Episode Eight

Myran Smithson prodded Yaxi's left shinbone very gently. He moved his fingertips, insulated from her skin by velvet gloves, over her shattered and only partly repaired knee. He prodded that too, equally softly. He crouched down a little further and his faint frown grew slightly deeper. Finally he looked up at his patient.
"Well," he said with finality, "Your leg's shot."
Yaxi grinned at him. She was sat on one stool, her damaged leg bared and stretched out with the heel resting on another. "Hey, they told me there was a real kick-ass herbalist here in Ashel Street. They sure hit the nail on the head."
Smithson bowed his head in mock-gratitude. "The damage to the kneecap, to the cartilage around the kneecap… I don't know if anything could have been done about that. It's basically only half-functioning as a joint now. The shinbone… It's had a bad break and it wasn’t set properly. It might be too late to do the job now."
"Hey, don't pull a disapproving doctor number on me. I was kind of concentrating on other things just after it happened."
"Like what?"
"Not dying."
After pausing, though making no other reaction, Smithson said, "Normally I'd recommend coscock and brabbes leaves."
"So I guess I'm a normal gal 'cause coscock and brabbes leaves have both been wolfed down like they're blackberries."
"No good?"
"Well, coscock's mainly supposed to reduce the pain isn't it? I don't feel much pain so I guess that's done some good."
"Erish crowns are sometimes used on the more serious breaks."
"Yeah, I've tried erish crowns before. Not on this injury, on an earlier one. It's supposed to vary from guy to guy, isn't it? Well, with me it hurt like hell and so, so wasn't any use whatsoever."
"It's not my favourite herb either. You can cover yourself up again, by the way."
Yaxi did so, though indolently. She was showing her leg, and so modesty demanded that she have a private examination by the herbalist. Smithson's establishment only seemed to have two rooms. The back one was his bedroom, and he gave the impression that nobody save himself ever went inside. Accordingly, he had agreed to see Yaxi outside normal shop hours. Which meant the evening, which meant that the shop was only lit by two grimy lanterns and his gently crackling fire. There had never been any tension, however. Smithson dissipated the chance of any at the outset by remarking, "I probably don't have to tell you not to worry. We both know you can take me without even trying."
That was true; but Yaxi also found it easy to relax around Myran Smithson. He was a trim, slight, middle-aged man who radiated an aura of blandness. His hair was grey, his clothes drab, his face still free of defining wrinkles. His shop was similarly mundane. Many herbalists, even the poorer ones, tended to try and create an air of mystique. They burnt incense and had mysteriously bubbling cauldrons and painted cabalistic writing everywhere. Smithson's had bare stone walls, rushes on the floor, an improvised counter and not much else. Only the liquid herbs simmering above the fire and the solids stored in a vast cabinet behind the counter revealed his actual trade.
It was spartan but not slipshod, Yaxi knew. Everyone in Jakks Way spoke with admiration of Smithson's in Ashel Street. She had even heard him recommended outside the Triple Cities. He was said to know his art in a field excessively full of charlatans. Likewise, Smithson himself seemed calm but not ordinary. His speech and movements were measured and restrained; he always seemed to be holding something back. He was the first person Yaxi had met since moving to Jakks Way neither brazen nor ostentatiously cryptic. She suspected he was concealing a great deal and would continue to conceal it, and she was already warming to him.
"I'll have a look through my grimouries," he said, sitting down himself. "Off the top of my head, all I can recommend for the knee is fairy dew."
"Yeah, I tried that when my elbow got mangled up a few years ago. And I was, you know, leaping behind the bushes every half hour for the next week. I so don't want to hear about fairy dew."
Smithson smiled slightly. "Exactly how many old injuries are you carrying?"
"Well, sort of enough to groan every time the weather changes."
"And this particular one was caused by a castle falling on you?"
Yaxi gave him a sideways look. "Hey, just the gateway. Let's not exaggerate."
"No, let's not. And are we telling the truth at all?"
Another paused, then she asked, "Well, what do you think?"
"You sustained the injury about ten months ago, you said. Well, the only castle I heard about collapsing then was across the ocean in Ellniss. A fortress, really. The Dol Zigul fortress. And you couldn't have been there when that happened, could you?"
"Hey, these old castles are coming down all the time. They put the babies up with all their ginormous barbicans and portcullises and ramparts and the rest of the package. But do they ever give a thought to, you know, basic maintenance? I think not. Most of them are queuing up to topple over."
"Especially if you remove something like the cement."
Yaxi laughed. "Oh great Narlan. Morran Heppac sure whizzed that one around the neighbourhood in double-quick time."
"I think you probably meant her to, didn't you?"
"But you don't think it could have been the dread collapse of good ol' Dol Zigul that knocked my knee all to hell?"
They were staring at each other now, sensing that a contest of some sort was underway. Yaxi found Smithson's gaze rather difficult to meet. He didn't blink often enough and the composure in his pale irises was slightly too strong. She had, however, looked into far more unsettling eyes. "It couldn't really have been, could it?" the herbalist answered.
"And why's that?"
"Because the ballads tell us that Dol Zigul only collapsed when three heroic adventures slew the sorcerer king who dwelled inside. Thus stopping his army of lizardmen marching out of the desert, as they were poised to do, and sweeping across the land of Ellniss leaving carnage in their wake."
"And you don’t believe it's sort of possible two of those adventurers have hired a flat just round the corner from you?"
"It's possible. I don't believe it's likely. Just as I don't believe a mighty fortress was ever built in the desert because what would they build it out of. I don't believe a wizard powerful beyond all reckoning could find nothing better to do with his life than shack up with a bunch of lizardmen. I don't believe lizardmen could get organised into the proverbial shagging team in the proverbial brothel, let alone a mighty army. Frankly, I'm not even sure about the lizardmen themselves. All I've ever seen are skeletons in carnivals. Each one looked rather like a big iguana that's been messed about with."
"You sure don't have much time for the bards, do you?"
"Some of their songs make a pleasant sound," Smithson said politely.
"And the continent of Ellniss itself?" Yaxi smile. "Really there or, you know, just another big hoax?"
"A lot of sources indicate its existence. No-one whose word I trust has actually been there."
"And this chosen group of trustworthy guys. Including yourself, do they kind of number between one and zero? Hey, I've heard a tale about your own leg injury," Yaxi added. "I heard you picked it up when a rogue Guardsman shot you with a crossbow."
"I've heard that one as well."
"Would the first time have been, you know, from your own mouth when you were making it up?"
"It's a perfectly feasible account," Smithson said. "A projectile missile could tear the tendons and cause permanent damage."
"Yeah, yeah. And I guess it's perfectly feasible that a bear chewed your leg up in the wilds by the Sunken Sea? You told Morran that one to her face without cracking a muscle, she says."
"I believe bears are still found in those parts."
"But you're still holding that you're a guy whose word can be trusted?"
"I only said that I rely on it. I wouldn't recommend anyone else do the same. Not unless I'm telling them what herbs to use." He shuffled to his counter. "I see if I can find any I've overlooked, like I said. But I'm afraid you shouldn't get your hopes up."
"Hey, I've gotten used to sitting on the little devils whenever they show their faces."
"I normally have a glass of revolting wine at the end of my shift," Smithson said, reaching under the counter. "Care to join me?"
"Sure," Yaxi smiled, hiding her surprise. She hid her reaction too when she took a beaker and the wine was as bad as described. Smithson didn't drink his own at first. He simply sat holding the glass, not moving at all. Yaxi studied him surreptitiously. He was as good at stillness as anyone she had met. And the other masters of that art had been hunters of one kind or another. They were waiting for their kill. Smithson was simply letting himself be absorbed into the atmosphere of the dim room, turning himself into a still life.
"It's difficult," he said eventually in the same flat tone. "I see a lot of injuries that I can't cure. The body just breaking down. It's difficult when it happens to people who rely on strength or mobility for their living. You need both, I imagine."
"Well, sort of more a steady hand and good depth vision. If I lost a thumb or an eye, I'd be royally screwed. But, yeah, that loss of mobility is so a might pain."
"I imagine. I never know what to tell them though. Change your goals, change your whole outlook. Because that's what they have to do, whether they like it or not. Some realise that. They manage it. Some don't. They're the ones who've really let their injury destroy their lives. It comes to own them."
"And how have you coped yourself?"
"I've been lame for as long as I can remember. I've never had to realign. This has always shaped my plans."
Yaxi smiled. "Hey, so is this finally putting to bed the story about being mauled by the wild boar with the rogue Guardsman on his back?"
"Not necessarily," Smithson said instantly. "Wild bears could maul a baby. It's happened."
"Whatever. And, advice appreciated and I know what you're saying But I'm realigning, believe me. I'm realigning like hell. I've just taken a flat in the Triple Cities and, boy, was that not on my map a year ago. I can't say it's easy or that my new plans are, you know, at all sane, but I'm trying. My husband's been a massive help, though I'm only saying that 'cause you don't know him. It'd be obvious if you'd ever met him. Hey, he used to be in the Guards. Kind of years ago, before I met him. You're sort of an ex-Guardsman yourself, aren't you? Or is that just another gammy leg story you've put around?"
Smithson almost smiled again. "No, that one's solid. In the force for over a decade."
"Yeah? Radav barely lasted a year He sort of disses the whole experience now. Says he only enlisted to get weapons training and all they taught him was where he wasn't legally entitled to kick people. Once he left, he just went back to kicking them there anyway. Course, that's his story. I think he signed up 'cause he had a quick burst of that good ol' patriotism. Is that the same in your case."
"I've never really had bursts of patriotism. It's always been a constant. I joined up because they give herbalists a steady living."
"So why did you bail out."
"It was never anything other than steady." When Yaxi gazed rather ostentatiously at the lack of riches held by his current enterprise, he explained, "I expect to be turning a corner any day now."
"Uh huh. Well, if you ever want to swap old army tales with Radav, feel free to drop round."
"Thanks. But I'm still in touch with a few ex-Guardsmen. Sometimes I get dragged round to their taverns where they sing 'Great Hammer of Harkanas' and talk about their old glory days all evening. I really do have my fill of that." He studied her for a moment and added," If the offer's still open if your husband doesn't want to talk about his army days…"
"That will not be a problem, actually. Getting Radav to talk about his past usually requires, you know, pliers. Not just your itsy-bitsy dentist pliers either. The great big ones. Yeah, sure, we keep, well, sort of anything but open house, but feel free to drop round."
"Thanks. I might do that."
Yaxi felt the tiny thrill experienced by everyone to whom Smithson gave a nod of genuine friendship. The favour was so rare, so infrequently granted, that it meant something. So did Smithson himself. He ran a tiny herbalists with an impoverished clientele. He was a man of consequence, though, even if the reason why wasn't obvious. Yaxi also felt stirrings of professional interest. Smithson's poise and opaqueness hinted that he knew about her world. He could have lived there once; he could even still be partly inside it. She had an insight which she didn't think would be applied to anybody in prosaic Jakks Way. He could, she mused, be one of us.