The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [74]
“Oh!” Awa let the cold fluid roll around, and bending her pinky inward was able to brush the surface of the tiny pool. Unlike blood or grease it did not leave a residue on her fingertip, and she was about to taste it when Paracelsus raised his eyebrows and pointed back to the bucket. She reluctantly let it run down the side of her hand into its pail, and he put the lid back on and returned it to the shelf.
“I’ve been known to get my flasks mixed up,” Paracelsus said with a wink. “Not that the debauchees complain to have a taste of schnapps, mind you.”
“That’s truly wondrous,” said Awa. “But is it really a good cure if it’s poisonous in its own right?”
“What makes you think it’s poisonous?” said Paracelsus, not angry or accusatory, but with some other, stranger emotion in his eager, bulging eyes. “You were unacquainted with it, I believe?”
“Oh.” Awa swallowed, knowing she could not very well tell him she had asked the spirits of the mercury as she held them in her palm. “I—”
Awa was saved for a second time by Manuel as he was assisted into the clinic by two of von Stein’s guards, his clumsily bandaged hand spattering blood on the hay-covered floor as he was half dragged up the hallway. His low moans would have been lost amidst the usual syphilitic symphony of the clinic had they not come in through the door beside the storeroom, and so Awa went straight out, followed by Paracelsus. Any protests the doctor had about bringing a non–venereally afflicted patient into his clinic instead of the regular hospital were silenced by Awa and the guards, all of whom turned angrily on Paracelsus when he started in.
“Oh, it’s Manuel, isn’t it?” Paracelsus finally observed as the guards trotted out of the stinking clinic. “Let’s get him a bed, then.”
They made Manuel as comfortable as they could in a cot beside the storeroom, no real distance from the stench and cries of the infected. Paracelsus examined the hand, lamenting that Manuel had not taken von Stein’s weapon. “I possess an elixir that goes on the blade instead of the cut, and had we the tool of your injury we might undo its mischief!”
“Sounds like a witch to me,” Manuel said through gritted teeth when the doctor went to his storeroom, leaving him alone with Awa. “How’re you getting on?”
“Quiet,” said Awa. “He did this to you, your master?”
“Yeah,” said Manuel. “But I gather that’s the worst of it. That Inquisitor that wanted you’s been kicked out of the Church, so his order to catch you’s void.”
“Did you find out how this Inquisitor knew of me, or why he wants me?”
“I was a little fucking busy being shot to ask, actually,” said Manuel. “If you’d care to ask von Swine yourself—”
“I intend to,” said Awa, getting out of the chair she had brought beside the pallet. “And I’ll also ask him where he gets off threatening the family and injuring the flesh of a man of more character and worth than the god he claims to worship.”
“Hold on, hold on,” said Manuel, catching her wrist with his good hand. “Damage is done, isn’t? And you’re off his mind as well, which was a boon I didn’t expect but am happy for. So sit down, calm down, and tell me how the doctor’s treating you.”
“I’ll tend to you.” Awa lowered her voice. “His remedies are … suspect. He uses wet metals that don’t seem to do much but make him a little crazy.”
“Oh.” Manuel nodded. “And what will you use?”
“Is there a graveyard near this place?”
“Never mind.” Manuel shook his head decisively. “Bring on the wet metals. And the drink. He’s got spirits here?”
“Spirits?” Awa whispered, her eyes widening. “I wondered if he might. He seems to know more—”
“I’ve just the thing, Manuel!” Paracelsus returned from his office carrying a large board laden with terrible-looking tools, and setting this across his patient’s thighs, he shooed Awa out of her chair and began