CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Aloe vera is the best thing for treating burns,” Henrietta said to Gantalla the next morning, in one of the hospital’s consulting rooms. She was smoothing the cool gel onto the hands of a fifteen year old boy who had instinctively reached for a cooking pot as it had fallen off the fire grate and scalded himself in the process. The boy was putting on a brave face, but from the angry blisters on his hands, it was clear he was in pain. “Burns are one of the most common injuries we treat. Hardly a surprise, given that everyone uses fire for cooking, but there’s a thousand different ways it can happen. A log fallen out of the fire, a dog knocking over a pot. A lady came in last week who’d been cleaning the ash out of the fireplace and hadn’t realised it was still hot.”

Henrietta set aside the pot of gel and wiped her hands, then began bandaging the wounds, even as she kept up the running commentary. “Aloe vera grows in the forest. It likes warmth, but shade, so you most often find it on the southern slopes where the forest gives way to the sandy plains.”

Gantalla jotted that down in the notebook she’d been given, making an effort to use the human script, rather than the more familiar letters of her homeworld.

“Marigold is another good one for milder burns. Somehow it seems to help the skin heal.” Henrietta turned her attention back to the boy, his father waiting at the side of the room with a concerned frown. “It’s very important that you keep the wounds dry for the next few days,” she told him, glancing at his father as well, to make sure he got the message. “Infection is the other main concern, and by keeping them clean and dry, you’ll have the best chance of this healing without scarring.”

It was the fifth patient they’d treated today, and the third who’d come in with some kind of burn. The other two had been a carpenter who’d crushed his finger from an ill-aimed blow from his hammer, and a little girl who’d started vomiting inexplicably. Her mother had assured Henrietta that they’d all eaten the same thing for dinner, and no one else in the house was affected, so Henrietta had treated the girl with ginger tea and told her mother to bring her back again tomorrow if it hadn’t settled down.

“Right. All set?” Henrietta said to the boy, standing up. “I’ll get you a packet of willow bark, and you can drink a cup of the tea if it’s hurting too badly. Add a little honey if it’s too bitter.”

She let herself out of the room, and Gantalla automatically set about tidying up the room, putting the lid back on the jar of gel and putting the rest of the bandages and scissors away. “Don’t worry,” she said to the boy, seeing his anxious frown. “You’re young. Young folk heal plenty quickly. You’ll be back to your old self in no time, and back to work, like an honest young man. Are you learning a trade yet?”

The boy nodded. “Da’s teaching me to be a blacksmith, like him. But I want to be a warrior.”

Gantalla glanced at his father, who simply sighed, a look of resignation on his face. He’d probably had this conversation with his son multiple times in the past, and would likely do so again in the future.

“Well, I think blacksmithing is a fine and noble profession,” Gantalla said. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to say anything, but if she could steer at least one young man away from the carnage at the gate, then all the better for it. “Plenty of strength needed to be a blacksmith. Let me see your arms.”

The boy flexed his muscles, his face flushing a faint pink, and Gantalla grinned. “See? You’ve already got the makings of some impressive muscles. Of course, it’s your choice in the end, but maybe your Da knows what he’s talking about?”

Henrietta returned then, handing the packet of herbs to the boy’s father, and Gantalla showed them both back to the reception room.

“Who’s next?” she asked Nanta, who was once again monitoring the reception desk.

“Next up, you’ve got…” She checked the appointment book. “Nalyx. For a check on the burns on his hands.”

Gantalla froze at the name, then forced herself to look up across the room. Sure enough, Nalyx was sitting in one of the wooden chairs, though he wasn’t looking her way. Gantalla repressed a sigh, knowing she couldn’t avoid him forever.

After his abrupt departure last night, she’d come back to the hospital, ready to ask the night nurse if she might be able to make use of one of the spare beds for the night. But to her great relief, she’d discovered something far more valuable.

“There’s a bunk room for the nurses out the back,” the woman had told her. “Some folk just use it when they’re on night shift, to catch a couple of hours sleep, but there are two or three women who live there permanently. Sometimes it’s easier that way, if they’re not married and don’t want to spend too much coin on renting a flat. You’re welcome to stay there, if you like. Board is two coins per night, and two more for food. There’s a cook who prepares breakfast and dinner in the kitchen out the back.”

She’d thanked the woman, hastily making her way through the back of the hospital to the bunk room. Her spare pair of shoes and some of her clothes were still in Nalyx’s room, but she figured she could sneak back in to fetch them during the day, while he was otherwise occupied.

Now, she braced herself, not sure what sort of mood he’d be in this morning, and not willing to pander to his fits of temper. She’d done nothing wrong last night and didn’t appreciate the rude way he’d dismissed her.

“Nalyx,” she said loudly, and from the expression on his face when he looked up, it was clear he was no more happy to see her than she was to see him. “Come through.” Without a word, he got up and followed her.

Inside the consultation room, Henrietta peeled back the bandages, taking a long, slow look at the fading blisters and the pink skin underneath. “It’s healing well,” she declared in the end. “I think you’re doing well enough to leave the bandages off from now on. The skin will still be tender, so I’d recommend you don’t start training with your sword again for another couple of days. And take some aloe gel. Rub it into your hands every morning and night. It’ll help keep the skin moist to let it heal without scarring.”

“Thank you,” Nalyx said, though the scowl never lifted from his face, and Gantalla chose to ignore it.

“Now, let’s take a look at your shoulder,” Henrietta said. “Take your shirt off. Or do you need a hand with that?” There was nothing at all patronising in her tone as she said it, but Nalyx’s scowl deepened.

“I can do it,” he said, gingerly sliding the fabric over his head. But Gantalla noted the way he winced as he raised his right arm.

Henrietta unwrapped the bandage around his shoulder, but her verdict was far less favourable this time. “Gosh, that unicorn made a right mess of this one. There’s no sign of infection, but Gantalla? You see where the skin’s peeling off where it was burned?” Henrietta was a diligent teacher, always eager to point out what she was seeing, so that Gantalla could learn from it. “A couple of the stitches are coming loose where the edges of the wound are dying. It’s perfectly normal, given the size of the wound, and how it came about,” she said to Nalyx. “But you’re a long way off from being able to use your arm again. I’ll fetch the doctor to get him to put another couple of stitches in.”

She hurried out of the room, leaving Nalyx and Gantalla in an awkward silence. Trying to avoid his stern gaze, Gantalla ran her eyes over the wound again… and then quickly realised that that had been a mistake. Because looking at his shoulder led her eyes down to his bicep, large and firm despite his relatively relaxed pose, and then her gaze slid across to the muscles of his chest. His pecs were covered in a light dusting of hair, and further down, his abs were smooth. A fine trail of hair dipped lower into the top of his trousers, and Gantalla recalled with startling clarity just what he looked like beneath his pants.

But Nalyx wasn’t interested in her, she reminded herself quickly. Or, at least, he wasn’t interested anymore. He might have been at the start, but his harsh rejection last night had made an impression.

Thankfully, she didn’t have much longer to ponder the mess between Hallix and Nalyx and the apparent jealousy going on there. The door opened and Henrietta came back in, followed by Doctor Samuel.

The doctor smiled when he saw Gantalla. “So lovely to see you again,” he said, his face lighting up. He was old enough that his hair was gradually turning silver, with a few creases around his eyes, but young enough to still have a quick mind and steady hands. It was hard to judge human ages, but Gantalla guessed he was about fifty, based on similar traits in a hadathmet. “Henrietta tells me you’re quite the diligent student. And the gods know we need more of those around here. But let’s see about this wound, shall we?” He turned to Nalyx, taking a seat in front of him and peering closely at his shoulder.

“Hm. Not bad, considering the state it was in when you arrived, but it’s still a way off from healing. I think three more stitches should do the job. Would you like some opium for the pain, before I start?”

“I’m fine,” Nalyx said, his tone just shy of a snarl. Samuel shrugged, and Gantalla supposed he must be used to dealing with warriors who were too stubborn for their own good.

Henrietta handed him a needle and thread, and he set about placing the stitches. As he worked, Nalyx sat still as a stone, not making even the slightest flinch as the needle bit into his flesh.

At first, Gantalla watched the doctor’s hands, intrigued by the process of sewing flesh back together again – something she’d never seen back in Chalandros – but as he placed the third stitch, she glanced up at Nalyx’s face, privately impressed by the way he hadn’t even made a sound. Stubborn, he may be, but stoic as well, and perhaps she’d underestimated just how brave these human warriors were.

To her shock, she found Nalyx staring straight back at her, and as his dark eyes met hers, she caught a hint of… Of what, exactly? Regret? Concern? Embarrassment, even? It was hard to tell.

It occurred to her that perhaps she wasn’t the only one to dislike Hallix and his arrogant posturing. She’d somehow assumed that the warriors, being a formidable army, were also a tight knit social group. But the more she saw, the more she realised that was not the case. She’d already seen the divide in the serving women, the older and wiser against the young and silly, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that there were similar divisions amongst the warriors. But who were the wiser, and who were the more naïve? Nalyx’s friend Calium had been young, but he’d seemed sensible, in the short time she’d spent in his company. Hallix was a powerful warrior, but his ego was easily bruised. Teasing out the details of the men’s culture was likely going to take a bit more time.

“All done,” Samuel announced a moment later, and Nalyx’s gaze snapped away from her face and back towards the doctor. “I’ll let Henrietta bandage you up and then you can be on your way. Come back in three days, and we’ll have another look.”