The Magician’s Apprentice

the social games of the city he’d once enjoyed watching, and far from the influence of his father and brother.

But Dakon isn’t too old to marry and have children, he thought. His father did both quite late in life. Even if Dakon doesn’t, he’s got several years in him yet, so I have plenty of time to explore the world first. And the sooner I learn what I need to become a higher magician, the sooner I’ll be free to travel wherever I want.

The light spilling around the window screens of Tessia’s bedroom was all wrong. Then she remembered the work of the night before, and how she and her parents had gone to bed in the morning. Of course the light was wrong. It was midday.

For a while she lay there, expecting to fall asleep again, but she didn’t. Despite having slept only a few hours, and still feeling a cloying weariness, she remained awake. Her stomach growled. Perhaps it was hunger keeping her from sleep. She climbed out of bed, dressed, and tidied her hair. Stepping quietly out of her room, she saw that her parents’ door was still closed. She could hear faint snoring.

At the bottom of the stairs she turned into the kitchen. The hearth was cold, the fire of the morning having burned itself out. She helped herself to some pachi fruit in a bowl on the table. Then she noticed her father’s bag on the floor.

The slave, she thought. Father said the first day of care after treatment was the most important. Bandages will need changing. Wounds will need cleaning. And the pain cures will be wearing off.

Looking up at the ceiling, toward her parents’ room, she considered whether to rouse her father. Not yet, she decided. He needs sleep more than I do, at his age.

So she waited. She considered trying to cook something, but doubted she could do so without rousing her parents. Instead she went through her father’s bag. Slipping into his workroom, she topped up and replaced medicines, thread and bandages. Then she carefully cleaned and sharpened all his tools, while the sunlight streaming through the windows crept slowly across the room.

Her work kept her busy for a few hours. When she could not think of any new task to do, she returned to the kitchen, leaving her father’s bag by the front door. Creeping up the staircase, she listened to the sound of snoring and deliberated.

We must check on the slave soon, she thought. I should wake Father up – which will wake Mother up in the process. Or I could go myself.

The last thought sent a thrill of excitement through her. If she tended to the slave by herself – if the servants at Lord Dakon’s house allowed her to – wouldn’t that prove that the villagers did have confidence in her as a healer? Wouldn’t it show that she might, given time, replace her father?

She backed down the stairs and moved to the front door. Looking at her father’s bag, she felt a twinge of doubt.

It could make Father angry. Doing something he didn’t ask me to do isn’t as bad as disobeying an order, though. And it’s not as if I’m doing anything more than the simple routine of care after treatment. She smiled to herself. And if I get one of the Residence servants to stay with me, I can show I at least took Mother’s worries about my safety into consideration.

Taking the bag’s handles, she lifted it, opened the front door as quietly as possible, then slipped outside.

Several of the villagers were about, she saw. The baker’s two sons were slouching against the wall of their house, enjoying the sunny afternoon. They nodded to her and she smiled back. Are they on my mother’s list of prospective husbands? she wondered. Neither of them interested her. Though they were polite enough now, she could not help remembering how annoying they’d been as boys, calling her names and pulling her hair.

The former metal worker’s widow was walking with slow, deliberate steps down the main road, steadying herself with two canes. She’d walked the length of the village and back every sunny day for as long as Tessia could remember. When Tessia was a child, and the widow less withered, other older women of the village had joined her and much gossiping had transpired during their circuit. Now the other women said they were too old to venture out, and feared they would trip or be knocked over by the village children.

Faint childish screams and laughter drew Tessia’s attention to the river, where small figures swarmed around the broad, flat curve of the waterway where she had played as a child. Then she heard her name spoken, and turned in time to see a local farmer nod at her as he passed.

He had come from the direction of Lord Dakon’s house, now only a few dozen steps away. Entering the alley beside the Residence, she walked up to the side door she and her father had entered the previous day, and knocked.

The door was opened by Cannia. The woman smiled at Tessia, then glanced around the alley.

“Father is still resting,” Tessia explained. “I’m to check on the slave and report back.”

Cannia nodded and beckoned Tessia inside. “Took him some broth this morning. Tried to feed it to him, since he can’t in the state he’s in. Didn’t take more than a few mouthfuls, I reckon.”

“So he’s awake.”

“Sure is, though I dare say he wishes he wasn’t.”

“Could you or someone else assist while I tend to him?”

“Of course.” She lit a lamp and gave it to Tessia. “Go on ahead and I’ll send someone to help you.”

Tessia felt her skin prickle slightly as she climbed the stairs to the slave’s room. She could not help wondering where the Sachakan was, and hoping she wouldn’t encounter him. When she reached the slave’s room and found it empty but for her patient, she sighed with relief.

The man stared at her, his pupils wide. She could not tell if it was from fear or surprise. Nobody had told her his name, she realised.

“Greetings again,” she said. “I’m here to change your bandages and check if you’re healing properly.”

He said nothing, and continued to stare. Well, she could hardly expect him to speak, since his jaw had been broken and his head was bound up to prevent it from moving. This was going to be a one-sided conversation.

“You must be in a lot of pain,” she continued. “I can give you medicine to dull it. Would you like that?”

The man blinked, then nodded once.

Smiling, Tessia turned to her father’s bag and brought out a syrup her father used to treat children. The slave would have trouble swallowing, and a draught of powder mixed in water was likely to leave bitter-tasting grit in his mouth if he couldn’t drink it easily. She would have to thin out the syrup with some water, too, and dribble it through a siphon inserted between his lips.

As the medication ran into the man’s mouth he stiffened, then swallowed. But he didn’t relax again and his eyes were wide as he stared over her shoulder.

He looks terrified, she thought.

A small gust of air told her that the door was open.

Pulling the siphon out, she stepped back and looked up to see who Cannia had sent to her. The man who gazed back at her was tall, bulky and wearing exotic-looking clothing.

Her heart froze in horror.

“I see you’ve come back to check on Hanara,” the Sachakan said, with a smile that lacked any genuine gratitude. “How good of you. Is he going to live?”

She drew in a breath and somehow found her voice. “I do not know... master.”

“It won’t matter if he doesn’t,” he told her in a reassuring tone.

She could not think of anything to say to that, so she said nothing. Where is the servant Cannia said she’d send? she thought. Where’s Lord Dakon, for that matter? Surely he doesn’t let the Sachakan roam the house unsupervised...

“I suppose he’s a good patient to experiment on,” the Sachakan said, looking at his slave. “Perhaps you’ll learn something new.” The slave avoided his master’s gaze. The Sachakan looked at her again. “Enjoy yourself.”

He backed out of the doorway and closed the door. Tessia let out a sigh of relief, and heard another exhalation follow her own. She looked at the slave and smiled crookedly.

“Your master has a strange idea of fun,” she murmured. Then she set to work replacing his bandages.

He made no noise as she worked, only occasionally catching his breath as those bandages that had stuck a little to the wounds came away. His injuries were looking remarkably good – minimal swelling and redness, and no