The King's Reckoning
IC time is: morning
IC date is: June
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.
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.
It is a fine summer's morning, and the doors to the Healing Houses have been wedged open, to allow air in. The lightest of breezes wafts in with it the heady scent of cypresses, and the sound of birdsong.
The peace of this day is interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps stomping up the wooden stairs. The man who enters is a picture of life and energy, tanned and healthy-looking, with iron-grey hair and short, neatly shaped beard, and piercing grey eyes that regard the world intently. The insignia on his black tunic proclaims him a mason - a well-to-do one, judging by the quality of his clothing. The fellow glances round the room, then strides over to the desk where Kalamme is doing door-ward's duty this day.
"A good morning to you, mistress," the visitor, who is none other than the stonemason Ureziran, greets her heartily. "I am looking for a man who may be among your patients. Swarthy fellow, odd mouth ..."
Kalamme raises her head to regard him disapprovingly. "You do have a name, I presume?" is the haughty response. "I'll need to go through the admission records." She shuffles through the piles of paper on her desk.
"Ah, Barzag," Ureziran helpfully supplies. "Come to think of it, I don't know if he has another." He shrugs, and busies himself by pacing back and forth as he waits, hands clasped behind his back. After a couple of minutes, he rounds on the doorward to say, "Come on, woman, I haven't got all morning, even if you do. If you have found nothing, I shall assume he's not here ..."
Kalamme makes no response for a moment, then looks up, finger placed at one point on the page. "No, wait." She peers again, and says, "Admitted but not discharged - the man you seek should still be in our Infirmary. I can ask the hea-" She breaks off, for Ureziran is already striding through the archway that separates infirmary from foyer, without waiting for permission.
At one end of the room the curtains have been thrown back, and sunlight bathes the flagstones. The other end of the room is only dimly lit, curtains drawn round some of the beds to give the occupants privacy. But it is there in the sunlight that the one Ureziran seeks may be found.
The Hillman Barzag has clearly benefited from a good night's sleep, for the dark circles under his eyes are fading and those eyes are alert to the world now. The breath still rasps in his throat, and every now and then he reaches up with a small cloth to mop eyes or nose, but at least he is not coughing continuously. Oddly at peace, he seems as he sits by the window. Perhaps sleep alone has not wrought the transformation, for he holds a bowl of what looks like porridge, part-eaten. He is clad in tunic and trousers of grey that both look as if they were made for a taller man. Now as he catches sight of Ureziran he scrambles to his feet, after setting the bowl down out of the way, shock plain on his face. "Ur-ziran," he greets the man hoarsely, "I wish you good morning. I did - did not think to find you here."
"I came looking for you, Barzag," Ureziran informs the Hillman sharply. "You have not been at work for many days." He frowns at this statement.
Barzag swallows, makes an effort at reply. "You did say I should not work again until I am fit," he mumbles. "I did come to this place - the healers are kind ..." He trails off, blinking wistfully. "If I stay tonight, maybe in a few days I can work again?"
Ureziran listens, then states flatly, "I should have been kept informed. As it was, I had to search for you." He breaks off, fixes the Hillman with a hawk-like stare, and adds, "I went first to the alien workers' compound, of course, but when I enquired, they said no man of your description was there. Indeed, none of the workers I spoke to had seen you for weeks - since the fire, even."
Barzag's lips twitch, and he turns his head away, unwilling to look the other man in the eye. Eventually he mumbles, "After the fire, when we were moved from the old hostel - it is used now as a place for the old and the ill ... I did choose to sleep elsewhere." Now he does turn back, his amber eyes are defiant in their gaze, his cloven lip curled slightly in what seems virtually a sneer.
Ureziran's eyebrows raise slightly. "I see." There is a long silence, and when he speaks again, it is apparently on an entirely different subject. "How pleasant the herb garden looks today." He gazes out of the window, grey eyes bland. "I see it is well tended. It is necessary to keep the plants well pruned, you know, in order to encourage growth."
Barzag stares at him in puzzlement - and then a fire comes into his eyes and his lips press tightly together for a moment, before he replies, "But cut too much, or too often, and the plant will die. And if a man cuts grain in spring or summer, he will have no harvest." The right side of his mouth pulls to one side.
Ureziran continues to look through the window, one hand stroking his beard, his expression thoughtful. After a while he turns back to Barzag, and addresses the Hillman sternly. "I see little point in wasting my coin paying the labour guild for a bonded worker when that worker spurns the facilities kindly provided by the city for his benefit."
Barzag nods and closes his eyes for a moment. "I understand. You do not wish me to come back then." He bows his head, and is suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing.
Ureziran watches in silence for a while, then muses, as if to himself, "I could ask for a replacement, but such a one would take time and money to train - and might prove worthless in any case." His grey eyes glint as he bends his gaze on Barzag once more. "I know you to be a reliable worker," he tells the Hillman, "and moreover a skilled one. What if I were to offer you payment to continue as my labourer? It could not be very much, you understand. I must keep overheads at a minimum ..."
Barzag's eyes widen in surprise as the man speaks, and his twisted lips part slightly. "You would do this?" is his question. He coughs again, then asks hoarsely, "How much?"
Ureziran names a sum that is a mere quarter of the standard wage, more to see the Hillman's reaction than anything else.
Perhaps Barzag does not know the standard wage, or perhaps he does not care. His lips move as he calculates how much it would cost him to obtain a bed and food. "I-" he begins, then stops, clearing his throat savagely. "It is enough. I do not need much. But-" He halts again.
"But?" prompts Ureziran, a note of irritation in his voice.
"But there is one thing I would do," is Barzag's reply. "I wish to see the papers that the apprentices use, in the evenings sometimes, maybe? I can read a little," and here his tone turns doubtful as he awaits Ureziran's reaction.
Ureziran gives a short bark of laughter. "As long as you maintain your work rate, I don't care what you do out of hours. As you wish. If you perform satisfactorily, I may be able to increase the payments." He smiles slightly, then adds, "So that is settled then?" He holds out a hand as if to seal a bargain.
Barzag wipes his own palm absently on his trousers, before reaching out to grasp the proffered hand. And the right side of his mouth curls up in the expression that those familiar with him would recognize as a smile. "It is settled. I thank you, Ur-ziran, for - for doing this."
The mason merely shrugs again. "It's no skin off my nose. I do what's best for business ..." He drops Barzag's hand, peers at the Hillman for a moment. "You will need time to recover, of course, and to shift that cough. I expect you to be at full strength when you return to work ... shall we say one week?"
Barzag nods in wordless gratitude. The smile remains on his features, and there is a light in his amber eyes that has been absent these past weeks.
"Good," says Ureziran curtly. "Well, I must go - the morning is half over, and I have much to do. Goodbye, Barzag." And with that he spins on his heel and walks swiftly towards the exit.
Barzag watches him go, then turns back to the window. For a long while he remains motionless, staring out at the rows of herbs. Then a fit of coughing shakes him out of his reverie. Once this has passed, he sighs softly and picks up the discarded bowl of porridge. It may be cold now, but it is still food, and if he is to work as Ureziran's employee, he will need his strength ...
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