Book 3, Chapter 40

Rue followed behind Yoru, the pair of them weaving between people as they hustled toward a private market that Yoru’s last name had gotten him into. They’d practically carried Od out of the Antechamber and through liminal space to get him into the bed at their rented house on Floor 0. He was awake and resting now, though that hardly seemed like enough.

It was the first time Sorin hadn’t had a good answer. Even at full strength, he just didn’t have the knowledge to help Rue’s brother. His best suggestion was a powerful C-rank regeneration soulprint, like those just grew on trees.

Just nip on down to the market, back in five, she thought sarcastically.

The only soulprint pattern Sorin knew wasn’t something that could be applied to another person, unfortunately, which meant he’d been able to keep Od alive for a few more minutes, but hadn’t been able to provide a long-term solution. Just getting her brother to wake up long enough to spend his own anima had been the absolute limit of what they could do for him.

It was with no small amount of relief that she’d learned he was out of immediate danger. Od wasn’t going to be climbing again, not in his current state, and his injuries were so severe that they had no way to fix him, leaving them with the options of hiring a healer who was capable of helping—both difficult to find and expensive—or finding a healing soulprint that could help and using it themselves.

Sorin had gone looking for the healer. Yoru had given him a few names along with warnings that the prices would be exorbitant if they could help at all, and that even if they had the capability, that didn’t mean they’d be willing to make a house call. Rue wasn’t worried about that. If Sorin found someone who could help, he could be very... convincing.

They couldn’t get into the private market without Yoru’s physical presence, however. Just dropping his name wasn’t good enough, and while Rue was confident they could overpower the market’s guards, that seemed counterproductive to their goals. She could probably sneak past them, too, but Yoru couldn’t, and he was the one who knew his way around and where to look.

So, they approached publicly, and Rue waited quietly while Yoru talked their way in. News of his falling out with his family had gotten around, and the guards seemed hesitant to let them through, but Rue knew the way of the world. She wasn’t surprised to see a tidy sum of danirs trade hands. It galled her, how everywhere she turned, there was more corruption, but she held her tongue.

The market wasn’t what Rue had expected. In truth, she hadn’t given it much thought. In her head, it just looked like every other market—stalls, vendors, display tables, maybe some permanent stores. The only thing she’d figured would be different was the quality of the shoppers. In that one respect, she was correct.

There were three types of people there: powerful climbers, powerful guards, and servants of prestigious individuals or families making deals on behalf of their masters. But there were no actual goods on display. These weren’t street vendors hawking their wares. Their inventory wasn’t out in the open, exposed for all to see.

She saw the climbers making deals with the merchants—and sometimes each other—which were often concluded with a handshake and some money passed over, but nothing given in return. Servants there at the behest of their masters didn’t even do that.

Perhaps sensing her confusion, Yoru explained. “This is a place for setting up deals, not buying random goods. Most of what’s being purchased will be delivered to somewhere else with payment collected then. For some of the more connected buyers, the supplies are sold on credit to families that pay in lump sums on regular schedules. A few months ago, I could have walked up to anyone here and purchased something on my name alone, to be hand-carried to my father’s estate where someone else would handle the finances.”

Rue snorted. Rich people.

They passed most of the merchants near the front, got cold, steady glares from various guards, and eventually stepped up to a stall with a thin, weaselly-looking man sitting cross-legged on a massive velvet cushion that could almost have doubled as a bed. His thin eyebrows jumped up when he realized who was standing in front of him.

“Well, well! If it isn’t the disgraced Telpike heir,” he crowed. “I was not expecting to see your face around here again.”

“Hello, Chunzka,” Yoru said, his voice carefully neutral. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time to catch up. I’m looking for powerful healing soulprints, D-rank or better. If you’ve got anything at C, I’m especially interested in that.”

“I might have a few pieces,” the merchant said, casting a sly look at him. “I hope you won’t be offended if I ask to see how much your purse is bulging these days before we go any further.”

“I’m rank 23 now,” Yoru told him. “Trust me when I tell you that I don’t need my father’s money to buy a simple soulprint.”

To accentuate his point, he reached into his coat and pulled it open just far enough to reveal the steelsilk lining and a heavy pouch hanging from his belt. The way Chunzka’s eyes lingered on the coat itself, Rue figured the merchant knew exactly how valuable that lining was.

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“Well, now. I suppose that’s fair. Very well, then, tell me more about what you’re trying to heal.”

“Massive trauma to internal organs,” Yoru said shortly.

Chunzka winced and sucked at his teeth. “That’s a tall order. All organs, or something in particular? I’ve got an E-rank that’s good for smoke damage to the lungs and a D-rank that’ll strengthen your liver so much that you’ll detox any ingested poison you could care to name overnight.”

“All organs,” Yoru told him.

Chunzka shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I’ve only got preventative solutions on hand. I might be able to acquire something by next week if you’d like to reserve it with a deposit.”

Rue felt the start of panic stirring in her at that. Od couldn’t wait a week, especially not for a ‘maybe.’ It seemed Yoru was on the same page though, because he just shook his head.

“I’ll check a few other people first. It’s time-sensitive. If no one’s got something in stock, I’ll have to do a lap around the top healers next.”

“Someone hurt?” Chunzka asked, feigning sympathy. He was a good actor, but Rue had been reading auras for the better part of a year. She knew his words and his feelings were worlds apart. “I’ve got a stasis draught I’ve been holding onto that can buy you the time you need.”

“If I can’t find another solution, I might take you up on that,” Yoru told the merchant. “Have a nice day, Chunzka.”

“You as well,” Chunzka said with a smile and a bow of his head. He relaxed back into a slumped posture on his cushion as Yoru and Rue walked away, but she didn’t care for the calculating look in his eyes.

“He also sells information,” Yoru explained when she mentioned it. “He’s trying to figure out who you are, why we’re together, who’s hurt, and, most importantly to him, who will pay the most money for the answers to those questions.”

“Then why did we talk to him?” Rue asked.

“Because he’s extremely well-networked. Nobody is more likely to have what we need than Chunzka, and I trust him not to jerk me around. There are three or four other people who operate independently of his group. If we’re lucky, one of them will have a soulprint sitting in their inventory, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. It’s more likely Sorin finds a healer than we find what we need here.”

“And if neither works?”

“Then we try again somewhere else,” Yoru said. “Probably Floor 10. The Citadel’s the highest ranked trading hub in the tower. They have rare goods up there and plenty of merchants who don’t want to pay the Floor 0 tax. We might get lucky.”

But every other conversation went much the same as the first. Yoru convinced the next merchant to talk to him one way or another, but then they didn’t have what Od needed. He’d extract himself from the conversation far more gracefully than Rue could have managed if it were her, and they’d move on to the next attempt.

One hour and six conversations later, the duo exited the rich-people market empty-handed and frustrated. “Let’s just hope Sorin had better luck,” Yoru said in an attempt to console Rue.

“Yeah,” was all she said back.

* * *

Unbelievable. Ten healers, and not a single one of them is of any use.

In all fairness, a lot of that was Yoru’s fault. His list of healers had led Sorin through the upper crust of red tower society, where even getting a chance to talk to the healer was borderline impossible. They had busy schedules, powerful protectors, and allegiances to influential climbing families.

In short, they were healers Yoru had met through his status as a scion of one of the city’s high families. And since Yoru—and Sorin, for that matter—were not looked upon favorably at that level of society, no one had wanted to assist him in meeting with their personal healers to discuss Odric’s injuries.

That didn’t mean Sorin hadn’t been able to speak with them, just that he’d probably burned a few bridges forcing his way in only to be met with failure time after time. Three of the healers took public appointments. They’d been easy to cross off the list. None of them had any magic to help Odric. Five more of them had hurdles that Sorin had been forced to navigate around or knock down. In the end, they’d all been too weak to do anything.

The final two were a different story. One was a member of the Galdyrin high family, and not a retainer, either. She was the current patriarch’s sister, and if rumors were to be believed, a rank 24 retired climber who specialized in healing. Unfortunately, she and her whole family were elitists and bigots.

He’d slipped security around their estate, disabled her three personal guards, and had a frank discussion about the rights and responsibilities of those in power with her. He hadn’t done much to change her mind, which wasn’t terribly surprising. Worse, she’d admitted under duress that she didn’t have a soulprint that would treat lightning-scarred organs. He believed her.

In the end, he’d pissed off an entire high family and had nothing to show for it. There was no doubt in his mind that climbers loyal to the Galdyrins were looking for him even now, possibly with orders to kill on sight. They’d seemed like the kind of people who’d do that.

His final option had been his last futile hope, not because the man was sequestered deep in some rich climbing family’s fortress or because he was too weak to be of use. No, the problem there was simple and intractable: age. Yoru had warned Sorin that he hadn’t heard anything about the healer being active in years, and that he’d retired to a life of quiet solitude, no longer taking on patients.

Sorin had saved him as a last resort both because he respected that and because he knew that no amount of money, threats, or sob stories was likely to move a man in that position to action. Sorin wasn’t even sure what he could offer the old healer to entice him to help, and that assumed the man even could.

In the end, it was a moot point. The healer had died two months ago. And with that, Sorin was officially out of leads. He could only hope Yoru and Rue had gotten lucky at the rich, snobby, exclusive marketplace they were investigating.

Judging by the look on Rue’s face when he stepped through Liminal Gateway and into their house, he could already tell they hadn’t. He hated to dash her hopes like that, but all it took was a single shake of his head to make her fold up on herself.

“What do we do now?” she whispered.

“Wait and hope, I suppose,” Sorin said. “He might not get better from this. It would hardly be the first time a dramatic injury ended a climber’s career.”

Damn it, though, we need him at the Wall. It’s not like I can hire a replacement healer with resistance to the void and specialized equipment.

It was a callous thought, but Sorin had seen too many teammates die to break down over another one. He’d leave that to Rue. If anybody had the right to it, it was her.

“I have an idea,” Nemari said.