Maggie held her bandaged hand up to her face, and tried experimentally to curl the fingers. It was hard. They were all tightly bound together into one, like a mitten, and every movement sent hot droplets of pain spreading outward from the joins of the middle three, a first wave of heat that made it halfway up her arm, and an aftershock that stung like a whip, but wider.
She took a deep breath, and tried again. There was movement, the tiniest curve. Perhaps if she could work with that, she might be able to grip a mug eventually. Such ambition, she thought bitterly. Clutching the bandaged hand firmly with the unbandaged one, she repeated the attempt, this time using the strength of her other hand to try to help it along. The bandages were tight and supportive, and it felt almost impossible, so she applied more and more force until she achieved a slightly deeper bend, followed immediately by a much more intense flash of pain. Swearing and frustrated, she sat heavily back and closed her eyes. One of the apprentice doctors had been in, given her a shot and made her drink something thick and milky. It seemed to take the edge off the pain, but there was definitely something in there trying to make her sleep.
Maggie was fighting it. She didn't have time to sleep. She had to plan. She couldn't stay here forever, and she couldn't trust the old hunter to let her have the blood treatment. Even if he did, she'd still leave here empty-handed. Work, she needed work. Perhaps if she went door to door in the richer districts, someone would need a maid. She wasn't well-spoken enough for shop work, and besides, shops preferred to hire the most beautiful girls. It brought the better clients in. She could read, and she could make numbers work when she needed to, but beyond that the only skills she'd had a chance to grow were to do with cleaning and laundry, and a bit of sewing – certainly not enough for a seamstress, but maybe if things got desperate enough she could take in a little mending.
Assuming her hand was working, of course.
She'd tried to think of a backup plan, in case he did refuse to pay for the treatment and she had to find her way in the world with one eye and a crippled hand, but she simply couldn't think of a single way to earn in that condition. And so, her backup plan wasn't about what to do if she couldn't get the treatment. It was about finding a way to get the vials, with or without the help of the old hunter. She'd steal them if she had to, and figure it out herself, but this place was very well protected, and there were always people here. It wouldn't be easy. Her best option by far was to make sure he would extend his charity a little further. Unfortunately, she suspected he'd already made up his mind, and she had nothing to bargain with beyond her future earnings, which were unlikely to be much whatever happened. At the very least, she could try to keep herself under control this time. She closed her eyes and tried to think, but the sedatives won.
When a hand grabbed her shoulder and shook her roughly, it blended briefly with the nightmare before she managed to fight her way back to the surface and open her eye. He was leaning over her, a dispassionate look in his eyes. "Up," he growled as soon as he saw she was awake. "Get up."
"I-" The barefoot run through the cobbled streets had done some damage. She hadn't even attempted to get out of bed yet. He had seen it that night, but he didn't seem to care.
"On your feet," he commanded.
"Why?" She hadn't meant to snap – she had been determined to be sweet and obliging in an effort to win him over – but his tone was scaring her.
"I'm giving you a chance, girl," the hunter said, stepping back. "You want to take the chance? Let's see a fighting spirit. Do as I say, and you can have the blood treatment."
The moment she heard the words, Maggie threw back the blanket, swung her legs out of bed and planted her feet firmly on the floor, then yelped in pain and snatched them back up again as the polished floorboards met the cuts and bruises. Then she looked up again at him. He was watching her, expressionless. She clenched her teeth and unbound fist, pushed herself forward and forced herself to her feet.
It seemed to hurt far worse the second time, but as she stood breathing hard, she managed to keep her balance, and the flood of feeling receded just a little.
He nodded, but he wasn't satisfied. "You want a future, do you?" It sounded almost accusing, as though it was a deeply unreasonable thing she had the audacity to dream of. She made herself stand as tall as she could, acutely aware that he was more than a head taller than her, and holding his head high enough to be looking down his nose at her.
"Yes."
"How about a trade?"
"What?"
"Let's see if you've the makings of a hunter. Come on, take a swing."
"You-"
He held his arms out wide, still watching her with no sign of real emotion on his face. She took a deep breath, quite certain that she wanted nothing more than to take a swing at him, no matter what he was offering her in return. She stepped forwards, sending fresh waves of agony up her ankle, and aimed a punch at his gut with her left fist, the only limb she had that wasn't already damaged.
He caught her wrist easily, and held it in a painfully tight grip, his eyes not leaving hers.
He gave a snort of laughter.
She tried to wrench away, but his grasp was like iron. Instead, enraged by the snort, she swung with her bandaged hand, and he caught it as well, almost casually. Her nostrils flared, and without thinking, she went in for a headbutt.
It took him by surprise at least, and he had to jerk back suddenly to avoid it, which gave her a moment's advantage. She used it to kick him in the shin, glancing off his boot, then yelped and lost her balance.
He didn't let her fall. Shifting his grip to her upper arms, he pushed her smoothly back onto the hospital bed, then stepped away, looking strangely satisfied for a man who had just soundly won a fight with a badly injured fifteen-year-old girl.
"Iosefka's preparing the vials now," he said calmly. "You'll be fine."
"You already told her to do it?" Maggie was incredulous. "Then what the hell was that for?"
The hunter waved a hand dismissively. "It doesn't really matter if your stitches tear now, and I really did want to see if you had the makings of a hunter."
She forced herself to take a deep breath. "Thank you. I'm sorry to disappoint."
"You didn't." Without invitation, he sank comfortably back into the same chair he had occupied earlier that day. "Oh, you can't punch worth a damn, and you've not an ounce of muscle on you, but that's not important. You can build strength. We can teach you to fight. What we can't teach you is…" He gestured to her feet. She glanced down, and realised one of the worst cuts had come open and was dripping steadily onto the floorboards. "How to push back the pain until you've got time for it. How to stand and fight when you know how long the odds are. Grit, girl, grit. Nobody can teach that. You have to already have it in you."
"Grit?"
"Grit. You talk like you wanted that beast to kill you, but when it was over you, you went straight for the eyes. You're a fighter, girl, and a brave one too."
"I was terrified."
"But you didn't back down."
He was actually smiling, she realised. It made him look younger, and softened the hard lines of his weathered face. She turned her bandaged hand over, thinking about what it would mean to have the use of it again. She hadn't even let herself think about her damaged eye. She'd be fit again, fit to work, fit to-
"And what exactly would I do, with the makings of a hunter?"
"The League takes an apprentice from time to time."
"Apprentice?"
She found herself looking at him more appraisingly. He was lean and tough, frown lines over his face. She'd thought he was old, but perhaps he was just very hard-worn. He was certainly strong and agile. That night in the street, he'd moved with such confidence. From the moment the beast pounced at her, she'd known she had no chance, until he came along with a weapon in each hand and took out the monster with experienced ease. She realised now that despite all that had happened, never in her life had she felt safer than that walk to the clinic, flanked by the two hunters, each so self-assured and so very, very strong. When they arrived at the clinic, they were greeted as equals by other hunters, and treated with respect.
Maggie was very used to being kicked about. The world in general, and the institute where she had grown up in particular, wasn't kind to penniless orphans. Never in her life had she stood confident and self-assured in the face of threat. No wonder she was good at pushing back the physical pain. She'd never been able to risk letting the slightest weakness show. She had been completely, utterly dependant on the mercy of others. She'd always needed them to see her as just too small to bother with. Up until a few nights ago, it had been enough. Not any more. Now was the time for some new tactics.
She realised she had sunk down into herself again. She was still fighting the sedatives from earlier. With a deep breath, she forced herself to sit straight, tall and proud. She met his eyes directly. "Teach me."
Footsteps were coming down the hall. He nodded approvingly and stood. "Treatment first. Once you can stand up without bleeding, I'll teach you how to punch like a man. That was embarrassing."
The apprentice had clearly intended to hold the door open for Iosefka, who was carrying a tray with a small bottle, needle and some other supplies, but Henryk half-pushed past her to be out of the room before she could come in. It was just as well, really. When Iosefka set the tray down and turned to Maggie, and saw the freshly opened wounds on her feet and the disturbed bandages on her face and hand, she uttered words about Henryk that a lady of the Church ought not to have known at all.