Terra Incognita

41

"You’re sure you haven’t let him out of your sight?”

The orderly hesitated. “I just went next door to use the pot, sir. But I was only gone a moment.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About an hour ago, sir.”

Ruso shook Thessalus again. He lifted one eyelid with his thumb, but in the poor light it was difficult to make out where the black of the pupil ended and the deep brown of the iris began. Standing over his patient, he watched the rise and fall of the blanket with each labored breath.

“Did he leave the room?”

“He sat reading after lunch, sir. Didn’t hardly move off the couch.”

So wherever it was, it must have been within easy reach.

Searching the room would be difficult, not only because it was cluttered and badly lit but because what he was looking for was small and probably as dark as the eyes of the man it had temporarily doped.

“Did you bring anything extra in here with you?” he demanded, ripping the cloth down from the window and letting in such light as the thick and dirty glass could offer.

“No, sir.”

Ruso shook the scrolls over the lunch tray he had inspected himself and crouched to run his fingers over the underside of the chair. “Did anybody deliver anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Keep trying to wake him.” Ruso bent to peer under the couch. He needed to confirm that Thessalus had taken poppy tears before beginning the messy business of forcing down whichever of the antidotes came first to hand: wine, olive oil…

The medicine must have got in here somehow. And if there were any left, it would still be in here.

Vinegar, mustard… (mustard?! Was that right?) rose oil… Would Gambax have rose oil somewhere? Olive oil would do. There must be plenty of olive oil in the kitchen. Then induce vomiting.

He examined the tray. He tasted the water again. It was still water. “Thessalus, wake up!”

The wine had been drunk, but the gritty dregs were no more bitter than when he had tasted it earlier. Army-issue wine might not have inspired his patient, but it would not have prostrated him either.

He eyed the body on the couch. It had the definite appearance of being drugged, and its hands and feet were cold.

He turned to the orderly, who was chewing his lower lip. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I thought he’d gone to sleep, sir,” protested the man. “I thought a doze would do him good.”

“He’s certainly gone to sleep,” agreed Ruso. “We’d better hope he wakes up again.” He scowled at Thessalus. All that talking, and they were no further forward. It was as if the man wanted to destroy himself.

He crouched, put his lips close to the pale ear, and said loudly, “Thessalus?”

No response.

“Thessalus, someone needs the doctor!”

The muscles around the man’s eyes twitched.

“Wake up. We need a doctor!”

Thessalus muttered something and tried to turn over, then halted halfway and winced. “Whaa?”

“Wake up!” called Ruso.

“Uh,” said Thessalus, raising a hand to rub his eyes. “Am I asleep?”

Relieved, Ruso helped him to a sitting position. “Drink of water?”

Thessalus blinked and nodded.

Ruso had the cup in one hand and was about to fill it from the jug when he paused. He carried it across to the window, upended it, and peered into the hollow of the base. There, stuck into the recess, was a little wad of brown resin. Dried poppy tears.