Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [210]
“It’s clean,” he said breathlessly. “My lady? Moirin?”
I blotted the wound with clean bandages, while Amrita silently handed Bao the threaded needle.
Bao sewed.
I swabbed.
When it was done, a ragged line of stitches sealed the wound shut, the flesh seeping a little. After uncorking and sniffing different unguents and ointments, Bao chose one to slather on the wound. Together, we worked to bandage it, wrapping clean cloths around Hasan Dar’s torso.
“So this is what war is like,” our lady Amrita said in a low tone. “It is a very terrible thing!”
“So it is, my lady.” Bao swiped his forearm over his brow, which was damp with sweat, then settled onto his heels. “All right.” He plunged his hands into the basin of clean water, soaping and washing them as Master Lo had taught him to do. “Sudhakar! Tell me, who is next?”
SEVENTY-FOUR
I lost count.
I do not know how many wounds I helped Bao stitch that night, how many broken bones I helped him set.
Many.
At one point, I asked him why there was no physician in the household, when surely there must have been regular injuries.
“Lord Khaga tended to them himself,” he said, surprising me. “As did his father, and his grandfather before him. He took pride in his skill.” Bao shrugged. “People are complicated, Moirin.”
“True.”
There was a rebellion on the part of the Rani’s guards when Bao suggested the uninjured men should transport the bodies of the dead outdoors, where the cold would preserve them from decay.
“With all due respect, that is a pariah’s work, Bao-ji,” Pradeep said to him, shuddering. “Not a warrior’s.”
Bao narrowed his eyes at the fellow. “We are speaking of men who fought and died bravely. Those of us who survived owe them a debt of honor. Their bodies should be tended to with dignity.”
“I will do it, Bao,” young Sudhakar volunteered, even though he was unsteady on his feet and his nose resembled a squashed turnip. “Or at least I will try. I do not mind. I was born a no one, a no-caste.”
An injured guard smoking opium from a pipe Sudhakar had prepared and handed to him coughed and lowered the pipe.
The Rani Amrita raised her hand in the mudra of fearlessness, stilling the room. “Bao is correct,” she announced. “A debt of honor is owed to the dead, and we will see that each and every one is transported safely home and given a proper funeral—even our enemies, in the hope that they will find a greater peace in the next life. However…” She gave Bao an apologetic glance. “I fear there are predators in the mountains, are there not? Leopards and such?”
He nodded. “Yes, highness. I hadn’t thought of it, but yes.”
“I would not have the bodies of our dead dishonored by animals,” Amrita said firmly. “So. For now, let them abide. Only know, we will be returning them to Bhaktipur; and it will be our honor to do so.”
She lowered her hand.
In the silence that followed, the guard with the pipe let out a little sigh, returning the mouth-piece to his lips and beckoning to Sudhakar to hold the lamp for him.
I smiled at Amrita, who smiled wearily back at me. “I think that is how you change the world, my lady,” I said to her. “One small step at a time.”
After many long hours, at last there was nothing urgent left to be done. Everywhere, injured and uninjured men slept on the stone floors of Kurugiri, rolled in blankets. Although she could have had her choice of either Jagrati’s or Tarik Khaga’s chambers, the Rani chose instead to sleep in the harem. Lest he need my assistance, I stayed with Bao in the banquet hall where he had tended to the majority of the injured.
“You were very brave today, Moirin,” Bao mumbled, already half-asleep, his arm around my waist and his hand resting over the hard lump of Kamadeva’s diamond stashed deep within a pocket of my coat. “Facing Jagrati and that cursed thing.”
“I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been there,” I said. “You and Amrita.”
“I know.” He yawned. “But you did do it.”
“You were beyond brave, my hero.” I raised his hand to my lips and kissed his