Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 08

 He went back to the palace, and checked on the king. The palace guards had placed themselves in a conspicuous rank in front of the palace facade, and it pleased him when they challenged him before they let him inside. He didn't want to talk to Ptolemaios, having little good news to report, and he couldn't help but smirk when he learned that Rathea had cornered Ptolemaios in his rooms. Nikias wouldn't have got into that scene for less than half the kingdom. He heard Ptolemaios talk in a low, placating tone, but Rathea's furious shrieks assured him she was not to be placated. The two guards who blocked the door to the king's private rooms flinched whenever she yelled, doubtless afraid she would take out her frustration on them.

He looked for Leaina, and questioned the slaves, but no one could tell him where she was. No one had seen her in the palace that day. He stood by the pond in the garden, looking at the spot where they'd found old, dead Zagintos. The slaves had carried him away, and cleaned the area. They'd washed the stone, but they'd left it on the grass, like a burial marker. He frowned, and massaged his scalp. The stone bothered him. The other attacks had been carried out with knives, antique bronze daggers. One had been poisoned, but the poison had been applied with a knife. The stone felt wrong. As he studied the smooth, rounded surface, he felt it had a message, like the mysterious writing on the skull box.

Pompus appeared, and tried, once again, to tend to his wounds. At first Nikias tried to brush the man off out of sheer annoyance, but Pompus held his arm with unexpected strength. "How long until the next attack?" he said.

The question caught him off balance. "The next?"

"Everyone's hunched up, and tense. We've heard the thunder, now we're waiting for the storm."

He didn't like that image. It made his shoulders and chest tighten, as if expecting a sudden blow. He understood what Pompus wanted to tell him: you need to be ready. He let the doctor patch the stab wound on his right arm, and wind a fresh linen bandage around his left. After the work was done, he tested his arms, and found the bandages didn't hinder him that much. "You've served on the battlefield," he said.

Pompus shook his head. "The arena," he said. "I prayed to Asklepios to teach me the art of medicine. He set me to work at the arena. You can get a lot of experience treating fighters."

"You can get more on the field of war," said Nikias, feeling he'd been tricked, and hoping to nettle the doctor.

Pompus's mouth became a thin line, and his ears turned red. He checked the bandages on more time, and then he reached into the leather satchel at his side. "I learned about these treating fighters," he said, taking out a pair of thick leather bracers. "A warrior like you might be touch enough to block iron with his arms, but we mortals prefer to wear armour." He dropped the bracers at Nikias's feet, turned his back, and walked away in such a hurry that his leafy wreath slipped, so it looked as if a small tree was growing out of his head. Nikias smothered his laughter, but Pompus must have heard him, because he marched away even faster, until he disappeared into the palace interior.

Once Pompus had vanished, he felt let down, deflated. "It wasn't iron," he called after the doctor. "It was bronze." He bent down, and picked up the bracers. They were thick but light. He twisted his lip, and tested one with the point of his knife. The leather resisted it better than he'd expected. Pompus had done a good job. He felt cold and guilty.