The Secrets of Jin-Shei. Alma Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ the mourning was about to begin.

      Liudan and the rest of the Imperial Court would return to the Linh-an Palace in sedan chairs, via a less circuitous route, out of the crowd’s eye, once the immolation ceremonies were over; and once they did so the business of governing Syai would become an issue that would occupy the high-ranking ones in the Palace for some time to come.

      I will help you keep your promise, Yuet had told Tai. But, as she cleaned up after her patient, Yuet found herself wondering how she could have possibly made such a rash statement. Tai had been jin-shei-bao to the Little Empress – but that was where the connection to the Court began and ended, and Yuet was certainly in no position to further that connection. She herself was still officially a healer’s apprentice – a journeyman, to be sure, and more and more independent, but nonetheless still coasting on Szewan’s own reputation where the Court was concerned. She certainly had, and would have in the future unless things changed rather quickly, no intimate access to Liudan herself except in Szewan’s presence, and certainly no means to procure such access to someone like Tai. Perhaps Tai could have used the jin-shei connection to gain entry into the Court itself, but Liudan would be very careful with her favours and allegiances right now, especially during the regency period, and the fulfilment of Tai’s promise, a promise doubly binding because it had been asked by a dying woman and in the name of jin-shei, seemed bleakly improbable.

      Szewan had come to the window briefly to peer at the procession but had not stayed long.

      ‘My hands are hurting me terribly,’ she said, rubbing her swollen, arthritic knuckles. ‘I’ll take a poppy draught and retire to bed for a few hours. You can handle anything that comes up.’

      ‘I’ll make the draught,’ Yuet said.

      Szewan grunted in assent, reaching out to draw the shutters closed, trying to keep the worst of the heat out of the room.

      She had already divested herself of her outer robe and had slipped in under the thin sheets in her shift when Yuet came up with the cup of poppy. Her nose twitched at the draught as Yuet proffered the cup.

      ‘It smells strong,’ Szewan said.

      ‘I made it strong,’ Yuet said. ‘If you are in enough pain to retire to bed in the middle of the day, you may as well try and sleep through the worst of it. As you say – I will handle anything that comes up.’

      ‘One of these days,’ Szewan said, taking a delicate sip of the sleeping draught, ‘I will have to draw up the papers properly, and make you a partner. You are no longer an apprentice, Yuet-mai.’

      Yuet blushed. ‘I’ll never know all you know,’ she said.

      ‘You already know more than you think you know,’ said Szewan shrewdly, ‘and, I think, more than I think you know. Sometimes I believe you keep secret notes on everything I say and don’t say. When I am gone and you go through my papers, there is little that you will learn that you have not already found out.’

      ‘I listen, Szewan-lama.’

      ‘I know,’ said Szewan. ‘Sometimes you hear far too much.’ She yawned, showing a mouth with many teeth either missing or yellow with age and decay, and handed the cup back to Yuet. ‘I will sleep now. Leave me.’

      Yuet bowed her head in acknowledgement and withdrew as Szewan closed her eyes and pillowed her withered cheek on her arm.

      ‘I will sleep now,’ she murmured again, as Yuet closed the door gently behind her.

      There were no further emergencies that morning, and only one house-call she had to make on an ailing patient too ill to come to her, so Yuet spent the morning in her stillroom, making up the supplies of the herbal remedies she used to ease the more common aches and pains of Linh-an and checking up on the stocks of the more rare medicines whose existence was written down in secret books and only in jin-ashu script where a woman might read of them. She looked in on Szewan just before she left to see her patient, but the old healer still slept peacefully, snoring gently through her parted lips. Yuet’s patient appeared to be on the mend – still weak but definitely improving, sitting up and taking solid food for the first time in many days – and Yuet returned home feeling pleased with herself.

      She was met by first disaster, and then potentially deepening catastrophe.

      The first person she saw as she stepped into the entrance hallway of the chambers she shared with Szewan was the woman who served the healer’s household as cook and maid-of-all-work. She stood in the hall, wringing her hands, her expression equal parts panic, fear and grief. Yuet’s heart stopped for a moment. She instinctively knew what must have happened – but stood frozen, her hand still on the door handle, staring at the servant in silence.

      There was a dose of guilt in the servant’s demeanour, too.

      ‘I heard her breathing funny, mistress – I swear I didn’t know what to do, and you weren’t here, and I went in and I saw – she was breathing funny, mistress, and she was lying on her side with her face into the pillow so I came in to look and I just tried to turn her head, just a little, so that she could get air, and she just …; she just …;’

      ‘Oh, dear Gods,’ Yuet whispered.

      ‘I’m sorry, mistress, I didn’t know – I shouldn’t have touched her – I should have waited – I should have sent for you – I should have …;’

      ‘Is she …; is Szewan dead?’

      The servant burst into tears. ‘Yes, mistress, she is dead. I turned her head, just a little, so that she could breathe and she, she, she choked and started coughing and then choked again and it was as if she couldn’t get enough air, and then …;’

      ‘Enough,’ said Yuet, her eyes full of tears. ‘It is not your doing.’ She hunted for an activity, something to give the servant to do, something familiar to calm her nerves and soothe her panicked guilt. ‘Go …; go make some green tea. Bring it to the sitting room.’

      The servant sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Yes, mistress.’

      Yuet closed the door behind her, very slowly, kicked off the sandals she had worn to go outside and set down the leather bag she had carried to her patient’s house. She made her way into Szewan’s sleeping quarters, walking softly on the balls of her bare feet, as though a sharp noise could wake her mistress.

       I gave her a strong poppy draught. What if it was this …; ? Should I have made it weaker? Oh, dear Gods.

      Szewan was lying half on her side, half on her back – the ministrations of the servant, no doubt. Yuet checked, but it had not been any physical obstruction that had blocked Szewan’s airways – she had not choked on her tongue or anything like that, an event that Yuet had seen occur and had prevented more than once with patients who suffered from fits or seizures. On that, at least, she could reassure the poor cook, who probably thought that her very touch had made the old healer drop dead in her bed.

       Perhaps it was just age.

      Yuet arranged Szewan’s body in a seemly manner on her bed, laying her on her back and crossing her arms on her thin ribcage. As though there had not been enough death in Linh-an in the month just past. There would be things to arrange with the Temple – there was no immediate family and it would be up to Yuet, the apprentice and the closest thing to a relative old Szewan had in this СКАЧАТЬ