Chapter 4: Tonks at the Lady Sibyl
Summary:
Tonks is moved to the Lady Sibyl for further care. Dawn of the morning after the full moon.
Chapter Text
Miss Maccalariat fluttered towards Magrat, her coiled braids a little askew. Magrat quickly tapped her wand to restore everything to her bag before she got too close.
"We have no proper bedrooms here; we can only make her a pallet. Can you move her to the Lady Sybil? They have doctors, and Igors."
Magrat hesitated. "Not until I check her further. An empty room will be enough for now."
She needed more ingredients; her bag held only emergencies. They wanted water to clean the burns, first. Miss Maccalariat had yelled at her helpers and they'd built up a rough bed in an empty room with leather post-bags piled high and blankets on top of them. There was no fire, and only one lantern. It was cold, even with the blankets. They did need to move the woman soon. She bathed the woman's face and the burn slice with water the post-office workers supplied, then sliced away the sweater carefully with her bone-handled knife. Miss Maccalariat gasped at what they saw, and Nanny hurried her out of the room.
"Thank you madam, you can bring that tea now, if you would. And we're fine in here, no need to come back."
Magrat, Nanny, and Granny examined the woman's wounds. The burn on her face wasn't deep, but it had sliced viciously through the shoulder—skin and muscle lay exposed. The slice across the woman's chest wasn't as deep, but it had somehow carried an ugly punch as well. Behind the burns were broken ribs. Magrat palpated, felt at least four. She hesitated. If she didn't close the burns, the muscles would be slow to heal. If she did—dirty wounds filled with pus.
The rest of the woman's body was curiously untouched. No broken bones in the arms or legs, and the stomach was thankfully clear of wounds as well. Granny showed the blood on her hands from when she'd touched the woman's head. "She's been cut in the scalp and has a crack in the bone-box, but I've seen deeper. Her neck is sound."
The enormity of the job before her suddenly dizzied Magrat. She'd pulled the woman back from death, restarted her breath and heartbeat, and now—people with all these injuries often died anyway. She breathed out, unhappy.
"She can't stay here on sacks with no heat. They said there's a hospital—let's get her to it after she's cleaned. "
They took cool water and wiped blood away gently from the sliced flesh and the cracked head, then lay clean cloth over them. Miss Maccalariat had flushed and excused herself, and come back in a few minutes with surprisingly ruffled strips from her petticoats.
The post office clerks harnessed the horses into a large cart, and the drivers picked up both the pallet and the bags under it for padding. The witches crouched down by their patient and held her still through the cart's jounces. In only a few minutes they pulled up at a large two-story white-painted building. A man and…another man, not exactly human, with an asymmetric body and stitches on head and arms, waited for them.
"Hello, Igor!" called Nanny. "Glad to see you."
Granny frowned. "When did you meet him before?" she demanded.
"Not him, but his family. They're all Igor, right my chum?" She sidled up to Igor. "They taught me a few things, when I went to Uberwald that time, and I taught them a few." She smiled at the crooked man in a way which would have made him blush, if he could have.
Magrat had seen Nanny flirt with many men, and even that dwarf, but—this seemed a bit outre even for her. "Nanny!" she hissed. "We have a patient."
"O' course, your Majesty, but it never hurts to keep in touch with old friends. Friends of friends, anyway." She beamed at Igor again. He grinned back and nodded his sloping head.
The man—the human man—at the hospital bowed to Magrat as Granny went to supervise the transport from the cart.
"Your Majesty. Queen Magrat. I am Dr. John Lawn. You'll find the Lady Sybil equipped with the best Ankh-Morpork has. We can take her from here"—and he stopped at the three women's sudden fierce looks. He had been told they were witches, but it seemed that they weren't the cackling-around-a-cauldron types. Igor bumped his shoulder, bent down.
"I told you, Thir, thethe are healerth from Lancre. They thee all kinds of thicknetheth, and injurieth. Mithreth Ogg tacked my Uncle Igor'th hand back on ath well as anyone could. "
"Ah." He breathed deeply. "Well, I've put her in the largest downstairs room. We'll coordinate."
Magrat nodded. "We will need ingredients for poultices for her wounds. I have a list."
Dr. Lawn said, "Well, poultices can cause poor healing; I find cupping works well"—
"We like our patients to keep all their blood." Granny said. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. Mossy Lawn reflected on his years in Ankh-Morpork and considered. These women—witches—lay healers—rural Queens—were not going to be moved. He would have to supervise them and he couldn't let them order everyone in the hospital around.
"Yes, well, let's see how it goes. We do have poultice ingredients, and Igor can fetch anything you need. Do you want to stay here, ladies, your Majesty? I think the Patrician—that is, he needs to know that we have royalty here in Ankh-Morpork, and I'm sure he can give you comfortable rooms at the palace. When…you…want to rest?" It was much more tentative than he meant to be. Dammit! He was struck again with the combined torch-power stares from the older two.
The older witches could glare all they liked, thought Magrat. She was the one who'd studied all the healing she could glean in Lancre, but she'd never taken care of a person with this degree of injury. She wasn't a doctor, didn't like what she'd heard about bleeding—but she couldn't bring a patient into his hospital and demand he step aside. It was his own dwelling; of course she couldn't. She wasn't going to leave, though. No funny business while her back was turned.
She arched her neck and looked down her nose at him while five inches shorter, an accomplishment she'd secretly practiced in her mirror. "Thank you, Dr. Lawn. That's a generous offer that I suspect you haven't cleared with the Patrician. I would like to stay here. In her room, or if you have one nearby?"
Nanny turned her head away and grinned. Oh, Magrat, the queening she'd learned.
After the cart drivers had transferred the woman onto a large bed, the Lancre witches removed all her clothes. Dr. Lawn insisted that he be allowed to observe, and drew his brows down when they would have objected.
"No disrespect to you, my ladies, but I must know what injuries she has, and whether she has any disease. She might have contagion that could spread to others." He didn't budge.
Magrat tensed. She hadn't thought of contagion, only the terrible wounds. She didn't like him, but he had given them a warm room with clean water and bandages. "Certainly," she muttered, and he squeezed in next to them.
The rest of her body was clean with no sores, and she was of normal weight. On her back she had a few bruises from her fall, but none on the rest of her body.
"Seems she wasn't a prisoner before she was killed," said Dr. Lawn, as he peeked over their shoulders. "No other bruises or signs of mistreatment. I don't think she was chained or tied up. Her wrists and ankles aren't chafed."
"See that a lot, do you? said Nanny. "They hurt prisoners in the big city?"
He flinched. "Well, I see the corpses after they're cut down from the hangings. Uh, I mean, the men in the Tanty, they're guilty of series crimes. Murder, assault, stealing, unless the Thieves' Guild hasn't gotten to them first. Or spying."
"Sooo—" Nanny snarled. "This Tanty—they tie people up an' beat them? You take dead folks away from their families. Your Patrician has a lot to answer for. "
"Gytha," snapped Granny. "We arn't here to reform graverobbers."
"No, I'm not a, a, grave—look, you don't understand," Dr. Lawn protested, flustered. "I'm the only doctor in Ankh Morpork who studies medicine. I learn about disorders of the organs—abnormal growths, twisted limbs, stones. The way diseases spread. I— I don't keep them. After—afterwards we put them corpses in good wood coffins, if they have families. Or bury them in the potters' fields, if they don't.
" I don't like the Tanty, no one does." He said. "But—thirty years ago when I came here, I was only able to treat the diseases of the Seams—er, er—anyway. Now I can treat more than the pox, and yes, I've learned things from dissections." His face fell in fatigued lines. "Your woman has these strange horrible wounds, but I think they happened all at once. Quickly. The burn—I've only seen that in brands—I don't control the Guilds, and yes, that happens with the Thieves' Guild. The flayed skin here—" he gestured to the deep gashes—"looks like a sword. A sword heated in a forge might cause this, but I've never heard of it. She appeared in the post office yard, and you don't know how she came there?"
Magrat breathed in deeply and shook her head. "I don't think it matters how it happens. We can only fix what we see, and I'd liked to set up the poultice as soon as I can. Please?" She lifted her eyebrows meaningfully. He frowned. "Very well, send the girl out if you need something." He tipped his head towards a tiny, pale, figure hidden in the corner.
"Y..Yes, sir," the small girl whispered. "Them cuts and burns, they w..was horrible. Kin I wait outside the door?" Granny lifted herself away from the bed and held out her hand. "Come on, missy. You haven't been at the hospital long, have you?"
"I started yesterday, and Dr. Lawn's nurse said I'd jest be cleaning the chamber pots and sweeping. I've never seen—"she gestured toward the bed.
"Magrat needs sage, marigold, and white willow. She also needs a bowl to mix the herbs," Granny said. Nanny pulled out another little bag of the bear wax. "I always find this is good for mixing things, plus it's a powerful help for help the insides as well." She twitched a lip. "You might say it's an aid for easing things in and out."
Magrat shook her head, unwilling to be drawn into another embarrassing Nanny tale.
"I'm talking about birthing children," Nanny said innocently. "That's all."
Tonks was caught in a nightmare. She was running, running, running to find Remus. Voices called her to return, to think of Teddy, to stay safe. She had no time or breath to tell them, "I am thinking of Teddy. If we win the war, he will be safe. If we lose the war, he'll need to be with relatives to keep him away from the Death Eaters. If we win the war, but I do not return"—she would not think of that. She was no great fighter, but she was an Auror, and every wand stroke was needed. Where was Remus? She entered the grounds of Hogwarts and fought her way to the castle. Professor McGonagall had enchanted desks and was leading them with a yell of "Charge." Explosions and duels and curses were all around her, but her friends were unable to hear her. She raced through the corridors which moved and changed and kept her away from the battle. She could not find Remus, she could not see his grey-brown hair.
Finally she heard the scream of her aunt, the murdering Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix appeared in front of her, her last foe falling at Tonks's feet. "Kill her. Kill her," was all Tonks could think, although she'd never dueled to kill before. She raised her wand, throwing a Protego around herself, and quickly cast a Stinging Hex, with a Knock-Back Jinx following. Bellatrix laughed and sliced them aside. Tonks tried a Stunner, and then a Backfire jinx, a Petrificus Totalis, and a Confringo. All were pushed away easily, even the last Blasting Spell. Her Incarcerous also failed to bind Bellatrix. Finally Tonks raised her wand for her very first Avada Kedavra, but before she completed it, Bellatrix screamed in triumph. Tonks was slammed to the ground by fire which ripped open her face, shoulder, and chest.
Now she was half-awake in a quiet place and warm under blankets, and the pain in her body had been dulled. Her mind was muzzy. Several soft voices were speaking. At least one person was a witch, because Tonks could feel that spells had been cast upon her. She didn't open her eyes because she didn't know whether they were friends, or enemies waiting for her to wake up before cursing her again. But someone had held her hand and told her to stay alive so she could see Remus. Yes, she thought. I will. Then thoughts tumbled down and she slept again.