Surprise! A new chapter!
Many thanks to reviewers rolletti, Metonomia, Autumnia, jdeppgirl4, Shadowed Night Sky, Faires-Are-Real, Lady Merlin, LunaNigra, and justplaincrazy8! :)
Chapter 12: Apprentice to the Court Physician
Steaming water was not an easy thing to carry and Nysha was carrying a whole kettle full.
It buckled and spun with each step taken and the threat of scalded skin beneath her hide was not a pleasant prospect, causing her actions to become overly sensitive. Her problem was also compounded as she carried, in her other hand, a writing tablet containing a leather-bound book, a slender quill, and a pot of ink.
Falling flat on her nose, a likely occurrence, simply wouldn't do.
In her defense, working all four of her legs through the masses of Cair Paravel's back hallways was no easy task. Certainly other centaurs managed just fine but Nysha had never been like other centaurs.
When other centaurs had perfected a smooth canter, easily sending an arrow through a target at a hundred yards, she was still trying to manage keeping her arrow on the bow's string and walk at the same time.
She seemed to have wooden stumps for fingers, and her long, gangly legs did her no favors when navigating small, cramped hallways filled with cross serving maids. Her mother assured her that she would grow used to her legs and in a few short seasons she would have stallions asking for her hand.
Beneath her bay hide, she was not so confident as yet another serving maid darted past, heedless of the boiling water only inches from spilling over onto her head.
And it was not just any boiling water she bore. For unlike some of the creatures in the hallway, she bore boiling water sent for by the Court Physician to be used in the care of King Edmund.
She wasn't aware of the specifics yet but she had a feeling that they were going to be treating another cold. Mint leaves and plenty of steaming water seemed to be the only solution and so every two hours she would make the journey. The knowledge gave her little pleasure.
Perhaps it was another ailment. One that could be healed with less boiling water. A twisting sensation in her belly told her it probably wasn't so.
To be fully prepared however she'd carried along the book, quill and ink. If they were dealing with a new illness it would need to be documented.
As it was, Rinklerhim, the revered Court Physician, was the only one actually treating the sons of Adam or the daughters of Eve. Nysha found that she had little to complain about when one late evening she thought through the ramifications of spoiling a remedy and worsening a King or Queen's condition.
And such a mistake was likely as the sources of information had been entirely depleted on sons of Adam and daughters of Eve.
Despite what many might believe, sons of Adam and daughters of Eve posed a great problem for physicians.
Massive tomes had collected the knowledge of centuries, creatures of all races cataloguing the care of their ailments. But not one record spoke of sons of Adam or daughters of Eve.
Nysha, on the instruction of her master, kept a growing notebook, chronicling the symptoms of the illness, the remedy used, and the results of aforementioned treatments. Careful drawings of the plants used, detailed notes, and meticulous observation were all a crucial part of such documentation.
Her handwriting was thin and wobbled but it was legible, although Rinklerhim had copied over a few pages into a clearer scrawl. As much as she would like the task to pass to him, he had a patient to examine and couldn't be bothered with sheets of parchment and ink while measuring a pulse.
Other tasks had been tried and she had found she lacked sufficient inherent grace to complete many of them.
She was positively terrible at grinding powders. Her hands would inevitably get tangled, the mixture would spill, and she would spend the remainder of the day sneezing. Even if, through some miracle granted by Aslan, she managed to control her blocky fingers and produce a powder, it was grainy and uneven.
Chopping herbs was occasionally possible, only when her eyes couldn't be bothered by the pungent odors undoubtedly swirling into the air with each downfall of the blade.
However, she'd always been able to instinctually discern what herbs to apply, her touch was calming, and while her fingers might struggle to do her bidding her mind worked quickly and efficiently.
And for that reason Rinklerhim had taken her on as an apprentice. He'd told her with a weary smile that she'd learn to do the rest with time.
That was two years ago and she was as inept as ever, though she had managed to get to the royal wing of Cair Paravel that housed the private quarters of the monarchs without spilling the boiling water.
The guards on duty stepped aside, the glimmer of their weapons making Nysha move a little faster, and then she was standing in King Edmund's bedchamber.
As seen countless times, the afflicted member of the family was tucked up to their chin with warm blankets and crowded around him were the others, each giving their solemn, unspoken support to the one in pain.
It seemed King Edmund was the one swathed in wool this morning. Queen Lucy sat only inches from the blankets, her brother's hand caught in her own, and her wide eyes watching the physician's every move. King Peter stood at the end of the bed by Queen Susan and both seemed tense, their expressions pinched and their shoulders taut.
Rinklerhim was listening to the evenness of the son of Adam's breathing, his aged brow wrinkled with either concern or deep thought. "Nysha? Bring the water here. On the nightstand, there's a good girl."
Nysha had learned long ago that the satyr's keen hearing could decipher different footfalls, and apparently her stride was quite distinctive. She cajoled him into telling her once what exactly he heard and he'd told her with an odd twinkle to his eye, "The sound of a young centaur finding her way in a vast and changing world."
And that world was vast indeed for the twelve feet to the bedside seemed to have swollen to a gaping cavern of snares, each trying to spill the water she bore. She was especially careful stepping onto a warm rug in the center of the room. Only she really knew what havoc those carefully woven carpets could loose on poor unsuspecting centaurs.
Aslan must have been smiling on her that day for she placed the hot water where requested, stepped back, and prepared her writing tablet. All without incident.
"Do you believe it to be serious?" Queen Susan sat at the end of the bed, a warm mug of steaming soup in her hands.
"No, your majesty. A simple cold is all that plagues your brother, though the congestion deep in his chest worries me. A stronger remedy might be necessary."
Nysha quickly uncapped the bottle of ink and scribbled down her master's observations.
"Nysha? How many stems of mint did we require last illness?"
"Four of medium height soaked in hot water to be breathed deeply every two hours."
"Hmm," he ran a hand over his balding head.
While her master reflected, Nysha glanced up at King Edmund. Pale features, haggard circles under his eyes, swollen nose, deep cough, constant sniffing, and under the piles of blankets she saw the unmistakable lump of a bandaged ankle. Her quill worked to record each detail as her mind saw it, the language clear and concise.
From habit she looked to the siblings around the room. It had begun when she noticed that King Edmund always stood by the door when his brother was injured or ill. At first she thought it to be a possessive gesture, bespeaking a protective, deeply seated care for a brother that often found objects were harder than his skull, however as the months passed she noted that the action came from another motive entirely.
High King Peter had been found trying to escape his chambers, twice before a row of stitches had healed properly. No, King Edmund stood at the door to keep his brother in the room.
When King Edmund was ill, High King Peter always stood at the foot of the bed. By now becoming accustomed to their odd behavior, she waited before pronouncing judgment on this procedure.
She found it stemmed from King Edmund's uncontrollable urge to cross his arms and revert to the characteristics of a certain stallion with burrs entangled in his mane. From that position High King Peter could carefully divert the King's demands that the maids stop bringing up hot burners and herbal teas.
Today High King Peter looked usually unkempt.
A full three and one half minutes passed before she realized he was dripping wet. His hair was sodden and his finely sewn tunic clung to his chest.
Apparently she was not the only one to make such an observation at that moment as Queen Susan said softly, "Peter, you said you'd change into something dry and warm once we had Edmund in bed."
"He's not settled yet."
"Peter, you promised." Queen Lucy leveled him with a stare.
Nysha received the strong impression that King Edmund was enjoying the turn of events, particularly the shift of attention, if the grin sweeping across his flushed face was any indication.
High King Peter shifted from foot to foot, a dark scowl settling on his face, until his resolve visibly crumbled. "Fine. But he stays in that bed until I get back."
"I'm not going anywhere, not with this blasted ankle." King Edmund directed a finger towards his bandaged foot, the very air of innocence wreathing his shoulders.
"Su," Peter didn't appear to be convinced.
"Don't worry so. He'll be sulking exactly where he is when you get back. Or have you forgotten that I kept him here for three days while you returned from the peace envoy to Archenland?"
King Edmund's nose wrinkled and he mumbled, "there was three inches of snow outside."
"Ed," Queen Susan stilled him with a significant look, one that would have frozen the most disagreeable patient at their most stubborn moment. "Go on, Pete."
King Edmund looked as though he wanted to add a cheeky remark when Rinklerhim told him to take a deep, slow breath. He made a rather unpleasant face, and did as instructed when the physician remained unaffected.
The door clicked shut behind Peter and Edmund released the breath he'd been directed to hold. "Well, he was in a mood."
"You weren't exactly punctual last night, Ed." Queen Lucy told him sternly.
Edmund shrugged sullenly. "I've been late before."
"Ed, if Philip hadn't found you, you could have…" Queen Susan's eyes turned to the bedspread and a nonexistent wrinkle was smoothed away, "been very seriously hurt."
"It wasn't like I planned it that way." The King's temper flared and Nysha felt the room's temperature increase.
Rinklerhim cleared his throat and stepped down from the bedside. "Nysha, I believe I will go and discuss matters with the herbalist in the kitchens. Finish recording the particulars in the journal and then wait for my return. I shouldn't be but ten minutes."
Nysha gulped. Was he really leaving her alone? With a feuding family of monarchs? It seemed she would never have the chance to greet the dawn of her twentieth naming day.
The monarchs nodded politely to the physician as he took his leave and when the door closed, Queen Lucy turned a molten glare on her brother. "He didn't sleep a wink. None of us did."
"Lucy…" Queen Susan interceded. "He was worried about you. Just let him fuss for a few hours. He'll soon find something else to attend to and you'll have peace and quiet to recover in."
"Recover? It's just a measly cold."
Queen Susan raised a dark eyebrow. "Nysha?"
Dear Aslan, please let there be another creature who she is addressing, Nysha prayed silently. When empty silence answered her, she glanced to the monarchs. They were indeed looking to her expectantly.
"Does my brother have a 'measly cold'?" The two daughters of Eve stared at her, their faces impassive. King Edmund was not so calm. His eyes pled with her to allay the seriousness of his ailment.
In the end, duty to the truth of her profession won out. And the fact that there were two Queens and only one King. One had to use one's head logically.
"I'm afraid your brother's illness seems to be of a more serious nature. I believe my master intends to keep your brother to his rooms until the fluid in his lungs has drained."
"And how long will that be?" King Edmund sounded indignant and if it wasn't for the scarlet tinge to his cheeks and the shaky grasp of the bed sheets Nysha might have feared for the safety of her position.
"I'm afraid at least a fortnight."
"A fortnight?" He sank back against the pillows and immediately began to cough.
"Ed, just calm down. It will go faster than you think." Queen Susan patted the end of the bed, trying in vain to assuage his fears.
Queen Lucy seemed to repent of her earlier words as she leaned in and gave her brother's hand a quick squeeze. "I'll ask Mr. Tumnus if he wants to come play chess with you this afternoon."
"A whole fortnight…" King Edmund didn't appear to have heard his sisters. Nysha carefully recorded that, too. The illness shouldn't have affected his hearing…perhaps the lightning had damaged his ears?
Nysha was prevented from gathering any further observations as Rinklerhim had entered, wobbling over to the bedside on his hooves. "Don't worry yourself, young son of Adam. You'll soon be back to good health if you stay in this bed, take your medicines, and rest."
He passed the monarch a small teacup of some greenish liquid and placed a ceramic jar on the oaken nightstand. "Now, drink this and you'll be off to a good start."
King Edmund lowered his nose suspiciously. "It smells," he commented after a moment.
"Most tonics do, sire." Rinklerhim agreed and busied himself stirring the concoction in the jar.
"How long will I be sick if I don't drink this?"
Rinklerhim stared down his nose at his patient, the weary smile ever present. "A month, at the very least."
The crevices in King Edmund's frown deepened. "Bother."
"Indeed. I shall have to bother the kitchen maids for it once a day until you are recovered."
King Edmund had just drained a gulp from the cup—with a bitter, pursed expression—when those words reached his ears. "Once a day?" he squeaked.
"That is correct, unless you would like to stay in this bed for a month."
Arms crossed and frown rapidly turning to a sulking pout, King Edmund lay back against the mountain of pillows.
Rinklerhim gestured to Nysha and the ceramic pot with a wrinkled hand. "Nysha? Take this, will you, and apply it? My old bones are not what they used to be."
"Master Rinklerhim?" Was he really entrusting her with the health of the King of Narnia? Well, one of them at least.
"Go on. You've done it yourself often enough on the street children." He handed her the little pot, the strong scent of mustard assaulting her nose.
Ah, a mustard plaster. Her master was correct. She'd applied countless plasters to the sick children when a strong wave of pneumonia swept through Cair Paravel while the White Witch's cold winter reigned.
With shaking hands, she set aside the journal and accepted the jar. Rinklerhim resumed her place and watched with careful eyes as she placed a damp cloth over the young King's chest, scooped a generous portion of the plaster into her hands, and began to apply it to the cloth.
King Edmund merely flopped his head back, and stared hard at the ceiling, as if willing the illness away.
Nysha was focusing hard on her task, the mustard plaster was clearly fresh as the mixture's warmth radiated out pleasantly from the little pot. However that warmth made the mixture thinner than Nysha would have preferred and she was terrified that she would drop some of it on the white bedsheets. Such a stain would not be easy to remove.
She was nearly done when the door clicked open. A drop the size of a pinhead wavered on the heel of her hand and then plummeted to mar the sheets by King Edmund's shoulder.
Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. A quick hand deposited the plaster on the cloth while the other carefully wiped away the spill before it could be seen. She glanced about the room and found that her mistake and indeed gone unnoticed as King Peter had returned to the room.
His hair was still damp but he was wearing a fresh pair of trousers and a warm tunic. His cheeks did look a little pink and his eyes were unusually glassy, but then Nysha remembered her task and finished spreading the last of the plaster.
"Is all well?" he asked Rinklerhim.
"Everything except for me, apparently."
"Edmund…" King Peter growled.
"He'll be in bed for a fortnight but he will recover." Rinklerhim was unperturbed. Nysha began to wonder, not for the first time, at the length of his patience.
Upon being reminded of his bedridden state, King Edmund's sulk returned. A deep cough and two sniffles followed as if the illness was refusing to be forgotten.
Rinklerhim's brow creased and he looked hard at the young King. "Did you drink all of the tonic I gave you?"
The most curious thing began to happen. Nysha could have sworn that the King shrunk in the great bed. "Yes…"
The physician's eyes hardened.
"Not all of it…but it isn't really that important, is it?"
Rinklerhim directed a finger to the teacup and the King groaned. "All of it, sire."
The young King made to protest when a cough echoed through the room. For an instant, Nysha was most confused. She had been watching King Edmund and he had most certainly not coughed.
She glanced about the room, checking each face for the telltale discomfort. The culprit surprised her, though it really shouldn't have.
King Peter smothered a second cough behind his hand and loosened the neck of his tunic. He then noticed the questioning stares being directed his way. "What?"
"Peter? Are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine." He assured them quickly.
"I daresay you don't look fine at all." Queen Lucy scoffed.
It took a moment of reflection but Queen Susan apparently agreed. "I think Lucy's correct. In fact, I think Rinklerhim should look you over."
"I quite agree." King Edmund flashed a smile to rival any pixie's.
"Shut it, would you? Take your medicine." King Peter ordered the invalid and then restated, "I'm fine. Just a little tickle at the back of my throat. It's passed now."
"Peter…really, you can be worse than Edmund sometimes."
"I'm fine!" Unfortunately for King Peter, he seemed to have spoken too forcefully as a traitorous cough emerged.
The two sisters needed no further encouragement, and suddenly the room was a tornado of activity as another hot burner, two cups of tea, another mustard plaster, a teacup of tonic, and King Edmund's chess set were summoned.
From beneath the thick covers, King Edmund glowed, though whether it was from the fever or pleasure at his brother's situation Nysha couldn't say.