WarriorsApprentice (10 page)

“Yep. Every chance I get.”

The smile faded from Tybor’s face. “You did good. That human
caught me completely off guard.” Tybor’s neck muscles strained and he lifted
his head a fraction. “You got him?”

Huon slipped the hand not putting pressure on Tybor’s artery
under his head and lowered it to the floor. “Yeah. I got him.” He looked at his
blood-stained hand. “We have to get you fixed up. Now. Or you’ll be joining the
human, and I don’t fancy going home and telling them I lost our best trainer
and favorite hero.”

Tybor grimaced. “I need a doctor. Put a pressure bandage
around my arm and get me to him.” He rattled off an address.

Huon’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

Tybor drew a shaky breath. “We walked past a sign that said
Dottore
on the way to Harry’s Bar.” His lids drooped closed, then slowly opened again.
“I thought I might need to remember where to find medical attention for you.
Got that wrong.” His eyes shut again and he whispered, “Get the bandage on.
Let’s go.”

Huon went to the pack he’d been provided with. The first-aid
kit included had bandages and gauze pads, enough to do the job for the few
minutes it would take to find the doctor and bring him back.

Tybor didn’t stir while Huon wrapped him up and his
stillness lent Huon extra speed.

When it was finished Tybor opened his eyes again. “Help me
up.”

“I’ll go and get the doctor. Bring him here. You won’t make
it that far.”

His voice stronger, the ring of command adding backbone to
it, Tybor said again, “Help me up.” He used his uninjured hand to try to push
himself off the floor. “It’s just blood loss. I
will
make it to the
doctor’s, because I have to.”

Huon shook his head.

Tybor glared. “He can’t come here. How are you going to
explain the dead human? The burn marks on the wall? The stench of burning?
We’re damn lucky no one is pounding on the door demanding to know what’s going
on. I have to get to the doctor’s on my own two feet. Now, help me up!”

Huon obeyed. He wrapped his arm around Tybor and brought him
to his feet. Tybor swayed and the color in his face receded even further but he
stayed upright.

The grim smile tilted Tybor’s lips again. “I’ll be all right.
It’s only half a mile. The first eight hundred and eighty yards will be the
worst, after that it will be easy.”

They started to move and Huon didn’t spare any breath from
the task of supporting Tybor to reply. They made it down the stairs and out
into the street, but with each step, Tybor leaned his weight more heavily on
Huon. His breath rasped in and out of his lungs and his feet dragged. Huon bore
it all and braced himself to take more. If Tybor could keep going with so much
loss of blood then Huon could too.

They staggered into the doctor’s rooms and Huon headed
straight for an open door through which he could see a man shrugging into a
white coat. The receptionist fired a flood of Italian at him but he ignored
her. As they entered the room, the doctor strode toward them.

Before he reached them, Tybor’s eyes shut and his knees
buckled and he began to sink. The doctor grabbed Tybor and helped Huon to lower
him to lie on the examination table beside the door. The receptionist, who had
followed them into the room, turned her tirade on the doctor. He said something
in rapid Italian and ushered her and his patient out. He looked at Huon.

“
Che cosa è accaduto a quest’uomo?
”

Huon tried to follow but his language skills, never
particularly good, had deserted him. “Do you speak English?”

The doctor nodded. “
Sì
. Yes. What happened to this
man?”

“He has cut himself. He needs stitches.”

The doctor washed his hands and unwrapped the bandage.
Immediately a sluggish spurt of blood pumped out. He dropped his hand onto Tybor’s
arm and pushed.

“Your friend has a cut artery.” He turned his head and
raised his eyebrows.

Huon glared. “Can you fix him?”

The doctor pushed his lips together. “He should go to a
hospital on the mainland. He may need a blood transfusion.”

Huon shook his head. “We don’t have time. Can you treat him
here? If you need blood, you can use mine.”

The doctor shrugged. “I can repair the artery if I
have
to. I treat a lot of injuries for tourists who do not have sufficient travel
medical insurance. It is often easier to deal with it in the surgery. But if he
has to have a transfusion I will insist he goes to hospital for proper cross-matching.
Your offer of blood will not help unless you are the same blood type.”

“We are.” All the Dvalinn were. Even strange, aberrant Huon.
He may have looked different from everyone else, but some genetics bred true.
“Do what you can.”

The doctor assembled his instruments. He took out a vial of
liquid and a syringe.

Huon grasped his hand to prevent him from drawing the
substance up. “What is it?”

“Sedative. I will give him a local anesthetic but if he is
relaxed and drowsy the process will be easier on him.”

“No.” Tybor’s voice brought both their heads around. “Just
the local.”

The doctor’s shoulders stiffened. “I assure you, sir, the
effect will be mild and there is no risk to your health.”

“No. Stitch me up. No sedatives,” Tybor rasped.

Huon nodded at the doctor. “Do it. He won’t sue you if it
hurts.”

The doctor shrugged and got to work. Huon watched every
movement but the doctor seemed competent and efficient and before long he tied
off the last of the stitches.

He handed Huon a packet of tablets and said, “I used
dissolving thread. I don’t expect I will see you again.”

Huon didn’t answer and Tybor seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.
The doctor repacked his equipment.

“That was not a self-inflicted wound. It should be reported
to the
Carabinieri
, but such things are not good for Venice’s reputation
as a tourist destination, so unless you insist?” At Huon’s negative gesture, he
continued, “I thought not.” He wiped his hands. “Perhaps you were wise not to
go to a hospital. They might have taken a less lenient view.” He inspected
Tybor’s wound, then took his pulse and blood pressure. “You were lucky your
assailant’s blow to the leg did not sever the artery there. The loss of blood
from your arm is enough. I suspect, from the pattern of blood on your clothing,
that you may have fallen on the left side of your body and that put pressure on
your arm, perhaps saving your life. Under the circumstances, provided you can
keep quiet for a few days, you may not need the transfusion.”

Tybor struggled to sit up. “Let’s go.”

“In any other city I would suggest a wheelchair, but Venice,
as you know, is a city of steps and bridges. Wheeled conveyances do not do well
here. Perhaps you should rest awhile until your strength returns.”

Having made it to a sitting position, Tybor swung his legs
down from the bed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take it easy, like you said.” He stood,
swayed and put his hand on the wall to steady himself, but didn’t quail. “Huon,
pay the man for his trouble and let’s get going.”

Huon pulled a wad of notes from his pocket and held them out
to the doctor. He extracted a surprisingly small number. When Huon glanced at
him inquiringly the doctor shrugged.

“He did not let me do much for him. A few stitches, some
antibiotic,
allora
, it is nothing.”

Tybor took a few steps, waving Huon away when he offered to
help. “We’ve made enough of a spectacle of ourselves for one day. Let’s go.”

They walked slowly back to their hotel. Tybor held his head
straight, looking neither right nor left, but Huon noted every passerby who
looked at their bloodstained clothes and shuddered. Many people took a second
glance and many expressions changed and became horrified or inquisitive, but no
one subjected Tybor to the fierce-eyed concentration of the stranger who had
bumped into Huon on the street. The stranger who twenty minutes later had burst
into their hotel room and tried to kill them. The Gatekeeper whose body still
lay next to the bed.

They reached the foot of the stairs leading to their room
and Huon held up his hand. “Wait here. I’m going up to take a look around.”

Tybor grimaced. “I’ll come with you.”

“No. You won’t,” Huon ordered. “You’re barely able to look
after yourself and I don’t have time to see to you and check that no one has
found the body and called the police, or that the hotel manager hasn’t come to
investigate the noise or the smell of burning, or that another Gatekeeper isn’t
lying in wait for us.”

“All the more reason I should come with you,” Tybor
insisted.

“Not a chance. You couldn’t sneak up those stairs if your
life depended on it, and you damn sure couldn’t run,” Huon replied. “You wait
here, you stay out of sight until I either come to fetch you or come flying
past you, Gatekeeper in hot pursuit. And if I don’t come down at all, you make
your way to somewhere where you can rest up and recover, then head back home
and let them send someone else to do the job I couldn’t.”

He could see Tybor gathering his energy to argue, so he
shoved him under the landing of the stairs and left him.

He slipped silently up to the room without encountering
anybody. If the police or manager had been called they were either in the room
or they had come and gone.

The door was slightly ajar, the broken lock still hanging
from one screw. Unlikely that anyone had been there, then, but he pressed his
ear against the wall and listened.

Silence.

He nudged the door open with his foot, both hands wrapped
around fistfuls of chemicals, held lightly, not yet squeezed into the reaction
needed to turn them into a fireball. He took one step inside, then another. His
lip curled in a mixture of anger and distaste at the sight of Tybor’s blood
drying to a crusty brown. There seemed to be so much of it. The doctor might
feel Tybor would be okay without a transfusion, and if anyone was tough enough
to manage it Tybor was, but the dark pool showed him how close Tybor had come
to death.

Huon took another step until he stood over the body of the
human. All his training hadn’t prepared him for this sight. In the heat of
battle he’d acted without thought, letting reflex and instinct carry him
through the moves he’d needed. But now reaction set in. The human did not look
very different from him. Away from the charring, he had pale skin, blond hair,
a more solid build, probably slightly older than Huon. He couldn’t be sure
about that. Human years were not calculated the same way as Dvalinn time. But
in so many ways, this man, who lay dead at Huon’s feet because Huon had been
more efficient at killing than he was, was like him.

Huon turned and headed down the stairs to get Tybor. He
didn’t have to go far. Tybor was halfway up the steps, clutching the railing,
pulling himself up painfully.

Huon growled in exasperation. “I thought I told you to stay
downstairs out of sight.”

“Since when do you give me orders, boy?”

“Since you got stabbed and I didn’t.” Huon walked past him,
turned and ducked his shoulders under Tybor’s good arm so he supported him.
“And you can call me ‘boy’ all you like. It doesn’t bother me anymore and it
doesn’t change the fact that right now I am the senior member of this
partnership.”

Tybor gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah. I know. But it helps me
keep my delusions of power.”

They reached the room, Tybor’s lips tightening when he saw
the body lying cold and stiff on the floor.

“Shut the door,” he said as he slumped onto the bed.

Huon reached into his kit and pulled out his pocketknife. “I
wondered why they threw one of these in.” He flicked open a screwdriver. “Now I
know.” He fiddled with the door lock for a moment. “There. I don’t think it
would hold out a determined kitten but at least it gives the illusion of
privacy.” His levity faded. “What do we do with him?”

“We dump him in the lagoon. Late tonight you sneak out and
borrow a gondola. We weigh him down, take him offshore and dump him.”

Huon nodded. Then he pulled a spare blanket from a drawer to
cover the body. Tybor watched him.

“Good move. I don’t want to stare at that for the rest of
the day.”

“He’s got something on his belt,” Huon said as he prepared
to spread the blanket.

“What is it?” Tybor grunted.

“Some sort of plastic box,” Huon replied. “I bumped it and
it gave me a shock.”

“Don’t touch it again,” Tybor muttered, pushing himself to
his elbows. “It might be some sort of weapon.”

“More to the point, it might be some sort of signaling
device,” Huon replied. “I’m going to put it out of action.”

Huon stood and walked to the tiny bathroom, emerging with a
wet towel and some soap and a glass of water. He poured the water over the box
on the Gatekeeper’s belt. There was a quiet hiss, then silence.

“Whatever it was, I don’t think it’s working now,” Huon said
as he pulled the blanket over the body. “I’m going to see what I can do about
removing the worst of the scorch marks.” He pushed open the window. “And get
some fresh air to blow away the—” He stopped speaking and his head recoiled.
“What is that smell? It’s awful. Worse than anything in here.”

Tybor grinned. “That, my friend, is the smell of the canals
of Venice at low tide. The smaller canals dry up to a layer of mud. Stinking
mud.”

Huon pulled the window shut. “I’ll take the charring any
day.” He looked at the blanket-covered mound on the floor. “No wonder no one
came to investigate anything strange. If you could live with that, nothing
would bother you.”

Tybor settled back on the bed. “It will go when the tide
comes back in.”

Huon looked at him. His color was a little better but there
were pinched lines around his mouth and his lips were white.