Read Online The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch - Free Book Online
Authors: Scott Lynch
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something—”
“Let him go!” Locke retched, spat up more blood, and broke into a coughing fit. Jean released Zodesti, and the physiker slid away, glaring.
“Shortly after the poison was administered,” said the physiker, “I could have tried a purgative. Or filled his stomach with milk and parchment pulp. Or bled him to thin out the venom. But this thing has been with him for too long now.
“Even with known poisons,” he continued, returning his instruments to his bag, “there comes a point where the harm to organs or humors cannot be reversed. Antidotes don’t restore dead flesh. And with this, an unknown poison? His blood is pouring out of him. I can’t just put it back.”
“Gods damn it,” whispered Jean.
“The question is no longer
if
but
when
,” said Zodesti. “Look, you ugly bastard, despite the way you brought me into this mess, I’ve given him my full and fair attention.”
“I see.” Jean slowly walked over to the linen table, took up a clay cup, and filled it with water from the jug. “Do you have anything with you that can bring about a strong sleep? In case his pain should worsen?”
“Of course.” Zodesti removed a small paper pouch from his bag. “Have him take this in water or wine and he won’t be able to keep his eyes open.”
“Now wait just a damn minute,” said Locke.
“Give it here,” said Jean. He took the packet, poured its contents into the water, and shook the cup several times. “How long will it last?”
“Hours.”
“Good.” Jean passed the cup to Zodesti and gestured at it with a dagger. “Drink up.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you running off to the first constable you can find as soon as I dump you on the street.”
“Don’t think I would be so foolish as to try and run from you—”
“Don’t think I give a damn. Drink the whole thing or I’ll break your arms.”
Zodesti quickly gulped the contents of the cup. “How I’m going to laugh when they catch you, you son of a bitch.” He tossed the cup down carelessly on Locke’s bed and sat with his back against the wall. “All the justices of Lashain are my patients. Your friend’s too sick to run. If he’s still alive when they catch you, they’ll draw and quarter him just to give you something to watch while you wait for your own exe … execution.…”
A few seconds later his head rolled forward and he began snoring.
“Think he’s pretending?” said Locke.
Jean shoved the tip of his dagger into the calf of Zodesti’s outstretched right leg. The physiker didn’t stir.
“I hate to say that I told you so,” said Locke, settling back against his cushions and folding his hands in front of him. “Wait, no I don’t. I could use a bottle of wine, and don’t add any water this—”
“I’ll get Malcor,” said Jean. “I’ll have him stay the night. Constant attention.”
“Damn it, Jean, wake up.” Locke coughed and pounded on his chest. “What a reversal this is, eh? I wanted to die in Vel Virazzo and you pulled me back to my senses. Now I really am dying and you’re bereft of yours.”
“There’s—”
“No more physikers, Jean. No more alchemists, no more dog-leeches. No more rocks to pry up looking for miracles.”
“How can you just lie there like a fish washed up on shore, with no fight at all?”
“I suppose I could flop around a bit, if you thought it would help.”
“The Gray King sliced you like a veal cutlet and you came back from that, twice as aggravating as ever.”
“Sword cuts. If they don’t turn green, you can expect to heal. It’s the nature of things. With black alchemy, who the hell knows?”
“I’ll give you wine, but I want you to take it with two parts water, like Malcor said. And I want you to eat tonight, everything you can. Keep your strength up—”
“I’ll eat, but only to give the wine some ballast. There’s no other point to it, Jean. There’s no cure forthcoming.”
“If you can’t be cured, you’ll
“Let him go!” Locke retched, spat up more blood, and broke into a coughing fit. Jean released Zodesti, and the physiker slid away, glaring.
“Shortly after the poison was administered,” said the physiker, “I could have tried a purgative. Or filled his stomach with milk and parchment pulp. Or bled him to thin out the venom. But this thing has been with him for too long now.
“Even with known poisons,” he continued, returning his instruments to his bag, “there comes a point where the harm to organs or humors cannot be reversed. Antidotes don’t restore dead flesh. And with this, an unknown poison? His blood is pouring out of him. I can’t just put it back.”
“Gods damn it,” whispered Jean.
“The question is no longer
if
but
when
,” said Zodesti. “Look, you ugly bastard, despite the way you brought me into this mess, I’ve given him my full and fair attention.”
“I see.” Jean slowly walked over to the linen table, took up a clay cup, and filled it with water from the jug. “Do you have anything with you that can bring about a strong sleep? In case his pain should worsen?”
“Of course.” Zodesti removed a small paper pouch from his bag. “Have him take this in water or wine and he won’t be able to keep his eyes open.”
“Now wait just a damn minute,” said Locke.
“Give it here,” said Jean. He took the packet, poured its contents into the water, and shook the cup several times. “How long will it last?”
“Hours.”
“Good.” Jean passed the cup to Zodesti and gestured at it with a dagger. “Drink up.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you running off to the first constable you can find as soon as I dump you on the street.”
“Don’t think I would be so foolish as to try and run from you—”
“Don’t think I give a damn. Drink the whole thing or I’ll break your arms.”
Zodesti quickly gulped the contents of the cup. “How I’m going to laugh when they catch you, you son of a bitch.” He tossed the cup down carelessly on Locke’s bed and sat with his back against the wall. “All the justices of Lashain are my patients. Your friend’s too sick to run. If he’s still alive when they catch you, they’ll draw and quarter him just to give you something to watch while you wait for your own exe … execution.…”
A few seconds later his head rolled forward and he began snoring.
“Think he’s pretending?” said Locke.
Jean shoved the tip of his dagger into the calf of Zodesti’s outstretched right leg. The physiker didn’t stir.
“I hate to say that I told you so,” said Locke, settling back against his cushions and folding his hands in front of him. “Wait, no I don’t. I could use a bottle of wine, and don’t add any water this—”
“I’ll get Malcor,” said Jean. “I’ll have him stay the night. Constant attention.”
“Damn it, Jean, wake up.” Locke coughed and pounded on his chest. “What a reversal this is, eh? I wanted to die in Vel Virazzo and you pulled me back to my senses. Now I really am dying and you’re bereft of yours.”
“There’s—”
“No more physikers, Jean. No more alchemists, no more dog-leeches. No more rocks to pry up looking for miracles.”
“How can you just lie there like a fish washed up on shore, with no fight at all?”
“I suppose I could flop around a bit, if you thought it would help.”
“The Gray King sliced you like a veal cutlet and you came back from that, twice as aggravating as ever.”
“Sword cuts. If they don’t turn green, you can expect to heal. It’s the nature of things. With black alchemy, who the hell knows?”
“I’ll give you wine, but I want you to take it with two parts water, like Malcor said. And I want you to eat tonight, everything you can. Keep your strength up—”
“I’ll eat, but only to give the wine some ballast. There’s no other point to it, Jean. There’s no cure forthcoming.”
“If you can’t be cured, you’ll
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