Read Online The Clockwork Dagger by Beth Cato - Free Book Online Page B

Stout’s hand. “Pray, by the Lady let me mend thy ills.” For several long seconds, Octavia didn’t breathe, the very air still in anticipation. The access came with a slight pop, the music louder again due to the circle, but still far too faint.
    Octavia brushed her hands over her concealed wand in her parasol. The puppy that morning had required no more than a pinch of pampria; now she scooped up a full palm.
    â€œLady, hear me. Mend the body of this kind soul. Lady, be with us . . .” The ground red leaves fluttered through the air and vanished. A strangled gasp escaped Mrs. Stout’s throat. Octavia bent over her and turned Mrs. Stout’s head to the side just in time. The acidic stench of the vomit didn’t distract Octavia from the prayer repeated beneath her tongue.
    Falling back to her haunches, she reached for the jar of heskool root. The boiled roots were soft beneath her fingers, the chunks fibrous like jerky. She flicked three pieces against Mrs. Stout’s skin. The marching-band rhythm of the heart’s drum immediately steadied.
    Lady, thank you, thank you. She added a sprinkle of bellywood bark to counter any infection from lingering zymes, and a glob of Linsom berries to mend the skin. The clamor dulled. Mrs. Stout’s chest rose and dipped. Octavia allowed herself to sag onto her knuckles, loosened strands of hair snagging on her eyelashes. The wax-sealed incision on her forearm tingled, as if to remind her of its presence.
    â€œThat was amazing,” whispered Mr. Garret. “Never have I seen a healing so fast.”
    Octavia recoiled. She had broken Miss Percival’s most vital rule for this journey, and in a spectacular way. Mrs. Stout may have somehow guessed at what she was, but Mr. Garret had absolute proof.
    Her fingers trembled as she packed her jars. The pampria was half full, enough for two or three trauma cases as bad as Mrs. Stout’s—certainly not adequate to start her practice. Without the Lady’s herbs, I’ll be almost useless in Delford. Doctoring can only do so much for poison cases as bad as theirs. It would take months to grow pampria until it’s ripe enough to harvest. There may be an apothecary in Leffen, but it would be far too overpriced, and I barely have the funds for my journey.
    She brushed her fingers against Mrs. Stout’s arm, now warm to the touch. She was grateful to be able to save her friend, but the consequences were dire.
    â€œYou are a medician,” Mr. Garret said in a gentle tone, probing.
    â€œYes.” She didn’t look at him. “I was trained at Miss Percival’s academy.”
    â€œI know of it. One of the most reputed medician schools in the kingdom. Your skill—’tis as though your Lady’s hand rests directly on you. I had the brief acquaintance of a medician. He was not as attuned.”
    â€œAh. When you lost your leg.”
    Mr. Garret sucked in a breath. “How . . . ?”
    â€œI know these things.”
    â€œAs you knew of her injury before opening the door. You are unusually attuned.”
    â€œSo I’ve been told.” Again, and again, and again. She bowed her head. “Thank you, Lady, for extending your branches.” She brushed her fingers against the copper circle. With an electric snap, the invisible seal broke.
    He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would help you to know I guessed at your occupation, even before this unfortunate event.”
    She spun to look at him. “How? When?”
    â€œYour attachment to your satchel. Only a medician or a banker would refuse to hand over a bag, and a banker would not travel alone.”
    I can mend a gunshot wound to the gut in two minutes, but my lack of social graces can damn me just as fast.
    â€œDo not worry. I tend to be more observant than most,” he said. “Besides, your skill in wielding dining trays did wonders for your reputation.”
    She laughed,