The King's Reckoning
IC time is: evening
IC date is: May
IC year is: 3186 S.A.
LOCATION:
Healing House: Hall
This hall has many windows, all along it's long length. At the fore near the door there is an entryway of sorts. A few chairs there are and a desk near the wall. A wide arch separates this entry from the rest of the hall, and it is high. For the ceiling itseif is high, with lanterns mounted on the walls on all sides, lighting the hall at night, and brightly. On one side of the large room, a door leads to the Infirmary. To the right side a door leads to the offices of the healers and one more door there is, but it is at the far end of the hall. That door leads out to the herb gardens. Indeed as one gets close, a large window looks outs into the gardens.
Contents:
Zimrelen Healess, Door Ward
Obvious exits:
Far Door leads to Healing House: Herb Gardens.
Right Door leads to Healing House: Healers' Offices.
Double Doors leads to Healing House: Garden Porch.
The grove of cypresses that flanks the Healing Houses is quiet now, save for the occasional twitter of birdsong, and the lengthening shadows indicate that nightfall cannot be far off. A single figure wends his way through the trees, to the accompaniment of coughing. The weather has been mild, and so he wears no cloak - his shabby clothing and swarthy skin mark him out as a Hillman. and on closer inspection it can be seen that his mouth is cloven and twisted at one side - it is none other than the labourer Barzag. Oddly reluctant, he seems, as he approaches the steps leading to the porch. However, he swallows, clears his throat harshly and tells the guard in a rasping voice, "I seek a healer."
The man looks him up and down with a sneer, then moves aside to let him knock.
After a few moments the door opens and the lined and weary face of the clerk Zimrelen can be seen. "Yes?" is the polite, if somewhat impatient. query.
"I am here to - to seek healing," Barzag tells her, forced to pause mid-sentence as another fit of coughing threatens to overwhelm him. Indeed, he does not look well - there are dark circles under his eyes, and his breathing is laboured.
Zimrelen frowns - one can almost see her thinking, 'Why could not this man come during the day, when there would be a full complement of healers on duty?' - but she motions for him to enter. "Wait there," is her next instruction as she points to a chair by the wall. "The healer is on his rounds - he can see you once he is finished." And with that she goes back to her papers with a sniff, paying the Hillman no further heed.
Another of the room's occupants does notice Barzag, however. Young Gimilphel sits at the corner table, painstakingly making notes as she studies a dusty-looking scroll. Now she looks up with a smile. "Barzag! I haven't seen you for weeks. How is your reading coming on?" Her tone is one of hesitant encouragement - no doubt an attempt to copy her mentor Galenrien.
The right side of Barzag's mouth curls up in an answering smile at this greeting, but he replies to the last question in a hoarse voice, "Since the fire, I no longer learn. There is no - no chance for it." He shrugs, and the motion sets him coughing again, a deep hacking sound.
Gimilphel's reaction is immediate - setting down her quill, she lifts instead a cup of water and walks over to the Hillman, wordlessly offering it to him, her whole attitude one of compassion.
Barzag manages to get the cough under control, and accepts the proffered cup with a murmured "Thank you." Amber eyes watch the young healer cautiously as he drinks.
"That cough sounds bad," Gimilphel tells the man sympathetically. "Is that why you've come to the Healing Houses?"
Barzag nods, one hand held to his chest in an attempt to curtail any further outbursts. "Ur-ziran said I was not fit for work, and did tell me to go to a healer ... I think he is right," the man admits after a pause, clearly galled by the fact.
The young apprentice healer regards the Hillman with a thoughtful "hmm," noting the rasping breath, the tiredness ... In a quick movement she places a hand against his forehead to check whether he is fevered.
Barzag does not flinch from the contact as he is wont to do, but instead remains stock-still, those golden eyes regarding Gimilphel with a disquieting intensity.
Unnerved by the stare, Gimilphel flushes and lowers her hand again. She hastily covers her discomfiture by telling the Hillman, "I'll need to wait until Araphaz is back to confirm the diagnosis, but I think I can make something up ... something to calm the chest muscles and cleanse the system - let me see..." Her musings trail off into silence as she looks towards the well-stocked shelves of herbs.
Barzag reaches out a hand to grab the girl's wrist as she turns away, warm fingers encircling the flesh in a touch that is surprisingly gentle. "There are many others sick," he tells her hoarsely. "Since the fire many have no homes, and take shelter in Karab Square, and there the sickness spreads ... They need a healer - will you come?" His hand drops away.
"But - but I'm not a qualified healer yet," Gimilphel stammers in dismay. "I'm still learning." Never mind the fact that the man has just asked her to go to the city's most disreputable quarter.
Barzag looks away, his shoulders hunched, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "Then you will not help?"
"I did not say that." Gimilphel is quick in her denial, and there is a trace of sorrow in her green eyes. "I am not a full healer, but I will speak to one who is. Galenrien is wise, and compassionate also - she will not leave your people to suffer." She manages a gentle, if uncertain, smile.
"Not 'my' people," Barzag corrects her absently, but his expression lightens as Galenrien is mentioned. "Gal-" he breaks off to cough, then continues, "Galenren has shown kindness before. If she will come, then I thank you." The misery in his eyes is now tempered by hope.
Gimilphel nods. "We will do what we can," she risks the rash promise - after all, Galenrien is always eager to help the destitute. Surely she will not refuse to send aid? The apprentice healer makes no mention of costs, though a tiny crease of worry appears between her brows. Instead, she glances back up the long hall. "Here is Araphaz," she states with thinly disguised relief, moving away to converse with the older healer in a lowered voice.
The Hillman waits patiently, lifting the cup of water to take another drink before setting it carefully down by his side. When the healer eventually approaches, Barzag suffers the man to examine him, doing his best to answer the hurried questions, though there is a flicker of resentment in his amber eyes at being treated as a mere specimen for study.
Gimilphel retreats to her table, picking up the discarded quill. When Araphaz walks over to her and reels off a list of herbs, she grabs a scrap of parchment and scribbles the information down, nodding. "Please wait a few moments," she instructs Barzag as she moves towards the shelves, list in hand.
Barzag nods, murmuring a hoarse "I thank you," to Araphaz as the senior healer walks away. "How - how much must I pay?" he queries Gimilphel now.
The question takes Gimilphel by surprise, and she turns round, still clutching a large earthenware storage jar. "Payment is not necessary," she replies quickly, "although many people choose to. But we are here to heal all who are in need - did you think we served the rich only?" There is the hint of a frown on her young face now.
Barzag starts to speak, coughs and tries again. "In the - the place where I did live my days before I am brought here, the one who uses another's skill gives his own skill in exchange. Here you use coin instead, should I not then give coin to you?"
Gimilphel sets the jar down, considers her next words carefully. "If you wish, you can make a donation," she tells the Hillman, "but you don't have to." She lowers her voice and adds, "Barzag, most of those who pay for healing have riches many times greater than what you or even I could earn in a lifetime. You should keep your money - perhaps for those reading lessons?"
Barzag scowls at this. "I do not think there will be any more reading lessons," he says bitterly, though he gives no hint as to the reason. "But - " he stops abruptly, clears his throat harshly and continues, "There is another thing I would ask you. You have writing tools here," he gestures to the table. "Can I use them? And maybe a single coin can pay for both?"
Gimilphel is silent a moment - torn between her natural generosity and the knowledge that this man is too proud to accept something for nothing. She chews thoughtfully at her lower lip. What would Galenrien do? Then with a sudden smile, she answers, "Of course. Come and sit here ..." She clears a space at the table, finds a blank sheet of parchment and then busies herself in preparing the herbs, trying her hardest not to appear curious about what a Hillman might wish to write, although she cannot help but give him the occasional sidelong glance, her cheeks reddening as she realizes her rudeness.
If Barzag notices the scrutiny he gives no sign of it. His lips are parted slightly and there is a frown of concentration on his brow as holds the quill in his broad hand. Clearly he is unused to the task of writing; equally clearly he is displeased with his own efforts, for he mutters something to himself in his own tongue. And the painstaking scrawling of letters is punctuated by fits of coughing. Yet eventually he sets the quill down and shakes the paper a few times to dry the ink before holding it close to the lamp for inspection. With a nod and a shrug, he turns to Gimilphel. "It is finished now. I thank you. Here-" He holds out a small coin, seemingly nothing much at first glance, but on closer inspection the gleam of gold can be seen beneath the begrimed surface.
In return, Gimilphel holds out a small bag of something pungent-smelling. "This is to be taken as a tea - one spoonful in boiling water and let it sit for a few minutes before drinking. No more, no less. And take it morning and evening. Do you understand?" She gives Barzag a worried look.
The Hillman nods wordlessly, still holding out the coin.
With a little smile, Gimilphel takes the coin and places the bag in Barzag's outstretched hand. "Thank-" she begins, then stops, peering at the coin more closely. "Where did you get this, Barzag?" she asks at last, trying to keep her tone casual.
Barzag looks surprised at the question. "I work for it, of course," he tells the young healer. "Sometimes at night I can find work for coin - I lift and carry mostly, at the docks or in other places." He waves a hand vaguely, choosing not to elaborate further. "Is it not enough?" he asks then. "I had thought-" He breaks off as a coughing fit seizes him once again.
"No, no, it's fine." Gimilphel's smile is guileless. "Will you come back in a few days time, so we can check whether the medicine is working?" she asks now. "You could see me, since I know you already - or Galenrien, of course." Dimples appear at the corner of her mouth as she smiles again, though unaccountably she flushes slightly.
Barzag stares intently at the girl for a moment, then shrugs. "I will come again - if a healer will come to those in Karab Square," is his reply. He starts to walk towards the door - then turns to look back at Gimilphel, the right corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "I thank you for your help," he tells her earnestly, "and for your kindness. It means much to me." With that he lifts the latch and is gone.
Once the Hillman has left, Gimilphel seats herself at the table again and picks up the quill, an odd frown on her face as the words begin to flow.
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