Psychicians (a Hyllis family story #5) Read online

  ~~~

  Geller gleefully hugged everyone in the room before he left. “Ms. Soh,” he exclaimed to Vyrda, “it’s been so long since I’ve seen you clearly, I almost didn’t recognize you.

  Eva introduced herself, and a cousin—Kazy—who Geller hadn’t met. He greeted them enthusiastically as well. When he turned to the fourth person, he said, “You must be Daussie. Now I finally can say, ‘It’s good to see you.’” He blinked as she gave him a hug as well. He thought, Though she’s blurry at this close distance, I’m pretty sure she’s wow pretty. He wanted to hold his new reading lens up to his eye to see her better but decided it’d be rude to do so.

  A few minutes later, Daussie was showing him down the stairs. Not that he was too blind to see them, just that he’d never seen them before. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned out into a large dining room. For a moment, he didn’t recognize Rachel, Like Ms. Soh, she’s aged since I last saw her, he thought sadly as he strode to his granddaughter and enveloped her in a hug,

  “You can see?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yes,” he said, voice freighted with emotion. He looked around the dining room and realized people were staring at him. At first, he wasn’t sure why. Then he realized that—though he hadn’t seen them—they’d seen him led into the tavern as a blind man.

  They were turning to one another, whispering and surreptitiously pointing at him. Geller stood up straight and quoted an old song lyric to the room at large, “Yes, I was blind, but now I see.”

  As the room burst into astonished murmurs, Geller strode to the front door and looked out on the streets of the city. The fact that he’d done it without being guided by his daughter felt like true freedom. He turned to smile at Rachel and saw Daussie right behind her. Speaking to Daussie, he said, “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  She said, “You’ve done so much already, I shouldn’t ask.”

  “You’ve given me my sight, I couldn’t possibly deny a request from you.”

  She pursed her lips, “I’ve been wondering whether you ever heard of a red dye called ‘rubiazol’ or, maybe ‘prontosil rubrum’? Early attempts to discover chemicals that’d kill bacteria found that rubiazol was quite effective.” She paused as if at a sudden thought. “I guess it might be in that… thing,” he took ‘thing’ to mean ‘book,’ “you just gave us. I should’ve waited to check there before I asked.”

  Geller looked at his daughter. The name sounded familiar to him. “I’m not sure, it might be that we usually call it by another name, but we’ll look, right Rachel?”

  Rachel nodded, still looking stunned by the transformation in her grandfather.

  ***

  Major Simpson paused uncomfortably before Baron Vail’s business chamber. Go ahead, he told himself, you’re the head of the guard. No one else’s going to tell the baron about this for you. He knocked.

  The baron called for him to enter, but when he saw who it was, he put up his hand and said, “Wait. We’re almost done here.”

  Simpson nodded, though he wanted to scream, “Your wife’s dead!” And under suspicious circumstances too. The baron’s oldest wife, who he’d been arguing with and hadn’t been sleeping with. She might be the oldest, but at twenty-two, she was far from the usual kind of person who died in bed. And the only wife the baron hadn’t been able to intimidate.

  The pretty young woman hadn’t had a mark on her. Simpson couldn’t help contemplating the baron’s witchy ability to choke people without touching them, as well as his propensity for doing so. And if I accuse him, I know who’ll be choking next.

  And if I declare him a murderer and kill him before he chokes me, I won’t live much longer.

  The baron might be a nasty son of a bitch, but the people who thought they should succeed him were worse. A battle over succession would kill a lot more people than just the baron’s wife.

  Me first among them. Any of the baron’s likely successors would have me killed as a matter of course.

  It was a no-win situation.

  Simpson returned his attention to the conversation between the baron and Ronald James, his financier. The baron said, “You were going to figure out which merchants would be the best ones to hit with the increased taxes. Have you worked that out yet?”

  Simpson thought James looked uncomfortable, though he found that James’ new spectacles made it a little harder to judge his expressions. The man turned a sheet of paper for the baron to study.

  The baron tapped his finger on some of the names. “These are smiths, right?”

  James nodded, “Financially the smiths in general are doing well. Also, packing up their forges to try to start over in another city would be quite difficult.”

  “And these, what do they do?”

  “Chemists and dye makers. They’re successful and the tools of their trade are fragile and difficult to move. Also, reputation is very important for their success. That makes it difficult for them to start over somewhere else as well.”

  Simpson thought to himself that raising taxes on the most successful businessmen seemed fairer than raising them on those whose businesses were failing, but he worried that his wife—who worked for one of the smiths—might lose her job. It niggled that reducing the profitability of the successful businesses might not be good for the town as a whole, then he thought, Surely other business will step up if these fail.

  The baron had moved on. He tapped another name, “You think we can raise rents on this ‘Hyllis Tavern,’ but not on the Odd Duck? I thought the Odd Duck was the best tavern in town. Did they fall on hard times?”

  “No,” James said, “this Hyllis Tavern is new, but it’s already gotten a reputation as the best in town. Best by far. It’s stealing much of the Odd Duck’s business.” He shrugged, “Actually, it’s stealing everyone’s business. Including a lot of the healers. In addition to making the best food, the cook there has developed an almost instant reputation as the best healer in town.”

  Vail raised an eyebrow, “What about their beer? Taverns live or die on their beer don’t they?”

  “Best beer in town.”

  “Really now,” the baron said as if his interest had been piqued. “Maybe I’d better pay them a visit.”

  “Um, they also make the lenses for the spectacles people have been getting,” James said, tapping the glasses he wore on his own face.

  “And those really help you see better?” Vail asked curiously.

  James nodded. “Much better. As I get older, I’ve been having trouble reading small figures,” he gave a self-deprecating laugh, “as you can imagine, a serious problem in my profession. Wearing these I can see them perfectly.”

  Vail reached out and pulled the spectacles off of James’ face. “Let me see,” he said, putting them on. He blinked a couple of times then pulled them off and stared at James. “You’re crazy! I can see far better without them than I can with them!”

  James said, “Before they issue your lenses, they assess you with a number of test lenses to see which ones are right for you. I suspect mine are correct for me, but not for you. You’d have to ask them to fit you personally to get spectacles that’d truly improve your vision.”

  “I thought the spectacles were being made by Soh’s jewelers?”

  “The metal frame that holds them on your face is made by the jewelers. The lenses are almost all coming from Hyllis Tavern.” James shrugged, “Except for a few of the ancients’ lenses sold by antiquities dealers, but those old lenses are often scratched or foggy and they’re just as likely to make your vision worse as better… like mine did for you.”

  “Hmm. I think I need to make a trip down to the town. I’ll have some of this amazing beer, taste the roast pork at Hyllis Tavern, and get fitted for some of their spectacles.”

  James nodded, “If you’re going to do that, I’d suggest you do it before you raise their rent. You’d hate to have them move away before you got your new spectacles.”

  The baron gave a thoughtfu
l little nod, “Perhaps I should have my dinner there this evening.” He turned toward Simpson and said, “I’ll be making an outing late this afternoon. Make the arrangements.” He paused and frowned, “You needed to talk to me, didn’t you?”

  Simpson nodded.

  The baron turned back to James, “We’re done, right?”

  “Yes, Baron Vail,” James said, standing.

  Vail turned to Simpson, “What is it?”

  Here we go, Simpson thought. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings…” Simpson paused, unsure how to phrase it.

  “Come on. Spit it out man,” the baron said.

  “I’m sorry, but Baroness Cynthia died last night.”

  Vail frowned, “Really? What happened?”

  He’s not surprised, Simpson thought. Nor any more upset than if one of his horses had gone lame. Because, of course, he’s the one that killed her. To the baron, he said, “We don’t know. Her maid found her in her bed this morning. A little blue, as if she’d choked.” Out of the corner of his eye, Simpson saw Ronald James paling. He seemed to hurry, putting the rest of his papers in his case.

  The baron said, “Pity. She seemed fine last night at dinner.”

  James bobbed a little bow, “I’m sorry for your loss, Baron Vail.” He turned and left the room, not exactly running, but walking faster than Simpson had seen him move in some time.

  Sounding as if he’d found something unpleasant on his shoe, Baron Vail said, “Well, have someone notify Cynthia’s family so they can pick up the body.”

  “Um, you don’t want her buried in the baronial plot?”

  The baron shook his head, “No. No, she was baroness for less than a year. I don’t think that entitles you to a spot in the baronial plot, does it?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Simpson said, thinking, You are a despicable member of the human race.

  Then the head of the guard had an unoriginal, but still unsettling thought, If you’re actually even human, and not some kind of witchy devil.

  ***

  Their afternoon clinics had gotten so busy that they’d erected a screen between the gurneys so they could see two patients at a time with some privacy. At times, a third patient with a minor problem was seen in a chair across the room from the two gurneys. Daussie stepped behind the screen to the gurney in the corner. The woman lying on the stretcher looked up at her for a moment. She frowned, “My problem… needs to be seen by someone older than you.”

  Daussie had encountered this request before. Her mother insisted she see such patients anyway. Whether or not she could care, or they thought she could care for their problem, Daussie needed the experience. Using the strategy her mother had suggested, she said, “We’re very busy right now. You can wait for someone older if you like, but you might be waiting for quite a while. On the other hand, if you’ll let me go over the preliminary questions and exam, you could be out of here much more quickly.”

  The woman rolled her eyes, then Daussie would have sworn she got a look of wicked anticipation on her face. A grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, she said, “I’ve been trying to get pregnant for two years.” She raised her hands, palms up, “No luck.”

  Daussie felt herself blushing, “Have you been… um…?”

  “Having sex?” the woman asked, looking like she was trying not to laugh.

  Daussie nodded.

  “Why, yes, I have,” the woman said with a snort.

  Not quite sure why she was the one feeling humiliated by this, Daussie ventured, “Are you sure you’re…?”

  The woman barked a laugh and spoke in an exaggeratedly hushed tone, “Doing it right?”

  As she nodded, Daussie felt even more heat rising in her cheeks. She resisted the impulse to bury her face in her hands.

  “Well,” the woman began brightly, “perhaps you could tell me if we’re doing it right? He puts his… thing in my…” she grabbed her crotch. She seemed about to go on with her description but stopped when Daussie did bury her face in her hands. “Sorry, but I did tell you—”

  Face still in her hands, Daussie nodded and mumbled, “I know. I’m sorry. Just a moment…” When she thought she had herself in control, she lifted her eyes to meet the woman’s. “Let me just… examine you, then I’ll get my mother.”

  The woman gave her a doubtful look, “You’re planning to… put your fingers…?”

  Daussie abruptly shook her head, “No! No. I’ll just be palpating… sorry, touching your lower abdom… sorry, stomach.” She stood and gently laid her hands on the woman’s lower abdomen while sending in her ghirit. After a minute, she said, “I see the problem. Let me talk to my mother and see if she knows of a solution.”

  Daussie beat such a quick retreat she didn’t see the woman rolling her eyes and grinning after her.

  Eva took one look at her and ushered her across the hall to her own room. Sitting down on the bed next to her daughter, Eva put an arm around her shoulders, “What happened?”

  Daussie shook her head, “It’s… stupid. She wants to get pregnant and can’t because her fallopian tubes are scarred shut.”

  Eva drew back and studied her daughter, “So why are you so upset?”

  “She… said I was too young to deal with her problem. Then, when I tried to take a history about… whether they were having sex, I got embarrassed trying to ask questions about it.” Daussie gave an exasperated sigh, “I should’ve just sent in my ghirit. The problem was obvious when I did. But, I was trying to do it right, you know, by taking a good history.”

  “Why were you embarrassed? You know about sex.”

  Daussie nodded bleakly, “Those men at the farm were going to rape me. I have a pretty good idea what they had in mind.”

  Eva frowned unhappily, “It’s different with someone you love—”

  “I know, I know,” Daussie interrupted. “Still, it’s embarrassing to talk about.”

  Eva tilted her head, “If you’re going to take care of people about their illnesses, you’re going to have to talk to them about embarrassing stuff.”

  With a laugh, Daussie said, “And I did. Knowing I need to do it doesn’t keep me from getting embarrassed.”

  Eva gave her a hug and patted her shoulder, “You’ll get used to it.” She paused for a moment’s thought, “So, why are her fallopian tubes scarred?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Has she had any infections in her pelvis? Gonorrhea and chlamydia are the most common causes.”

  Daussie looked down at the floor, “Now I’m embarrassed because I didn’t ask any questions about that. Once I found the problem, I thought…” She looked up at her mother, “Does it matter? The cause, I mean? Her tubes are scarred so eggs can’t get from the ovaries to the uterus. That’s the problem. Do we need to know why she got the problem?”

  “Well, if her tissues are still infected—”

  Daussie shook her head, “She’s not infected anymore, there’s no inflammation.”

  “Is her uterus scarred?”

  Daussie shook her head, “Maybe, but it’s so little I have a hard time telling it, so I’m pretty sure that’s not the problem.”

  “Well then,” Eva said with a smile, “all you need to do is wait till she’s about to ovulate and port an egg from her ovary to her uterus.

  “Oh,” Daussie said, looking chagrined. “I should have thought of that. How do we tell if she’s ovulating?”

  Eva smiled, “The egg’s supposed to form a ‘follicle’ in the surface of the ovary. Pictures make them look like little cysts. Let’s check our own ovaries and see if we can find any.”

  They sat silently while their ghirits checked one another, then Daussie looked up, “I think your left ovary…”

  Eva grinned, “Yep.”

  Daussie’s expression became accusing, “You’ve looked at yours with your ghirit before.”

  Eva laughed, “Knowing exactly when you ovulate and the location of the egg is the best form of birth control there is. Haven’t y
ou ever wondered why Daum and I only had you and your brother?”

  “I, um, thought maybe you’d had more but they’d died.”

  Eva nodded sadly, “That happens with far too many children.” She sighed, then brightened, “But we were very, very lucky. Shall we go see your lady?”

  Daussie nodded, and they went back over to the clinic room.

  When they stepped behind the screen, the woman immediately began apologizing to Eva for embarrassing her daughter. Eva shrugged it off as something necessary for young healers, then elicited a history compatible with a pelvic infection several years ago. She bent over the woman’s abdomen, then leaned back up to look at Daussie. “I agree with your diagnosis. It seems like it could be treated today.” She turned to look at the woman, “Your eggs aren’t getting to your womb, but we have a way to make that happen. You’re actually producing an egg right now. Would you like us to move it to your womb today, or would you like to try it next month?”

  The woman gave her a wide-eyed and doubtful look, “And how much do you charge for… ‘moving my egg?’”

  Eva shrugged, “Nothing if it doesn’t work.” She grinned, “You do understand that you and your husband would have to do your parts this evening?”

  This time it was the woman’s turned to look embarrassed. “Yes… And if I do get pregnant, then what do we owe?”

  Eva gave her usual answer, “Whatever you feel it’s worth to you. Obviously, if you never come back we wouldn’t even know you’d gotten pregnant and wouldn’t be upset you didn’t pay us. But we’re trusting you to pay what you can.”

  “Oh,” the woman said, wide-eyed again. “Okay.”

  Eva and Daussie bent over the woman’s abdomen again. Eva rubbed her stomach so it’d seem like they were doing something. Daussie ported the egg and they stood back up. Eva said cheerfully, “There, it’s done. Don’t forget to do your part tonight.”

  “Okay,” the woman said, abundant skepticism present in her voice.

  Daussie led the woman to the stairs and descended with her so she could check whether there were any more patients.