Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 18. George Of Sedona III: Links in the Chains Arsenic and Broken Faith

Chapter 18: Arsenic and Broken Faith

The difference between a medicine and a poison is the dose thereof.
—Paracelsus, Earth-analogue, fl. 16^th century CE

Larry was alone in the shop when Zondovon, Guildmaster of the Brewer’s Guild and Senior Guildmaster of Questa, came in. The boy bowed politely, and said, “Master Scroop is not in at present, Master Zondovon, may I tell him that you called?”

“Not necessary, boy,” the man said. “I just need something for this headache. What would your master give me?”

The boy looked at Zondovon. The black lines he saw overlaid upon the man’s aura suggested more than headache…but what? He saw what he thought was a familiar pattern, but wasn’t sure what it was. He also saw a similar pattern emitted by whatever was at the pouch at the man’s waist.

“Well, boy,” the man’s voice broke through Larry’s reverie. “Don’t fall asleep on me. What does your master offer for headache?”

“An extract of the bark of Salix alba, the white willow tree, Master Zondovon. It is compounded with an ingredient to make it work faster. Take one tablet with a large mug of water. No more than twice per day, and for no more than three days. The packet holds six doses. The cost is a shilling,” the boy answered, handing the man a folded leaf containing six tablets of what elsewhere would be called aspirin and caffeine.

“I’ll pay your master next time I see him, boy,” the man said. He took the package and strode from the shop.

When Scroop returned to the Herbalist and Healing shop on the square of the city, the boy told him what had happened, concluding with, “…and he said he’d pay you the next time he saw you. I think something else was wrong with him. I could see something foreign in his body, and the same thing in the pouch at his waist…”

“The tobacco pouch? That’s what he wears…” the herbalist paused. “You almost had me believing that you can see illness. Nonsense, boy. You’re not a healer, just an apprentice herbalist, and not a very good one, at that. Get back to work.”

The day after Market was traditionally a free day for apprentices. Scroop honored the tradition only when it suited him. For some reason it suited him on this day to dismiss Larry from his duties. “Go visit your family. Wander the town. Climb a mountain. I don’t care, just stay away from the shop.”

Larry found two friends. Together they went swimming in the quarry on the side of the hill. The quarry had been an open-pit gold mine. It was dangerous to swim in the pit, but that only added to its attraction.

After their swim, the boys lay on the grass beside the tailings from the old mine, allowing the early summer sun to begin restoring color to winter-pale skin. Larry lay on his stomach while one of his friends casually rubbed his back. Larry felt the pressure of boy magic building in his body. His eyes unfocused; ordinary things took on colored hues. His startled cry interrupted his friend’s ministrations.

“What is the matter, Larry?” Rob asked.

“What is this stuff?” Larry asked.

“What are you talking about?” Rob asked. His eyes followed Larry’s gestures. “Oh. Tailings from the mine. Ore from which the gold was removed. Leftover chemicals…arsenic mostly…used in the processing. I can’t tell you any more…Guild secret.” Rob’s father was a miner, and Rob was apprenticed to him.

Arsenic? But that’s a poison, Larry thought.

Later, when the boys walked back to town, they passed one of the many houses that dotted the hillside. “Wait a minute,” Rick said. “I’m supposed to pick up some tobacco for my father.” The boy went to the door of the house where he exchanged a ha’penny for a coarsely woven bag that was redolent of moist, cured tobacco.

The same lines, Larry thought. That means there’s arsenic in the tobacco. If they’re growing it here…yes, in those fields…it’s absorbing arsenic that runs off the—what did Rob call them—tailings of the mine. Zondovon…and Rick’s father…are likely being poisoned by arsenic! I must tell Scroop.

The moment Larry returned to the shop, Scroop issued orders to the boy…so many and so fast that Larry had no time to tell his master of the discovery of the arsenic in the tobacco. By the next day, he had forgotten it.

During the next market, Scroop left in the early afternoon. Larry was alone, again, when Zondovon came into the shop. “I need more of those headache pills, boy,” the man said. “And more than six this time.”

Larry prepared a packet with 12 pills and offered it to the Senior Guildmaster. “Master Zondovon, is that tobacco in your pouch?”

“What of it, boy?”

“Master, I believe that the tobacco may be contaminated with arsenic from the old gold mine on the hill…the one where the boys swim in the quarry. That could be causing your headaches…and the discoloration of your nails. You might try eating garlic and egg yolks…they help remove arsenic from the body. Master Scroop could examine the tobacco…”

“Who else have you told this to, boy?”

“No one yet, master, but I will tell my master as soon as he returns…”

“Hmph. You have a wild imagination, boy. Tell no one, do you hear? No one!” The man stalked from the shop. The tobacco grows on my brother’s land…and too many people have bought it. If it becomes common knowledge that his tobacco is poisoned…not good for him or me. I must find a way to silence the boy!

Perhaps half an hour later, two members of the City Guard burst into the shop. “Are you Scroop’s apprentice?” one asked. When Larry acknowledged that he was, the guards grabbed him and marched him into the city square.

*****

Questa nestled in a valley in the foothills of the Arista Mountains. Those mountains marked the western boundary of Arcadia. In recent years, the town had grown beyond its walls. Houses and small farms dotted the hillside overlooking the town. Above the houses lay the tailings of the mines. Behind the hills, the tall and rocky peaks of the Arista Mountains loomed. Arthur and his two companions had followed the Royal Road; the road followed a river. When the river neared the town, it turned east before looping around the town and resuming its flow to the south. The Royal Road stopped at Questa. From the approach to the town, one could see that no other road led away.

The old town was fortified with sturdy walls and gates. Above the gates, a dragon was emblazoned in a rainbow of color. Red fire roiled from its mouth. The companions received the usual challenge, and satisfied the guards and the sembler that they were not hostile.

Inside the gate the road narrowed, but was still wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast. Following instructions received from the guard, the companions walked, leading their horses, and stopped at the Riven Oak Inn. The inn’s emblem was an oak tree split by lightning. “Not a good sign, that,” Arthur said. “Hope it has no significance.” The escutcheon Arthur once wore bore the oak tree of the Elven kingdom, and the crown of its king.

“You’re most welcome,” the innkeeper said. “We don’t see many travelers, being on the end of the road, so to say.” The unspoken question, Why are you here, hung on the air.

“Thank you for your welcome,” Arthur said. “We travel in search of an herb—comfrey —said to be plentiful in the foothills just south of here.” Arthur’s story—the same one he’d told to the sembler at the gate—was true enough, and enough of the truth. He did want to replenish his supply of the herb, but the reason they traveled…the real reason…was the quest. He had planned to travel to Arcadia from Bowling Green, but for some reason—a reason with which Arthur was familiar—their path had led farther and farther west.

“Well, if it’s herbs that you’re interested in, you should see Master Scroop. He’s the local healer and herbalist. Shop’s in the square, just at the end of the street,” the innkeeper said. He handed Arthur a key. “Top of the stairs, last door on the left.”

Once they’d reached the room, Arthur asked, “Bathe, first, or explore the town?”

Gary and George exchanged glances. “Bath!” they both said, at once. They’d been camping by the river for the past four days. It was early summer, but the river rose from snowmelt high in the mountains. The water had been bitterly cold, and the boys were eager to bathe in hot water.

“Bring everything that’s dirty, then,” Arthur said. “George, it’s your turn to do the wash.”

Gary and Arthur cleaned each other while George washed clothes. Everything that’s dirty turned out to be just almost every bit of clothing the three owned, and their bedrolls. After George finished the wash, Gary and Arthur bathed him. This was their custom, and was the reason that no one missed his turn to do the laundry.

It was still early—bells had just tolled nones—when the boys left the Riven Oak and walked toward the town square. The two boys flanked Arthur; all wore sword, poniard, and dagger. The road by which they’d entered the city continued past the inn and debouched into a large square. Facing the road was a large building of two full stories plus a third, dormered level. Emblazoned across the front were the symbols of the major guilds of the city: Smith, Healer, Mason, Woodsman, Miner, Brewer, Husbandryman, Merchant, Mercenary, Potter, and Weaver.

Shops, many of which displayed their wares on tables in front, lined the square. Between them squeezed vendors of various sorts, including farmers with late-winter produce and a few with young spring vegetables. What held the companions attention, however, was not the ornate building, nor the shops, nor the bustle of trade. What held their attention were the devices in the center of the square: a gallows and stocks.

“I didn’t think that gallows and stocks were allowed, anymore,” Gary said.

George, who still was unsure of the customs of Arcadia—indeed, many of the customs of this World—stared. “We used stocks about 300 years ago; they were still hanging people in some states up to 60 years ago, I think,” the boy said.

“The elves outlawed the stocks many lifetimes ago,” Arthur said. “The gallows have never been used in Elvenhold. Prince Elgin’s father outlawed both in Arcadia…at least 500 years ago, perhaps more. I don’t know why they are here, unless they’re an historical reminder of some sort. Wait…what’s that?”

As the companions watched, two soldiers dragged a struggling figure from one of the shops and into the square. “It’s a boy,” Gary said, “What’s going to happen?”

The answer to Gary’s question came quickly. The soldiers dragged the boy to the stocks and pushed his head and hands into the half-circles in the bottom half. The top bar was lowered, and secured with sturdy locks at each end. A third soldier, a centurion by his uniform, came from the Guild Hall, and proclaimed the charges in a lethargic voice.

“Know you that one Larry son of John a Woodsman and apprenticed to Master Scroop the Herbalist-Healer did willfully disobey his master and will stay in the stocks for one day from this moment.” The centurion and the other two guards turned back to the Guild Hall. Immediately, farmers from their stands around the square began loudly to offer rotten fruit and vegetables to throw.

“Arthur, we have to do something,” Gary said.

“Yes, we do, but we need to know more about the situation first,” Arthur said. “He’s in no real danger unless someone gets carried away and throws a rock.”

Arthur had only finished speaking when someone threw a potato that struck the boy on his nose, causing a nosebleed. That was enough for Arthur. “Watch my back,” he said to the boys, and strode across the square to the stock. Kneeling in the vegetable debris, he touched the boy’s face.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Um,” Larry said. “I’m in the stocks, my face is covered with rotten…what is that, anyway…eggplant? The Senior Guildmaster has charged me with disobeying my master…who isn’t anywhere around…and someone just hit my nose with a potato. Um, yeah, I’m all right.”

“I’m sorry; that was a stupid question,” Arthur said. “I’m a healer, and that potato broke blood vessels in your nose. You’re bleeding quite a lot, and it’s dripping all over the vegetables. May I stop the bleeding before you ruin our dinner?”

Larry managed a weak laugh, “Yes, please, I’d like that.”

When the companions had approached the stocks, the crowd had stopped throwing stuff at the boy; however, it wasn’t long before two of the soldiers and their centurion stepped from the Guild Hall.

“Trouble, Arthur…three soldiers,” George warned.

“Keep your weapons sheathed,” Arthur said, standing and turning to face the oncoming soldiers.

“No one is to speak to a prisoner in the stocks,” the centurion said.

“The boy was injured,” Arthur said, “and I am a healer. You may not prevent me from performing my calling or from speaking to my patient.”

“Have you finished healing?” the centurion asked. When Arthur nodded, he continued, “Then back away.” The centurion posted the soldiers near the stocks, and returned to the Guild Hall.

By this time, the crowd had either lost interest in pelting the boy, or was afraid of the soldiers.

“We will stay here until dark to make sure that no one else harms him; then we will come back later. I am not prepared, yet, to take on the city authorities,” Arthur said.

The companions loitered in the square, examining merchandise and visiting the shops. By vespers, all the shops had closed, the soldiers had returned to the Guild Hall, and the square was empty save for the boy in the stocks. Arthur walked over to the boy. “Hold on for another few hours. We will be back after compline.” The boy nodded his understanding.

The compline bell had tolled when the companions returned to the square. Curfew had begun, and they were in jeopardy of arrest if discovered.

“Gary, use some of the water to wash his face and then give him some to drink. Use boy magic to get his face clean first. Some nasty bugs live in those rotten vegetables. George, keep an eye out for the city guard,” Arthur issued instructions before turning to the boy in the stocks. “May I examine you?” he asked.

The boy nodded, weakly, “Cramps…my legs…”

Arthur touched the boy and felt the cramps caused by muscles forced to remain in an unnatural position for hours. Focusing power, he channeled it not to the muscles but to the blood where the accumulation of fatigue poisons had caused the cramps. He also triggered endorphin production, just enough to take the edge off the pain. “Better?”

The boy sighed. “Much better; and thank you for cleaning my face.”

“What happened?” Arthur asked. “You said you were charged with disobedience to your master, but he did not make the charge?”

“All I know is that I was in the shop—my master is an herbalist and healer—when two soldiers dragged me out. They read the charge and locked me up. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know why my master didn’t say anything. He had left the shop much earlier.”

“Well, he did come back to close the shop. We saw him, then.”

“Arthur! Someone coming,” George said.

“Quickly, under the scaffold,” Arthur ordered. “Gary…the water bag!”

The three companions were safely hidden in the dense shadow under the scaffold when they heard footsteps approaching the stocks.

“Well, boy, you’ve really got yourself in trouble this time,” came a man’s voice.

“Master! I’m glad to see you. They said I disobeyed…but you weren’t even at the shop…,” the boy said.

“No, Senior Guildmaster Zondovon ordered you put in the stocks…I learned that much. What did you do to him?”

“He came in for headache pills…the willow bark…I prepared 12, as he asked. I told him that I thought the headaches were caused by arsenic in his tobacco…it’s grown on a farm near the old mine and arsenic from the tailings gets into the water…He asked me who I’d told, and I said no one…then he left.”

Scroop thought for a moment before replying. “That farm belongs to his brother. It’s likely that he believed your story, and wanted to scare you…to keep you from telling it to anyone, to protect his brother. However, you know too much about arsenic, now. You see, the arsenic in the tobacco isn’t enough to kill him; the orpiment that I’m compounding in his arthritis medicine is the real culprit. When Zondovon is dead, you see, I will be Senior Guildmaster. I can’t have you around the shop, now that you know about arsenic…you might see the orpiment in the compound.

“Oh, yes, I believe you can see disease and see the nature and healing properties of herbs. I’ve watched you more closely than you realize. That’s why I send you on errands, or allow you a day off when I’m preparing Zondovon’s medicine.”

“But you said that you didn’t believe me,” the boy protested.

“The longer you doubted your ability, the less likely it would be that you would discover what else was going on in the shop,” the man replied. “Zondovon isn’t the only person getting poisoned. No, no. I sell special medicine to many people who want to dispose of an enemy, or a relative. Not all arsenic, of course. But, oh, so many possibilities. Belladonna is one. Curare—you remember Chondrodendron tomentosum don’t you—is another. Hemlock—Conium maculatum? A little is useful, a little more is deadly. Red squill? You collected that from the marshes along the riverbank. It’s both a medicine and a poison against rodents—or rich aunts. See, boy, even now I’m teaching you.

“In the town are dozens of young men and women who depend on me for potions that…well, that’s neither here nor there. You won’t live long enough to need or use this information.

“I saw you get a bloody nose this afternoon, and no one will suspect a little more blood. There won’t be much. I’m going to drive my dagger through your mouth and into your brain. You will not feel pain…the brain has no nerves, you know. I will, of course, be terribly distraught when I call the guard and tell them that I found you dead,” Scroop said. He pulled the dagger from his sleeve.

At this moment, Arthur stepped from the shadow of the gallows and seized Scroop’s arms. “George, take the dagger. Gary…would you break the locks?”

Arthur addressed the struggling man, “You’re going to be even more distraught when you are charged with the attempted murder of Zondovon and this boy.” Turning to Larry, Arthur said, “By the way, what is your name?”

“Larry—” the boy began before he was interrupted.

“What do you want?” Scroop demanded, “I have money…I’ll pay you. The boy isn’t important…”

“What do I want?” Arthur asked. “I’m not entirely sure what I want, but it probably isn’t the same thing you want.”

Scroop started to reply, but Arthur gestured and the man was silent, his vocal cords numb, and his lips paralyzed.

“Gary, what…?” Arthur asked.

“It was easier to pick the locks than to break them,” Gary replied.

“What do we do, now?” George asked.

Arthur turned to the boy. “What do you think we should do? And you, Gary, what should we do? We’ve broken the law…by being out after curfew and by releasing Larry from the stocks. We have,” he said, indicating Scroop, “a self-confessed, would-be murderer and accessory to other murders, who also happens to be a Guildmaster. We are on the horns of a bull that is waiting for one misstep to fling us to the ground and gore us.”

“We could tie him up,” George said, indicating Scroop. “But…after that? I don’t know.”

“We can’t leave him alive,” Gary said. “He’d have the whole town after us. But we can’t kill him…and we can’t take him with us…”

“What does destiny say?” George asked.

Arthur thought for a moment. “Destiny does not compel; it seems silent. If we expose Scroop, turn him over to the centurion, we risk danger to ourselves. We don’t know how powerful Scroop is, we don’t know who his friends are. We may not find friends or allies in this town. And what about Larry? Did we rescue him only to have him further harmed by Scroop or Zondovon?”

“You cannot leave me alone,” Larry said softly. “Scroop and Zondovon both have power. They’d make sure that I never saw a sembler…and no one else would believe me.”

“Arthur,” George said, “this town is not Evil. I hear it from Scroop, but I didn’t hear it from the people whose shops we visited today. I didn’t hear it even from the centurion. I know that there is Good in this town…all we have to do is awaken it.”

“That will call attention to us…and may put us in danger, not only from the townspeople, but from others who may be looking for us,” Arthur said. “Is it worth the risk?”

George and Gary looked at one another, puzzled. “You know it is…” George said. He paused. “Oh…oh…” He looked at Gary again. Gary nodded. “Yes, it is…and we know it, too.”

The shadows hid Arthur’s smile, but the boys felt it, nevertheless. “I guess,” Arthur said, “we must grab the bull by the horns. Follow me.”

Holding firmly to Scroop’s arm, Arthur climbed the steps to the platform of the scaffold. It was 20 feet above the pavement, and was nearly 500 square feet. Gesturing, Arthur grasped two motes of dust, hurled them a thousand feet into the air, and forced them to occupy the same space at the same time. E = mc², he thought as a flash illuminated the land for miles around, and a thunderclap rattled the stones of the town.

“Wow, do it again?” Gary asked.

“What will you give me?” Arthur asked.

“A kiss,” Gary said.

“I’ll take a rain check,” Arthur said, and smashed two more motes of dust together with the same spectacular results.

“What’s a rain check?” Gary asked when the echoes had died away.

“I’ll give you a rain check, too,” George said.

Another flash-bang.

“What’s a rain check?” Gary asked, again.

By this time, the doors of the Guild Hall had opened, and several soldiers had stormed into the square. The centurion was not among them.

“We need some light,” Arthur said to George. The boy thought for a moment, and then poured energy into cornices at each corner of the square, causing them to glow with bright pastel light. Shopkeepers and others who lived above the shops on the square came from their homes and began to fill the square. From the road, others came, muttering and marveling at the magelight.

Augmenting his voice with magic, Arthur spoke, “I am Arthur of Elvenhold, sojourner in Arcadia. I accuse Scroop the herbalist of the attempted murder of Guildmaster Zondovon. I accuse Scroop of the attempted murder of his apprentice, Larry. I accuse Zondovon of falsely imprisoning Larry in the stocks. I accuse Zondovon of knowing that tobacco from his brother’s farm was poisoning people and of attempting to conceal the danger.

“Who will stand in judgment?”

It seemed that everyone wanted to stand in judgment. The guildhall was crowded; after last night’s display, the entire town knew that strangers—one of whom was a powerful mage—had charged two guildmasters with poisoning and murder—or at least attempted murder and concealing evidence of poisoning. Every seat was full, and people stood at the doors, peering over the heads of those in front, trying to see.

The bench at the end of the room held nine guildmasters—four more than were required by custom, and all in the town except three: the Master of the Thieves’ Guild, and the two guildmasters who were on trial. The Master of the Smith’s Guild, senior in the absence of Zondovon and Scroop, pounded the bench with his fist, and called for order. Slowly a hush fell over the crowd.

“Now then,” he began, pointing to Arthur. “Who are you and what have you to say?”

“My name is Arthur, citizen of Elvenhold and sojourner in Arcadia. I swear in the Light that I heard the herbalist Scroop confess to the attempted murder of Zondovon and threaten the murder of Scroop’s apprentice, Larry. Scroop also claimed to have provided poisons to others in this town, knowing that the poisons would be used for murder.”

“And the boys?” asked the smith.

At Arthur’s nod, George spoke. “My name is George of Sedona, sojourner in Arcadia. I swear by the Light that I heard that man confess to trying to murder Zondovon by poison, and I heard him threaten to kill Larry, too.” George pointed to Scroop.

Gary held Arthur’s hand tightly. “My name is Gary, son of the Guildmaster Smith of Bowling Green. I swear in the Light that I heard that man, the one called Scroop, say that he was trying to kill someone named Zondovon by poisoning him with arsenic—that’s a heavy metal, you know—and Scroop told Larry that he was going to kill him, too, to keep him from talking.”

After each boy spoke, the two semblers nodded. When Gary finished, the older of the two semblers said, “They all speak the truth.”

“Where is the boy, Larry?” the smith asked.

“Here, guildmaster,” Larry said, stepping through the crowd to stand before the bench.

“What have you to say, boy?” the smith asked.

“Yesterday, I told Master Zondovon that I thought his headaches were caused by arsenic in his tobacco—arsenic that had washed into the tobacco fields from the tailings of the old mine. He asked who I had told this to, and I said no one, but that I would tell my master when he returned to the shop. A little while after he left, I was imprisoned in the stocks.

“Last night, Master Scroop came to the stocks, in secret.” The boy’s voice became bitter. “He told me that he’d been poisoning Master Zondovon by including the yellow pigment, orpiment, in his arthritis medicine. He said that he had sold poison to others in the town, to kill relatives. He said he could not risk me finding out that he was using orpiment to kill Master Zondovon. He said he was going to kill me by sticking his dagger through my mouth into my brain. These boys stopped him and wakened the town.”

The hubbub that followed this accusation slowly was stilled as the smith’s pounded his fist on the bench, and bellowed.

“What say you?” the smith demanded, turning to the semblers.

“Truth…” said the first.

“Truth…” said the second.

“Scroop, do you deny these charges?” the smith asked the ashen-faced herbalist, who merely shook his head.

“You must speak,” the smith ordered.

“No, I do not deny them,” Scroop said.

“Zondovon, do you deny that you falsely imprisoned this boy in order to conceal evidence your brother’s tobacco was poisoned?”

“No, I do not deny it,” Zondovon said.

“Master Smith, there is one other matter,” Arthur said in the stillness that followed.

“And what is that?” the smith asked.

“The gallows and the stocks. Today, with the guildmasters and many of the citizens gathered, seems a good time to order their removal…and destruction.”

The hubbub that greeted this pronouncement was louder than that which had greeted the first charges of murder. Again, the smith had to pound on the bench with his fist to restore order.

“Dura lex, sed lex,” intoned the Guildmaster Potter, and then translated the Old Elvish into the common tongue, “the law is hard, but it is the law.”

“But master, it is not the law,” Arthur said. “Both the stocks and the gallows have been outlawed in Arcadia.”

“You presume much, boy,” the Guildmistress Weaver spoke. “The gallows and the stocks are a tradition we have followed for centuries.”

“They are a tradition that has been banned for centuries, Mistress,” Arthur said. “They are evil. They are inhuman and therefore they are evil. Look in your heart. You know what I say is true.”

Arthur turned to face the crowd. “You who were on the square yesterday…you who saw this wrongly accused and imprisoned boy pelted with garbage. Was this done in the Light? Or was it done in the Shadow…or was it done in Darkness?”

Arthur won the crowd’s support, if only for a moment, but that was enough for the Guild Council. The stocks and scaffold were ordered destroyed, and a number of people in the back of the crowd rushed out to do the council’s bidding. The sounds of the melee could be heard inside the hall where judgment was passed on Scroop and Zondovon.

*****

The Master Smith had been elevated to Master Guildmaster by his peers. He summoned Arthur and his companions to the Guild Hall. The boys were instructed to wait while Arthur was taken to see the smith, who spoke bluntly to him, “You have caused the people of this town to rid themselves of Evil—the man Scroop—and symbols of Evil—the gallows and the stocks. So far, we have identified seven other murders effected by poison provided by Scroop. For the most part, the victims and the murderers were prominent people. You understand, of course, that the town is not grateful, but resentful. The people resent you because you caused them to do something they should have done themselves. They’re also afraid of you; and fear breeds hatred, too.”

“Thank you, Master Guildmaster, for your candor. I acted rashly when I created a stir and made a public accusation. When I heard Scroop confess to Larry and then threaten to murder the boy, I lost my temper. Not an excuse, I know. We will depart immediately.”

“Not just yet,” the smith said. “There’s a bit of unfinished business. The boy Larry also is now unwelcome in this town. He has become too closely linked to you in the people’s minds. He wants to become a healer, and says that you are one. He wants you to teach him.”

The smith paused. “I cannot force you to assume responsibility for the boy…and I hesitate even to ask you, but I must. Will you accept Larry as apprentice?”

“Masterguildmaster, I must speak to Larry and his father,” Arthur said. “But first, I must talk to George and Gary.”

Arthur explained the situation to Gary and George and then asked, “Would you accept Larry as a companion? Would you protect him until he learns to protect himself? Would you cherish him as I cherish you?”

“Yes, I will,” George spoke first.

“Yes, I will, too,” Gary said.

Arthur smiled, and then kissed each of the boys.

Arthur then met with Larry and his father. “Larry, Scroop said that you could see the nature of disease and see the herb that should be used to cure it. Please tell me about this.”

Larry, a little nervously, explained that when he looked at a person he saw a rainbow that ran from their head to their feet. When a person was sick, he saw black lines crossing the rainbow at different places. He said that he saw a similar rainbow when he looked at herbs, mushrooms, minerals, and other things used to make medicine, except that he saw bright lines overlying the rainbow…bright lines that were a little different for each herb. “When two herbs are mixed, sometimes the lines combine to make brighter lines; when a compounded medicine has an herb and a mineral, I see the lines for the herb and the lines for the mineral. That’s what I saw in Zondovon’s pouch: the lines for tobacco, but also the lines for arsenic.”

Arthur nodded, “Yes, you’re seeing a spectrum, and lines of emission and absorption. Go on, please.”

The boy did not understand what Arthur said, only that he seemed to understand. Larry continued, more enthusiasticly, now. “I’m so glad you believe me…no one else ever has, before. Anyway, when I match the dark lines of a sick person with the bright lines of an herb or compound, I know that’s what is needed to cure…At least, I think so. Scroop never believed me, and never let me try. I watched him, though, and most of the time, it seemed that what he prescribed matched what I saw, if that makes any sense…”

“It makes a great deal of sense, Larry,” Arthur said. “You have an innate magical talent that manifests itself as a form of synesthesia. Your talent lets you know that someone is sick, but since you don’t know physiology, that knowledge appears to be dark lines. Your talent lets you know the healing properties of an herb; but since you don’t know chemistry, that knowledge appears to be bright lines. It all makes sense.

“You might become a good Folk Healer, prescribing herbs and compounds based on what you saw this way. Furthermore, you’d probably not kill too many people. You’d likely help most of them.”

Larry gasped, and then looked both hurt and puzzled.

“Don’t be surprised,” Arthur said, gently. “Scroop didn’t let you prescribe based on what you saw, and that may have been the only decent thing he did. Remember what he said about curare and red squill? A little, properly used, can cure; improperly used, or given in to large or too small a dose, they can kill. Do your lines tell you that?”

When the boy shook his head, Arthur continued, “Larry, if you’re to become a healer, you have to learn chemistry. It’s not easy, and it will take years of study. If you’re to become a healer, you have to learn anatomy…every one of the more than 200 bones in the human body; the location and name of every muscle—did you know that in your cheeks are 22 muscles that allow you to smile? You would have to learn the nature and creation and effect of 20 amino acids and hundreds of proteins…every gland and its secretions…and more.

“The Master Guildmaster said that you wanted me to teach you, but before I could teach you healing and chemistry and endocrinology and bacteriology and parasitology and half a dozen other -ologies that you’d have to know before you could safely heal, you’d have to learn to ride a horse, and to use a sword and a bow.

“If you were to travel with me, you’d probably not come back to Questa for years, decades, perhaps never. You would move from town to town, never in one place for more than a day or two. You would be in danger, because danger seeks me, whether I seek it or no. You would have to make an absolute commitment to the Light, for that is what I serve. You would have to accept George and Gary as companions, unreservedly, and you would have to accept that I am training and caring for them, too. You would have to swear a new oath of apprenticeship.

“George and Gary and I share boy magic freely; and you would become a partner in that, too. By tradition, each time boy magic is shared, there must be an Asking and a Telling…and we follow that tradition. But, if for any reason you would not want freely to share with the boys and me, you must not join us.

“Is this what you want, lad? Don’t answer me yet. Think about it. Talk to your father. Tell the Master Guildmaster when you make up your mind.”

Arthur turned and left the room.

Arthur and his companions waited in an anteroom in the Guild Hall. The Master Guildmaster had retrieved their things from the inn, and settled the bill. They were to leave as soon as Larry made up his mind.

“Master Arthur?” asked the guard. “The Master Guildmaster would see you and your companions now, if you please.”

The apprenticeship oath was administered at the guildhall, with the now eleven guildmasters and Larry’s family present. The Master Guildmaster explained, “Normally this would be a public ceremony, so all that all who lived in the town would know of the relationship we are about to create. You know, however, that the town has had quite enough of our three visitors—to our own shame.”

The ceremony was brief but solemn. The smith administered the oaths to Larry and Arthur, who spoke for George and Gary. The smith’s powerful voice echoed through the nearly empty chamber.

Compline was long past, and the square was empty when the companions, now four, left the Guild Hall and walked to the city gate. Their horses and gear had been collected from the inn earlier, and kept by members of the Guard. George led a fourth horse, purchased by Larry’s father in lieu of apprenticeship fee. Larry had not ridden before, and would ride with one of the others until he learned the basics of horsemanship.

A waning moon rose on their left. It gave enough light for them to pick their way down a path to the river, and then along the river toward the south.

Thunder rolled through the hills above the companions’ riverside camp, but the storm brought no rain. Gary and George led the horses to the river to drink while the two boys refilled water skins. Beside a copse that would provide a windbreak, Arthur set up their camp by the light of a small fire. Arthur unwrapped his bedroll. “Larry?” he asked. “Will you share boy magic with me tonight?”

“Oh, yes, please,” the boy said. “I was…I was afraid to ask you…”

“Never be afraid to ask, Larry,” Arthur said. “Never be afraid to ask any of us. When we took you to be our companion, we made you one of us in our minds and in our hearts. It may take a while for…well, for all of us to feel comfortable with one another, but we have plenty of time, don’t we?”

The night was dry, although the thunder continued. The storm produced some rain in the hills. The morning found the river swollen. “I was hoping to ford it later today,” Arthur said. “But we’ll just have to stay on this side for a while. Larry? Would you ride with me?”

Larry nodded, and accepted Arthur’s hand. He sat behind the older boy, and held his arms tightly around Arthur’s waist. With George in the lead, the horses picked their way slowly along the riverbank. Arthur lagged a little behind, and pitched his voice for Larry’s ears, only. “How did you sleep last night, Larry?”

“Uh, okay, I guess,” Larry said.

“I don’t think so,” Arthur said. “Unless you’re always restless. You must have wakened a dozen times or more.”

“Uh, no,” Larry said. He paused. “I’ve never slept on the ground before.”

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Arthur asked.

Larry sniffled. “Yeah. Every time I woke up, I thought about what I’d done, and what you’d done. I didn’t have a choice; I had to get out of Questa. You had a choice. I guess I was trying to understand why you agreed. I mean, I’m an ignorant boy from a far-away town. You and George and Gary are warriors and mages and who knows what else.”

Arthur waited patiently until Larry continued. “I’m a little afraid…”

“Larry, do you remember the words of my oath to you?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah,” Larry said. “I mean, of course.”

“Do you remember the words of your former master’s oath?”

“Yes,” the boy said.

“How were they different?” Arthur asked.

Larry answered instantly. “Cherish. You said you would cherish me; Scroop didn’t.”

“I asked the Masterguildmaster to include those words, Larry,” Arthur said. “And before I spoke to you and your father, I asked George and Gary to promise to cherish you if you joined us—and to protect you, too. Words, alone, are not always enough, Larry. But by our words and in our hearts you are well and truly one of us.

“That doesn’t mean that you will—or should—never be afraid. I told you that we would face danger. But you should not be afraid of us.”

After about an hour and a brief rest for the horses, Larry mounted George’s horse, and rode behind that boy. Arthur could not make out what they were talking about, but within a very few minutes, Larry was laughing.