corresponding colors. Green on green, black on black.”

“But the door’s not locked,” Wyl says, furrowing her brow. “I had to open it to let in a few pudding beasties and shoo the people coming after you.”

The blood freezes in my veins.

“You what?”

“Yeah,” Wyl continues. “They were very insistent. So I released the thingies to scare them off.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

Wyl shrugs, managing to communicate with that one gesture that people get hurt all the time all over the world, and very little of that has anything to do with her. The thought of Rev getting caught by one of those things and mutating crosses my mind and I have to fight to keep the fear from overtaking me.

“Can I have the leaves now, please?”

I spend the next few minutes mixing the herbs with water and applying the result all over the worst cuts. My body slowly pulls itself back together, spitting out splinters, erasing slashes, fading bruises. As that happens, a pit opens inside me, growing and growing until the hunger is almost unbearable. The last few sticks of dried meat vanish from my packs, barely chewed.

Wyl, resting her chin on her arms, looks suitably impressed.

“I know a few people outside that would love having you on their team.”

“Doubt it,” I say, fishing the last few crumbs out of the sack. “This amount of herbs would set you back about the same as a horse.”

She whistles.

Wyl shows me how to get down from the shelves, and proves that she is much more dexterous at it than I could ever be, hand or no hand. In the end, sighing, she gets me a movable ladder, rolling it down the length of the room.

“Why didn’t your hand get better?”

If anything, it got worse. I explain what those herbs are supposed to do and how they act, and that spending too much time without the right medicine is usually a sure cause for disaster. I do it absent mindedly while peering down the corridor Wyl dragged me through. It’s unlit, and it apparently curves, so that I can only see the reflected light of the Floating Room on the dark stone of the walls.

Hilde. Tale trapped her and would have trapped me if she hadn’t shouted out a warning. Why did he betray us? Was it something I did? Was he planning on exchanging Hilde either way?

And Rev… I hope she’s all right. Between slimes and Essa sniffing out a betrayal I’m not sure what fate to fear the most.

But the corridor is empty. Distant shouts bounce down to us, but they’ve been getting steadily dimmer since I woke up.

Shaking my head, I realize the hidden meaning in Wyl’s question: there’s no way for me to go anywhere without first taking care of my hand, getting the infection under control. That will take more immediate action, and I set to it, dragging myself down the counter to peer into the shelves.

It’s a messy laboratory when you look closely. The same herbs are found in different places and sometimes mixed with similar ones. Though Dala would have given her favorite arm for an hour in this place, she would have tutted the whole time at the lack of organization and planning.

A number of things are needed to prepare a concoction that has any chance of bringing my fever down and saving my hand. I’m sure that simpler ways exist, probably in one of these shelves, but Dala mostly taught me to work with what I had, meaning what existed around Reach. The more exotic ingredients mean as much to me as to Wyl.

“What are you searching for?”

I explain, listing the herbs and roots out loud and describing them. It reminds me of taking walks with Dala, when she would quiz me.

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Like she did to distract you while the Godtouched took Katha, my overheated brain supplies. I shake the thought away. Can’t focus on that right now. I have to focus. I have to think.

I spot one of the roots on a high up shelf. Without me needing to beg for it, Wyl simply jumps up, climbs a few shelves like rungs on a ladder, and tosses the root down for me to catch. When I shoot her a questioning look she shrugs.

“You seem to know what you’re doing. If keeping you alive improves my chances, I’m all for it. And if you die I can take the emerald and scamper. Win-win.

I accept her logic. With her help, it takes me no time at all to locate and retrieve the plants I need. I grind them down with the help of a pestle while directing Wyl to light one of the oil lamps on the table.

“Why d’you think all this stuff is here?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “It’s useful stuff. I bet some of these leaves would cure me immediately of this or any harm. The trick is knowing what is what, and I know very little.”

As I say it, I realize the library books on herblore could be very helpful here. If only I had the time to read through them.

“Right, yeah, but how does it help with the show?”

“You mean the Challenge?”

“Right. You think all those fancy Godtouched are enjoying watching us brew some potions for your scratches? And would you mind if I do that? You’re doing a terrible job.”

She’s right. I can’t hold the mortar in place while crushing with my right hand, and switching the pestle to my left sounds laughable at this point. Wyl takes hold of them both and, without wasting a movement, grinds the herbs and roots into a homogeneous slurry.

But she’s right in more ways than one. We are being watched, Hilde had said, and apparently everyone knows that too, but why would anyone want to watch this? And with that in mind, why a library, a laboratory, places where people were likely to sit in for ages without doing anything very interesting?

“I guess they’re watching someone else right now,” I say. “The people who were screaming, or maybe someone just bested the… the giant snow bear in level three.”

“Not a bear,” Wyl says. “It’s a sort of snake with sort of dove wings all over its body. I saw it catch a kid. Poor idiot didn’t even see it coming.”

“Oh. Uh. Sorry you had to see that.”

She flashes me a grin.

“I’m sorrier that the kid had to go through it.”

We pass the mixture over to a flat-bottomed flask and place it above the oil lamp. It doesn’t need much heat, but a fairly constant exposure to it over a few minutes. Closeness to the oil lamp makes my skin clammy and my face flushed. Nausea rolls in waves in my stomach.

“How did you get around in the dungeon? You seem to have been everywhere from levels two to three. How?” I ask, just to keep her talking.

“Well, it’s vertical, isn’t it?” she asks, eyes glimmering with the flame. “And I’m a fantastic climber. Particularly with these.” She wiggles her fingers, calling attention to the gloves. They’re made of a very light material, almost see-through, though I can’t tell what it is. They cover only the palms and the backs of her hands, leaving the fingers free.

“What are they?”

“They’re magical, is what they are,” she says happily. “Beat a fountain to get’em.”

“A fountain,” I say, expressionless.

Wyl nods sharply and goes back to watching the potion. Just then, it fizzles a little and the abhorrent smell of the herbs fills the air, like heated damp dog. Wyl squeezes her nose shut and stumbles away from the counter, making expressive retching noises. I take the potion out of its holder and put it on the counter to cool. Just a little longer now. The smell isn’t doing anything for my nausea, and just the thought of drinking the thing is enough to induce vomit.

Hold it together.

“Wyl,” I say. “Watch this.”

And I down the potion.

Wyl’s eyes widen.

It tastes like cabbage. Tthe kind of cabbage that was left forgotten on a field for weeks and then recovered and made into soup. It’s the sort of flavor that medicine should always have because no patient will ever doubt the efficacy of something so foul. Also, it stops them from doing foolish things again lest they’re forced to drink it again. If the choice between the ail and the cure isn’t difficult, then medicine has failed.

“Oh, gods,” I say. I have to lean forward, hands on my knees, as my stomach battles the infernal thing. For a moment, whether it will stay down or spill over is the matter of a coin flip. The coin tumbles through the air, turning, and as I follow its imaginary path I catch Wyl’s expression.

She’s in awe.

“Is it disgusting?” she asks in a hush.

“It’s worse.”

“Are you going to puke all over?”

I just shake my head because opening my mouth to answer would have resulted in a very definite yes. Wyl seems disappointed, but her initial reaction wins out. She reaches forward and touches my shoulder with reverence.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen anyone drink,” she says. By her tone, I understand that the competition is ongoing and worthy of how impressed she sounds.

I nod weakly. There is already an itch coursing up from my hand, like a very, very slow shock. As I stare down at it, a little more certain that the disgusting mixture is going to sit tight in my stomach, I think I can see the deep redness shrink and pale. The nausea wanes, which is amazing of itself. And my skin isn’t burning up anymore.

“Feeling better?” Wyl asks.

I nod, then straighten up. The potion works very fast, cleaning my blood and skin of impurities, driving the rot away, healing where it can. But it can’t do everything. The damage in my hand is beyond my capabilities; all I guaranteed was that it won’t be necessary to cut the hand off to save the arm. Whether it will ever hold a staff again is another matter entirely.

“I’m good.” I flash a smile at Wyl. “Thank you for helping me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“No,” she agrees. “You would have died without me. Now come on. You say you’re getting us out of here, and I believe you. Where to?”

“The Floating Room. My friend is being held there and she has another key.” We still have no idea how these doors work. Is one key enough to get everyone out? Should we get more? “And then we find the Silver Door on the third floor.”

Wyl scratches her chin, thoughtful.

“That way, huh?”

“That would be ideal, yes.”

“Well, lead on, then,” she says, then shoulders a little pack and looks at me, expectant.

Feeling quite a bit more confident now that the fever has abated and the weight on my head has decreased, I walk ahead down the corridor, letting Wyl follow.

The first thing I notice is that the floor is pristine, as if scrubbed to a shine. It’s also empty. Even when we make the turn and can see the passage into the Floating Room, there aren’t any pieces of wood littering the ground. Not even chips, or, I’d wager, dust.

“Was this the slimes?”

“Mm-hm,” Wyl says. She’s strangely silent, and whenever I look back she gives me a big grin of encouragement and nods forward.

The flashes in the Floating Room continue, signaling the trap is still alive and well. But the light has changed somewhat. It’s duller, greener. A growing apprehension begins to grow in me. Why can’t I hear shouting, human activity? Why aren’t there ropes stretched across the room, marking the advance of Essa’s group? They’re better armed and more numerous, they have bows, they had a ram... They should have had no trouble passing through the room, even with the threat of the chunks of wood. And why isn’t there anything floating in the Floating Room?

The answer passes in front of our eyes a few steps before we reach the lip of the entrance. It reminds me of Rue somewhat, only it’s as big as a dog and a sickly green. It rolls slowly from left to right and seems to spot us, but though it turns and twists it can gain no leverage in the air. Before it vanishes completely, another one, more distant, drifts like a green moon. This one is tiny , barely bigger than my hand. Then another appears. And another. As we watch, it quickly becomes clear that the room is filled with slimes.

“How did… How many did you let pass?”

“Oh, I wasn’t counting,” Wyl says. “And it’s hard to tell, in any case. Whenever they touch they become one, and when the mood takes them they separate again. Mood or…”

A flash of blue. The slime that touched the wall is propelled forcefully across the room, though not very hard. Either the trap is almost spent, the slime is too light, or a mix of both. But still, when it hits the far wall and is thrown again, the force splits it in two, each going their separate way, seemingly unfazed.

Me and Wyl watch in silence.

“We should probably leave before one is thrown our way,” I say.

“Probably for the best.”