The Wise Man's Fear

“Your grace, I can—”

“How dare you interrupt me?” Alveron struggled to sit upright in his bed, his voice furious. “You go too far! Leave now and I may still consider retaining your services.” He was trembling with rage, his hand still reaching for the vial.

There was a moment of silence. I held out the vial, but before he could grasp it, I said, “You have vomited recently. It was milky and white.”

The tension in the room rose sharply, but the Maer went motionless when he heard what I said. “Your tongue feels thick and heavy. Your mouth is dry and filled with an odd, sharp taste. You have had a craving for sweets, for sugar. You wake in the night and find you cannot move, cannot speak. You are struck with palsy, with colic and unreasoning panic.”

As I spoke the Maer’s hand slowly drew away from the vial. His expression was no longer livid and angry. His eyes seemed unsure, almost frightened, but they were clear again, as if the fear had awakened some sleeping caution.

“Caudicus told you,” the Maer said, but he sounded far from certain.

“Would Caudicus discuss the details of your illness with a stranger?” I asked pointedly. “My concern is for your life, your grace. If I must bruise propriety to save it, I will do so. Give me two minutes to speak and I will give you proof.”

Alveron gave a slow nod.

“I’m not going to claim to know exactly what this is.” I gestured with the vial. “But most of what is poisoning you is lead. This accounts for the palsy, the pain in your muscles and viscera. The vomiting and paralysis.”

“I’ve had no paralysis.”

“Hmmm.” I looked him over with a critical eye. “That’s fortunate. But there is more than simply lead in this. I’m guessing this contains a goodly amount of ophalum, which isn’t exactly poisonous.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s more of a medicine, or a drug.”

“Which is it then?” he snapped. “Poison or medicine?”

“Has your grace ever taken laudanum?”

“Once when I was younger, to help me sleep through the pain of a broken leg.”

“Ophalum is a similar drug, but it is usually avoided as it is highly addictive.” I paused. “It is also called denner resin.”

The Maer grew paler at this, and in that moment his eyes grew almost perfectly clear. Everyone knew about the sweet-eaters.

“I suspect he added it because you had been irregular about taking your medicine,” I said. “The ophalum would make you crave it while easing your pain at the same time. It would also account for your sugar craving, your sweats, and any odd dreams you’ve been having. What else did he put in here?” I mused to myself. “Probably stitchroot or mannum to keep you from vomiting too much. Clever. Horrible and clever.”

“Not so clever.” The Maer gave a rictus smile. “He didn’t manage to kill me.”

I hesitated, then decided to tell him the truth. “Killing you would have been simple, your grace. He could easily dissolve enough lead in this vial to kill you.” I held it up to the light. “Getting enough to make you sick without killing or paralyzing you, that is difficult.”

“Why? Why poison me if not to kill me?”

“Your grace would have better luck solving that riddle. You know more about the politics involved.”

“Why poison me at all?” The Maer sounded genuinely puzzled. “I pay him lavishly. He is a member of the court in high regard. He has the freedom to pursue his own projects and travel when he wishes. He has lived here a dozen years. Why now?” He shook his head. “I tell you it doesn’t make sense.”

“Money?” I suggested. “They say every man has a price.”

Maer continued to shake his head. Then he looked up suddenly. “No. I’ve just remembered. I fell ill long before Caudicus began to treat me.” He stopped to think. “Yes, that’s right. I approached him to see if he could treat my illness. The symptoms you mentioned didn’t appear until months after he started treating me. It couldn’t have been him.”

“Lead works slowly in small doses, your grace. If he were going to poison you, he would hardly want you vomiting blood ten minutes after you drank his medicine.” I suddenly remembered who I was talking to. “That was poorly said, your grace. I apologize.”

He nodded a stiff acceptance. “Too much of what you say is too close to the mark for me to ignore. Yet still, I can’t believe Caudicus would do such a thing.”

“We can put it to the test, your grace.”

He looked up at me. “How is that?”

“Order a half-dozen birds brought to your rooms. Sipquicks would be ideal.”

“Sipquicks?”

“Tiny, bright things, yellow and red,” I held up my fingers about two inches apart. “They’re thick in your gardens. They drink the nectar from your selas flowers.”

“Oh. We call them flits.”

“We will mix your medicine with their nectar and see what happens.”

His expression grew bleak. “If lead works slowly, as you say, this would take months. I’ll not go without my medicine for months on some poorly supported fancy of yours.” I saw his temper burning close to the surface of his voice.

“They weigh much less than you, your grace, and their metabolisms are much faster. We should see results within a day or two at most.” I hoped.

He seemed to consider this. “Very well,” he said, lifting a bell from his bedside table.

I spoke quickly before he could ring it. “Might I ask your grace to invent some reason for needing these birds? A little caution would serve us well.”

“I have known Stapes forever,” the Maer said firmly, his eyes as clear and sharp as I had ever seen them. “I trust him with my lands, my lockbox, and my life. I do not ever wish to hear you imply he is anything other than perfectly trustworthy.” There was unshakable belief in his voice.

I dropped my eyes. “Yes, your grace.”

He rang the bell, and it was barely two seconds before the portly manservant opened the door. “Yes sir?”

“Stapes, I miss being able to walk in the gardens. Could you find me a half-dozen flits?”

“Flits, sir?”

“Yes,” the Maer said as if it he were ordering lunch. “They’re pretty things. I think the sound of them will help me sleep.”

“I’ll see what I can do, sir.” Before he closed the door, Stapes scowled at me.

After the door was shut, I looked at the Maer. “Might I ask your grace why?”

“To save him the trouble of lying. He hasn’t the knack for it. And there is wisdom in what you said. Caution is always wisdom’s tool.” I saw a thin layer of perspiration covering his face.

“If I am correct, your grace, tonight will be difficult for you.”

“All my nights are difficult of late,” he said bitterly. “What will make this one any worse than the last?”

“The ophalum, your grace. Your body is craving it. In two days you should be through the worst of it, but until then you will be in considerable . . . discomfort.”

“Speak plainly.”

“There will be aching in your jaw and head, sweating, nausea, cramps and spasms, especially in your legs and lower back. You may lose control of your bowels and there will be alternating periods of intense thirst and vomiting.” I looked down at my hands. “I am sorry, your grace.”

Alveron’s expression was rather pinched by the end of my description, but he nodded graciously. “I would rather know.”

“There are a few things that will make it slightly more tolerable, your grace.”

He brightened a bit. “Such as?”

“Laudanum for one. Just a bit, to ease your body’s craving. And a few other things. Their names are unimportant. I can mix them into a tea for you. Another problem is that you still have a goodly deal of lead in your