years earlier. Now, none of the windows were boarded up, and most had shutters.
I could still smell hints of elveweed though, much as I’d tried to get the taudischefs to discourage it. The only thing that the three had agreed on was that children still in school shouldn’t be allowed to smoke it. It had taken a few beatings and the disappearance of two young dealers several years back—so I’d heard—to make that stick. I’d definitely turned a blind eye—or ear—to that rumor. I didn’t see much point in trying to find whoever had gotten rid of someone who wanted to turn schoolchildren into elvers. Besides, I never knew who the missing dealers were, or even where their bodies might be found. But now, as Horazt had pointed out, no one ever saw the dealers, only their runners.
From the alleyway on the right, I heard footsteps, and I turned quickly.
“Master Rhennthyl! Help! Help!” The woman was carrying a child wearing a stained and worn blue jersey and crudely sewn trousers. He looked to be about Diestrya’s age, with a thin and angular face, without any baby fat, but he might have been older, because the taudis-children tended to be smaller. The child was convulsing, but not vomiting or choking. His face was contorting in a way that reminded me of the dead elvers.
“He’s not choking! There’s nothing in his mouth…” She thrust the child at me.
I didn’t take him. Holding him wasn’t going to help the boy. “What did he eat?”
The woman looked at me, fear in her eyes.
“Did he chew on some elveweed?”
“He…he…”
“Yes or no?” I snapped.
“Maybe…I didn’t see.”
The child spasmed into another convulsion, so violently that his mother barely could hold him.
I’d imaged items and substances into people, with often deadly results, and I’d imaged items in and out of a cadaver, but I’d never tried to image something out of a living person. But unless I did something, the boy was going to die. He might anyway.
I took one deep breath, then concentrated, trying to recall exactly all that Master Draffyd had shown me, trying to visualize removing what ever was in his stomach, without touching the lining or anything else. The quick wave of dizziness that passed over me indicated that I’d done something, and I was almost afraid to look at the boy, but he was still shuddering. So I hadn’t killed him outright.
Even as I watched, the convulsions began to subside, but he continued to breathe. I reached out and touched his forehead. It was hot.
The mother looked to me, then down at the boy.
“I did what I could.”
We kept watching. Finally, he moaned. “Mama…Mama…”
She looked at me once again, her eyes wide.
“Don’t let him eat anything spicy. Just plain heavy bread for a day or two.”
She nodded, but her face was white, although tears oozed from the corners of her eyes.
When she left, cuddling her son, and murmuring to him, I stood there for a moment. I could only hope I hadn’t damaged him permanently in some way that wouldn’t show up until later.
Jaerdol and Zandyr just looked at me as I rejoined them.
“Sir? What did you do?”
“I tried to image some elveweed he ate out of his stomach. I hope it works.”
“He was about to die. He looks better now,” Jaerdol said.
“He might have gotten better anyway,” I pointed out.
The two looked at each other.
If the boy lived, there would be another story…and more problems. Either way, I needed to talk to Master Draffyd, the imager and doctor at the Collegium. If word got around Third District, who knew who else might come running, and for what. It was just another example of why Master Dichartyn and Maitre Poincaryt were always stressing the importance of doing things in a way that looked like you were doing something innocuous. What I really should have done was to have taken the boy, imaged out the elveweed fragments he’d chewed, probably because he wasn’t being fed enough, and then thumped him
I could still smell hints of elveweed though, much as I’d tried to get the taudischefs to discourage it. The only thing that the three had agreed on was that children still in school shouldn’t be allowed to smoke it. It had taken a few beatings and the disappearance of two young dealers several years back—so I’d heard—to make that stick. I’d definitely turned a blind eye—or ear—to that rumor. I didn’t see much point in trying to find whoever had gotten rid of someone who wanted to turn schoolchildren into elvers. Besides, I never knew who the missing dealers were, or even where their bodies might be found. But now, as Horazt had pointed out, no one ever saw the dealers, only their runners.
From the alleyway on the right, I heard footsteps, and I turned quickly.
“Master Rhennthyl! Help! Help!” The woman was carrying a child wearing a stained and worn blue jersey and crudely sewn trousers. He looked to be about Diestrya’s age, with a thin and angular face, without any baby fat, but he might have been older, because the taudis-children tended to be smaller. The child was convulsing, but not vomiting or choking. His face was contorting in a way that reminded me of the dead elvers.
“He’s not choking! There’s nothing in his mouth…” She thrust the child at me.
I didn’t take him. Holding him wasn’t going to help the boy. “What did he eat?”
The woman looked at me, fear in her eyes.
“Did he chew on some elveweed?”
“He…he…”
“Yes or no?” I snapped.
“Maybe…I didn’t see.”
The child spasmed into another convulsion, so violently that his mother barely could hold him.
I’d imaged items and substances into people, with often deadly results, and I’d imaged items in and out of a cadaver, but I’d never tried to image something out of a living person. But unless I did something, the boy was going to die. He might anyway.
I took one deep breath, then concentrated, trying to recall exactly all that Master Draffyd had shown me, trying to visualize removing what ever was in his stomach, without touching the lining or anything else. The quick wave of dizziness that passed over me indicated that I’d done something, and I was almost afraid to look at the boy, but he was still shuddering. So I hadn’t killed him outright.
Even as I watched, the convulsions began to subside, but he continued to breathe. I reached out and touched his forehead. It was hot.
The mother looked to me, then down at the boy.
“I did what I could.”
We kept watching. Finally, he moaned. “Mama…Mama…”
She looked at me once again, her eyes wide.
“Don’t let him eat anything spicy. Just plain heavy bread for a day or two.”
She nodded, but her face was white, although tears oozed from the corners of her eyes.
When she left, cuddling her son, and murmuring to him, I stood there for a moment. I could only hope I hadn’t damaged him permanently in some way that wouldn’t show up until later.
Jaerdol and Zandyr just looked at me as I rejoined them.
“Sir? What did you do?”
“I tried to image some elveweed he ate out of his stomach. I hope it works.”
“He was about to die. He looks better now,” Jaerdol said.
“He might have gotten better anyway,” I pointed out.
The two looked at each other.
If the boy lived, there would be another story…and more problems. Either way, I needed to talk to Master Draffyd, the imager and doctor at the Collegium. If word got around Third District, who knew who else might come running, and for what. It was just another example of why Master Dichartyn and Maitre Poincaryt were always stressing the importance of doing things in a way that looked like you were doing something innocuous. What I really should have done was to have taken the boy, imaged out the elveweed fragments he’d chewed, probably because he wasn’t being fed enough, and then thumped him
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