Читаем Nightside the Long Sun полностью

The little physician stroked his beard. “What do you mean by well, sir? Well enough to walk without crutches?”

Blood considered. “Let’s say well enough to run fast. How long for that?”

“It’s difficult to say. It depends a good deal on his heredity—I doubt that he knows anything useful about that—and on his physical condition. He’s young at least, so it could be worse.” Doctor Crane turned to Silk. “Sit up straight for a moment, young man. I want to listen to you again, now that you’ve had a chance to calm down.”

He lifted Silk’s torn tunic, put his ear against Silk’s chest, and thumped his back. With the third thump, Silk felt something hard and cold slide into his waistband beneath the horsehair rope.

“Should’ve brought my instruments. Cough, please.”

Already frantic with curiosity, Silk coughed and was rewarded with another thump.

“Good. Again, please, and deeper this time. Make it go deep.”

Silk coughed as deeply as he could.

“Excellent.” Doctor Crane straightened up, letting Silk’s tunic fall back into place. “Truly excellent. You’re a fine specimen, young man, a credit to Viron.” The timbre of his voice altered almost imperceptibly. “Somebody up there likes you.” He pointed jocularly toward the elaborately figured ceiling, where a painted Molpe vied with Phaea at bagatelle. “Some infatuated goddess, I should imagine.”

Silk leaned back in his chair, although the hard object behind his spine made actual comfort impossible. “If that means I get less time from your employer, I would hardly call it evidence of favor, my son.”

Doctor Crane smiled. “In that case, perhaps not.”

“How long?” Blood banged his tumbler down on the stand beside his chair. “How long before it’s as good as it was before he broke it?”

“Five to seven weeks, I’d say. He could run a little sooner than that, with his ankle correctly taped. All this assumes proper rest and medical treatment in the interim—sonic stimulation of the broken bone and so forth.”

Silk cleared his throat. “I cannot afford elaborate treatment, Doctor. All I’ll be able to do is hobble about and pray that it heals.”

“Well, you can’t come here,” Blood told him angrily. “Was that what you were hinting at?”

Doctor Crane began, “Possibly, sir, you might retain a specialist in the city—”

Blood sniffed. “We should’ve shot him and gotten it over with. By Phaea’s sow, I wish the fall had killed him. No specialist. You’ll see himself whenever you’re in that part of the city. When is it? Sphigxday and Hieraxday?”

“That’s right, and tomorrow’s Sphigxday.” Doctor Crane glanced toward an ornate clock on the opposite side of the room. “I should be in bed already.”

“You’ll see him then,” Blood said. “Now get out of here.”

Silk told Crane, “I sincerely regret the inconvenience, Doctor. If your employer will only give me a bit more time, it wouldn’t be necessary.”

At the door Crane turned and appeared, almost, to wink.

Blood said, “We’ll compromise, Patera. Pay attention, because it’s as far as I’m willing to go. Aren’t you going to drink that?”

Feeling Musk’s knuckles behind his ears, Silk took a dutiful sip.

“In a month—one month from today—you’ll bring me a substantial sum. You hear that? I’ll decide when I see it whether it’s substantial enough. If it is, I’ll apply it to the twenty-six thousand, and let you know how long you’ve got to come up with the rest. But if it isn’t, you and that tin sibyl will have to clear out.” Blood paused, his mouth ugly, swirling his drink in his hand. “Have you got anybody else living there? Maybe another augur?”

“There are two more sibyls,” Silk told him. “Maytera Rose and Maytera Mint. You’ve met Maytera Marble, I believe. I am our only augur.”

Blood grunted. “Your sibyls will want to come out here and lecture me. Tell them they won’t get past the gate.”

“I will.”

“They’re healthy? Crane could have a look at them when he comes to see you, if they need doctoring.”

Silk warmed to the man. “That’s exceedingly kind of you.” There was always some good to be found in everyone, he reminded himself, the unnoted yet unfailing gift of ever-generous Pas. “Maytera Mint’s quite well, as far as I know. Maytera Rose is as well as could be expected, and is largely prosthetic now in any case, I’m afraid.”

“Digital arms and legs? That sort of thing?” Blood leaned forward, interested. “There aren’t too many of those around any more.”

“She got them some years ago; before I was born, really. There was some disease requiring amputations.” It occurred to Silk that he should know more about Maytera Rose’s history—about the histories of all three sibyls—than he did. “They were still easily found then, from what she says.”

“How old is she?”

“I’m not sure.” Silk berated himself mentally again; this was something he should know. “I suppose it’s in our records. I could look it up for you, and I would be happy to do so.”

“Just being polite,” Blood told him. “She must be—oh, ninety, if she’s got a lot of tin parts. How old would you say I am, Patera?”