Elisha Barber: Book One Of The Dark Apostle (17 page)

“You’d best send off some of these who’re well enough, Barber, or you’ll run low of space for the new ones.” He spoke sourly, from the side of his mouth, on a breath reeking of rotted teeth, but the words sent delight into Elisha’s spirit so that he wanted to take Lisbet’s hands and dance her around the room. What healer would not like to befuddle the gravediggers, keeping them from their work by healing too well?

Instead, he slapped Ruari on the shoulder. “I think he means you. I’ve a nice room in the steeple, if you’d care to join me? Second floor, with views.”

“I’d be right proud,” Ruari answered. “I’ll go off to camp and see if my things are yet there, and not been taken by my mates.”

“Good luck!”

Sending him off, Elisha fairly floated between the beds of the complaining lords and out into the night, leaving the surgeons’ stares behind him. In the little yard, he hesitated. He should take himself to bed and get the few hours he could before it all started over again, but the quiet rush of the river drew him as if he could already hear the voices, and he found himself walking that way.

He chose his spot more carefully for its concealing bushes and a stone of a height to perch atop. He slipped off his boots and dangled his toes into the water. This time, he heard them right away.

“—it is a calling, if such it can be, since I am a woman.”

“And aren’t we the stronger sex in any case, Marigold?”

“If you’ve lived this life of secrecy, Marigold, you must be wise enough for such a teaching, but don’t overstep your bounds.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do, much as you wish it otherwise. It may not be given to you to find this one and— Who’s there?”

Damn it, Elisha thought, somehow they knew they had a listener, someone who didn’t belong. He had hoped to keep quiet and learn the nature of these voices, whatever they might be. Now, his plan must come to naught—unless—he smiled into the darkness. It was worth a try.

“Marigold,” “Willowbark,” “Briarrose.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Elisha spoke softly to the water, “
Bittersweet.”

All was silent.

“Bittersweet?”

Cautiously, afraid to ruin it or make some misstep to frighten them off, Elisha whispered, “
That’s what I said.
”

“
What is your nature?”

This caught him up all over again. Was it another code, another question for which they already knew the right answer? He rolled it over and decided to plunge ahead despite the risks. If they were witches or spirits, they might know the secrets of the Bone of Luz, the forbidden knowledge that could right the wrongs he had committed. “
I am a man of flesh and blood.
”

Something fluttered in his hearing, like laughter.

“
I have not heard your voice, oh man of flesh and blood,
” someone challenged.

“Nor has any here, unless I miss my mark,
” said another.

Quickly, Elisha said, “
I have not been here long
.”

“
Welcome, Bittersweet.
” The voice had neither body nor tone, but it felt like hers, as if he could see those green eyes gleaming in the glints upon the water. “
It’s good to have you among us.
”

Us. Who are we? He wanted to know, then caught himself. We? But he was a barber and a serf. An ordinary man. Elisha pulled his feet from the water and leapt to shore, snatching up his boots. Witches, demons, spirits in the water—he had longed for those voices all day and sought out the thrill of this bizarre communion, never thinking of what it meant. Of course they guarded their names, of course they must be secret—if ever they were heard, they would be food for flames. And so would he.

H
e awoke early
in the dawn to the sound of horses and wagons creaking below his little windows.

For five days, Elisha had resisted the lure of the river. He lay at night, hearing its call beyond the groans and tears of the injured men, beyond even Ruari’s snoring. When he had stolen the child’s head, he wished for the witches, to ask for their aid, but he dared not, now that he may have found them. He knew all too well the penalty that could await him or any of those he might contact. Best abandon the project as hopeless, not to mention impossible, which it probably was. In the graveyard, he had promised the child a new life or a decent burial—neither would be served if he died at the stake.

With his guidance, Ruari and Lisbet took on more duties, leaving him free to deal with the most difficult cases, and to do the dirty work for the surgeons and physicians; if he was not earning their respect, at least they no longer felt the need to threaten him. There was a moment after Nathaniel’s death he thought he might never take up his tools again—but the work gave him hope and something like peace, as if each man he stitched or bound or set repaid a little of the sorrow he had caused. The chaos which had met him a week before, now settled into a routine of late nights and little sleep.

Ruari rolled over, frowning, then his face lit up. “Wagons in from the city; wonder what they’ll bring.” He sat up quickly, pulling on his shabby boots.

Less enthusiastically, Elisha stretched. “No good for us, I’m sure.”

Pausing to glance over at him, Ruari said, “Last time, they brought you.”

“That’s a recommendation?”

Ruari poked his head out a window, then turned back with a grin. “You’ll like this cargo.”

Curious now, Elisha sighed and pulled on his own boots. “Very well; I should go down and check on that boy with the broken head in any case.”

Ruari made a face. “Do you never think of aught but work?”

“In this place? What else is there?”

That brought a grin to Ruari’s face and he urged Elisha ahead of him down the stairs. “This, you’ll like.”

Outside, carters unloaded parcels from the wagons. The physician, too, had come out and hovered alongside the lead wagon, with Malcolm Carter at his side. Then both reached up to help his passenger dismount. When they stepped aside, Elisha caught sight of Brigit and the breath rushed out of him. Ruari had to nudge him aside with a knowing wink. “Come on, then.”

Even as they approached, the physician spotted them and placed a protective arm about Brigit’s shoulders. “Good of you to come,” he drawled. “This is Mistress Brigit, of the herbalists’ guild locally. She plans to remain here, at my request, to assist us with identifying the appropriate medicinals, as well as to view their use in medical applications. I trust”—and with these words, he swept his gaze over the surgeons as well as his own assistants—“that she will be given the utmost respect and assistance.”

Elisha managed a bow, though his balance felt shaky. He rose again to find her green eyes upon him, and a little smile playing over her lips.

“Most irregular,” Mordecai huffed. “Can’t have her leaning over us, can we?”

In an undertone, Ruari said, “I’d not mind a bit!” and Elisha shot him a glower. He worked furiously, trying to find an excuse to greet her, to speak to her, just to have her gaze linger on him a while longer. “I’ve taken leave of my senses,” he muttered.

“Aye, and who wouldn’t—cor, she’s coming over!”

Indeed she was, picking her way with some care over the scuffed and stained grass. Because they had begun performing urgent amputations here rather than wait to carry the patients indoors, Elisha scanned the area, making sure no stray body parts lingered.

Then Brigit stood before him, a folded bit of parchment in her outstretched hand.
“The carter had this for you, Barber,” she said, her voice pleasant but with no extra warmth.

Elisha flinched, staring down at it. “For me?”

“Yes, from a woman in the city, he said.” She held it out expectantly.

“You’re sure?”

At this, Brigit laughed, and the day grew that much brighter. Turning the parchment to face her, she read, “Elisha Barber, that is your name, is it not?”

Wetting his lips, Elisha nodded, and at last put out his hand for the letter. It lay yellow and accusing on his palm, the incomprehensible black markings of his name mocking him.

Brigit gasped, putting a hand over her mouth as she colored the most beautiful pink. Leaning forward, she said, “Do you need me to read it?”

“No,” he snapped, crumpling it into his fist. His own cheeks flared to red as he cursed himself for a fool.

At his side, Ruari cleared his throat and announced, “I’ll check on that lad, shall I?” then he hurried off without a backward glance.

“I’m sorry I’ve embarrassed you. I just thought…” Brigit drummed her fingers together. “I’m sorry.” She took a half-step back as if to go, and Elisha swallowed his pride, though it made a lump in his throat.

“No, my lady, I…you were right.” He held up the letter. “I would be grateful…” He needed to know. He could not think why anyone should write to him, when the few who knew him well enough to send the letter would know equally well he could not read it. With the eyes of the physician and his assistants upon them, not to mention the surgeon with his girdle hung about with books, Elisha wanted to sink into the ground—or perhaps be struck dead on the spot. He did not think they’d heard the exchange but, unless he wanted the letter to remain unread, his public humiliation would soon be complete.

Straightening, Brigit said loudly, “Yes, I believe I know the plant you mean. Why not take me there, and I’ll be sure,” she said, brows pinched over her green eyes.

Relief welled in him. “This way, my lady.” He lowered the hand still bearing the letter into a gesture of invitation.

Turning to the physician, Brigit said, “I won’t be a moment.” She gave him her most winning smile. “It’s good to see you have such an eager staff.”

As they set off side by side, Elisha broke the wax seal of the letter and made a show of examining it, hoping he made no obvious mistake in how he held it or how his eyes traveled the block of black letters.

When they neared the bridge over the river, Brigit turned to him again, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile. “I
am
sorry. I did not even think.”

“There’s no reason for you to be concerned over my ignorance.” Elisha prodded a tuft of grass with the toe of his boot. It would probably have been no more embarrassing for the doctors to know—the worst was that she already did. She was a woman who prized the mind, that was clear enough. Not that he had a chance at her notice, with herself already betrothed, and such men as the physician and his educated comrades to distract her.

Once again, Brigit held out her hand, then gently slipped the letter from his grasp. They strolled slowly at the riverside as the sun rose, painting the sky with pale color. Immediately, Brigit frowned and darted him a worried look. “There’s no greeting,” she said. “Look, are you sure you want me to read this?”

“Who else is there?”

“Well, the physician, for one,” she offered, then drew back at whatever part of his loathing showed plain upon his face. “I assumed…never mind, I’ll read it.”

She cleared her throat and held the letter before her. “‘Elisha Butcher’—that should be Barber, perhaps the writer has difficulty with her letters.”

Gazing up to the sky, Elisha laughed bitterly. With those two words, he knew who would write to him, who would do so for this very reason, to reveal his humiliation before whomever would read it.

“It doesn’t seem funny to me,” Brigit remarked.

“Read on,” Elisha said, “I’m sure the humor will be made clear.”

“‘Elisha Butcher,’” she read in her lovely voice, “‘I trust the battlefield is serving your needs—’” Brigit frowned, glancing at him again, but he made no response, so she went on, “‘Myself, I am better every day that you are away. The funerals have been held in your absence, and you were not missed. We saw that you planted the cross Nathaniel made. I take it you buried our child and now I am meant to thank you for it.

“‘I am writing to demand that you tell me the truth of your brother’s death. Sister Lucretia spouts only good of you and will not tell me, nor will that
captain who’s been about the place. Once I had them together, and both looked pale at my asking. So I put it to you plain, have you killed him? If it were not yourself, then what is the truth of it? How can I recover with this concern weighing down my breast? I may be found at my sister’s house if you are not so cowardly as to deny me. All due respect, Helena.’”

When she had done, Brigit examined the letter again, reading it silently and quickly, turning it about to see if there was anything else to know.

Having fallen a bit behind, Elisha shut his eyes on the tears that threatened him. He bit his lip, his hands gripped behind him. Sister Lucretia spoke well of him, the captain held his tongue with all the justice of his office, so Helena reached across the distance to hound him with a question he dared not answer. Nathaniel was at rest, in hallowed ground, but it would not be the first time a man had been disinterred, and that could serve only to punish Helena more than had he told the truth from the moment it happened. Better that she should hate him than turn from his brother’s memory. As for himself, he had few friends or relations, but Helena and Nathaniel had many, a legion of admirers who would care for his brother’s widow, not to mention the support she should receive from his guild. What would they do on hearing the truth? Let Helena believe what she would, he would not enlighten her. If only he had a way to bring the child back—