32. Terms

32. Terms

Archibald hobbled out from the backroom with a small jar of what appeared to be green paste, a vial of red liquid, and a bolt of golden cloth. He worked swiftly at applying each, wiping the bite wound clean, slathering on a thick covering of the paste, and pressing the golden cloth against Flint's skin—perhaps it was some much-stronger version of the healing bandage Morgana had used.

"Explain what you're doing," Vesper said.

Archibald ignored her. He seemed to have taken her threat as credible, but he recognized that he didn't need to follow her commands beyond keeping Flint alive. Vesper's expression soured when the old man didn't respond, but she was hardly going to interrupt him while he was working. Could kill her brother through proxy, doing that.

Next, Archibald poured the vial of red liquid into Flint's mouth, massaging his neck to force the unconscious boy to swallow. Morgana tried to [Inspect] the potion, since it was almost certainly System-linked, a creation of an [Alchemist] if not Archibald himself, but she was rejected, the item refusing to explain itself to her. She already knew that was possible. Equipped items couldn't be [Inspected] without their owner's permission either. Likely, the potion counted as Archibald's possession and the old man had refused, either actively or passively.

After giving Flint the healing potion, or whatever it was—maybe an antivenom—Archibald tended to his head injury next. He cleaned the wound, shuffled around inside his rolling cart, and applied what he pulled out: this paste a muddy brown color. Another bolt of that golden-cloth bandage went onto the injury.

Already, Flint was looking better. The sweating and shaking had stopped, and his face was no longer screwed up in pain. He seemed to have fallen into a regular sort of unconsciousness, limbs relaxing and some of his color returning.

Seeing that, Vesper seemed dizzy with relief.

"He'll live?" she asked.

"Gonna slit my throat if he doesn't?" Archibald sneered. "I did what I could. More than you three idiots deserve."

Vesper was too relieved to match the apothecary's vitriol. She looked down at her brother, who was visibly regaining his health by the second. Whatever Archibald had given him, it was potent, and worked fast. Morgana suspected he really had given him the best he had on hand.

And if the simple bandages they could afford were already expensive, Morgana wondered how much these golden ones cost. And the poultices or mixes he'd applied to Flint's wounds. And the potion.

Regardless, the immediate threat had passed. Vesper's gambit had paid off.

Now, they were left with the enormous problem of the apothecary himself.

Vesper turned to him. Archibald read the hesitant expression on her face. His lips pulled up in scorn.

"Yes, yes, congratulations. You saved the idiot boy's life, but condemned all three of you in return. You think you'll get away with this? Attacking a healer? They'll send trackers for you. You won't even be able to flee."

Vesper considered him. She might have been intimidated, or stressed, but her face didn't show it. Calm brown eyes took the man in with utter calmness. A nearly unnerving ease.

Vesper had been here, done this sort of thing before—not exactly the same thing, obviously, but something close in spirit.

"We can—" Morgana started.

"Morgana," Vesper cut in. "Let me do the talking."Fôllôw new stories at novelhall.com

Even Morgana could read the bluff in his voice—him pretending that Vesper hadn't hit the nail on the head.

How had Vesper guessed all of that? It wasn't that much of a stretch, no enormous leap of deduction, Morgana supposed, but she certainly hadn't been thinking clearly enough to make that analysis. Then again, people had never been her strong suit.

"And we will pay it back, eventually," Vesper said. "In full. Increasing payments every week. That or we'll die in the dungeon. You win either way. Only way you lose is throwing us to the gallows. Guess it would be satisfying, though."

The two of them engaged in a brief staring contest. Morgana could see the conflict in his eyes. He was tempted to get his revenge, even if Vesper was right about him needing the money. And he was a wild card, because his hostility in face of a woman who had literally pressed a dagger to his throat spoke to no small level of disregard for his safety. This man wasn't some stable, rational actor that they could trust, even if a reliable promise of future payments could be given.

The staring was interrupted by weak coughing. Vesper turned immediately to check on her brother, but Flint hadn't woken—though the coughing, feeble as it sounded, seemed like a good sign rather than a poor one. Indeed, even since the start of Vesper's negotiation with Archibald, Flint seemed to have improved massively.

When it became clear Flint wasn't conscious, Vesper faced back to Archibald.

"Well," she said, shrugging. She sheathed her dagger. "It's in your hands now. I've said my piece. And...for what's it worth...he's my brother. I had to do something." She grimaced. "I'm...sorry."

If Vesper had thought a genuinely offered apology, however reluctantly given, would mean anything to Archibald, she was sorely mistaken. That only brought the scorn back in full effect. He outright sneered at her.

"If you cared about him, you wouldn't have brought him into the dungeon. What the hell were you doing, dragging an unclassed to the second floor? Idiotic. Malicious, if you ask me. You were trying to get him killed."

Vesper shared a brief, stricken look with Morgana, one of the few times she'd looked over. Morgana could read her expression; a part of Vesper agreed with what he'd just said. A chill went down Morgana's spine, because maybe he was right. What had they been doing, going down into the second floor, much less tackling a boss, in their current state?

Sure, there were extenuating circumstances, and they'd had arguments for why it should have been safe, but why hadn't they played things actually safe? Stayed on the first floor until they'd geared up and gotten Flint a class? Hell, even if they'd taken more precautions in general, this worst-case scenario could've been avoided. The short of it was that the three of them had gotten greedy, and Flint had paid for it.

Well, all of them would be paying for it now, but Flint especially.

"How long till he's up and walking?" Vesper asked.

"Awake?" Archibald grunted. "Soon. Walking? Clear-headed? No idea."

Vesper eyed him, and Archibald returned the foul look twice over.

"There's a limit to what even a healer can do. The boy ought to be dead. He isn't. I did everything I could—he had a prince's treatment. Don't blame me if he's crippled or stupid, now."

Morgana's stomach turned. "Is that likely?"

Archibald turned the venomous look her way. He seemed to have forgotten she existed, briefly.

"No idea," he said. "All there is to do is wait and find out."