Vaenuth impatiently waited after knocking on the old wooden door. The clinic hadn’t opened yet for the day, and a beggar sitting nearby was eyeing her with raised eyebrows even though she wore appropriate Noress garb, a full torso of soft green linen fabric that breathed the hot air while still protecting her body from the innocent eyes of the childish people that lived here. Vaenuth hated it, but the guard on the docks had made it clear.
She pounded on the door again. “I’m not waiting until you’re done your breakfast!” she called inside.
“Fine,” a grumbling voice replied, and the healer opened his small building’s door. His short frame moved aside to allow Vaenuth to enter. The man was copper skinned, with a small, neat beard and sagging rings around his eyes. He bit into an apple with a frustrated scowl.
“Well?” Vaenuth asked.
“Your friend has decided to live a little longer, it seems,” the doctor replied. “He’s still asleep, but I think he’ll come out of it. He was almost lucid last night.”
“Can I see him?” she asked.
The man shrugged and took another bite. He closed the door behind her, even though that beggar had walked closer. Vaenuth brushed past the healer, into the clinic proper where a dozen beds held half a dozen of the ill or infirm. Tagg was easy to spot, laying on top of one cot’s sheets with two pillows supporting his head. He was shirtless still, but his upper torso was still heavily bandaged.
Vaenuth sat down next to him, pulling up a stool from nearby. She wasn’t emotional about it, simply supportive. She wanted her friend to make a full recovery, and it had been a trying few days, full of grizzly medical procedures and seedy inn-rooms. Even now, Pressip was asleep in a room they were sharing, and Captain Smetter’s ship still drifted in Raider’s Lake.
“You sleeping well?” she asked, quietly.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Tagg said, “Hardly.” His voice had been only a quiet sigh. He opened his eyes weakly and looked at her, but didn’t seem able to say much more.
“Doctor,” Vaenuth called, and the man came striding over, still munching his apple. “He’s awake.”
“Is he?” the man asked, approaching gruffly. “You in there, stupid warrior?”
Tagg sighed again. “It hurts…”
“I’ll give him something for the pain then,” the healer muttered and started to walk away.
With a bit more strength, Tagg uttered, “No more drugs.” Vaenuth grinned. That was the Tagg she knew and missed. She put her hand on his feverishly warm arm.
“Very well,” the doctor said. “Don’t know many who turn down a fuzzy feeling when it’s offered…” He again tried to walk away, but this time it was Vaenuth who spoke up.
“How long will he be under your care?” she asked.
The healer pursed his lips. “How long can you afford?” Then he took a munch of the apple’s core, chewing it heavily and getting apple juice in his short, greying beard.
Vaenuth ground her teeth, and looked back at her friend. Tagg tried to smile faintly, but his pale face just looked pained. “How long until he’ll be able to leave Soros?” she rephrased.
The man had to finish chewing noisily before he replied. “Better part of a Moon, I’d reckon,” the doctor said. “But maybe you’ll be lucky and it’ll only be half that. He’s a strong one, this wounded fool.”