Page 41 of Elvenbred

He made his voice sound as calm as he could, though his heart jumped in his chest. “How does this process work exactly? Procedurally, I mean. Will we have to give evidence, appear before an inquest or something?”

He saw her relax a bit, and lean back into the couch. “No, my lord … ” she began. She started to describe the process for reporting Triana’s surgeries, emphasizing her own innocent discovery of the scars. She talked through the reporting procedures, and the steps the investigators would follow. He nodded his head, keeping his eyes on hers. He rested his elbow on the desk, with his thumb under his chin and his fingers curled to cover his mouth. He nodded along as she spoke, describing the reporting procedures to him while assuring him they would see no personal trouble from this.

He pretended to follow the conversation, nodding whenever she paused. Inside, he felt desperation rise. He seriously considered killing her … the first time he had ever considered taking a life, at least with his own two hands, then gave it up as a bad job. He might use magic to smother her, or even strangle her. He was larger and stronger, but older and out of shape. There was also the matter of what to do with the body. Take it through the complex to his lab? Hide it in Triana’s world?

He tuned in enough to hear her describing the appeals process and the fines for withholding information, when inspiration struck.

Damned if he could remember her name! “Um, physician” … he interrupted.

“Yes, my lord.” She looked a bit flushed, sitting up and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, clearly vexed by his inattention. “I’ve explained how this all works. I’m sorry. I can see you are distracted. I’ll let myself out.” She looked around her for her bag, and leaned forward at the waist preparing to stand.

“No,” he replied. “A passing headache. I’ll confess this is all a bit complicated, and I’m a little tired. I’m glad you are here to walk me through this.” This is taking too long. “How long does it take for all of this to be resolved?”

“I explained that,” she said, her voice still flat.

He nodded. “You were a body-sculptor until the king shut down the practice? Expending too much resource?”

She looked confused. “Yes, my lord. But, I don’t see ….”

He stood and walked towards the hidden place in his bookcase. “Expensive. Lots of rations. Enough to buy real meat … cow, sheep … back when we still could. Nice home. Nice husband. All that went with it.”

“Yes, my lord. My husband and I lived near the King’s Palace. Many highborn customers.”

He didn’t have to turn to see how she felt about that. He could hear the bitterness in her voice.

“And now you tend to scrapes and bruises, manage the contraceptives we put in the workers’ food, and sort out the occasional sickness.”

“Yes, my lord.” Her voice had hardened, angry and flat. “I’m aware of how far I’ve fallen.”

He smiled. She had given it to him on a plate.

“You can rise again, ummm” … what was her damned name? “Get back to where you were.”

“What? How?” she asked.

He twisted the spine of the book that hid the small safe and put his thumb on the spell-plate. It opened with a click and he reached inside and pulled out a pair of leather wallets, one larger than the other.

He went to the table and pulled up a chair.

“With this.” He reached into the smaller wallet and removed four small gold bars.

He set them down in a stack, letting them clink together with the heavy, sweet sound that only gold has.

“My lord,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s gold.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“It’s illegal to own. King’s monopoly.”

He smiled. “And yet, here we are.”

He reached into the larger wallet and pulled out a thick stack of ration coupons, counted out a thousand, and added a few more.

“Three years rations.”

He could see her eyes, see her hunger, and even her thoughts. I could get my life back.

“What would I have to do?”