8 The Hangover

Kinley wanted a mourning dress. Helen could not stop talking about it on the way back, and Serenica got annoyed, as fashion wasn't the first thing on her mind. People were so bloody satisfied with Kinley's doctors. Charlatans, that's what Serenica thought, but she had nothing to prove her assumption with.

There had been plenty of normal births in Neul before Kinley's people came.

Serenica was almost certain that the doctors were inadvertently prescribing pregnant women something that caused the problems. Surely this was a serious thing, and surely Kinley feared the possibility of a curse, having grown up hearing stories about ancient Leans and their shenanigans, but an actual curse of this magnitude would have taken dozens of very powerful witches. Witches weren't that good at organizing themselves. Most, like Kinley herself, preferred to work in solitude.

"Blue, I wonder if she means deep or a bit lighter for the ribbons," Helen thought aloud.

"Will you please shut up about the ribbons? There's important things going on."

"It would serve you, too, if we got on her good side."

"You suppose I will play the role of Molly until the end of my days?"

Helen looked a little bit sad. "It'd be better and nicer if you were Molly instead of a dead witch."

A rageful pride rose inside Serenica, its flames reaching the top of her head already. She could not fathom how a friend could speak to her like that.

They were sitting on her desk, sipping moonshine, and the bottle was nearly empty. Its state was reflected in Serenica. She was nearly empty, too, of everything except anger.

She had known it was a bad idea to meet Roinar.

"How dare you," she snarled and even while snarling, she regretted her tone and her choice of words. "Have you no honor? I would rather die a hundred times than spend a lifetime as a servant."

"Serenica, love, speak no such things! It would be a game of pretend!"

"It'd fit you, would it not? After all, you are a fair woman like her, and I! I am but a Raelian!"

"Surely everything else beats death!" Helen shouted, her cheeks blushing with frustration.

"I was planning to die today until that scum of a pirate showed up!"

Serenica stood up, forgetting that the surface on which she stood was a table, now screaming at full lung capacity.

"Yes I was! I had a noose waiting for me! Death is better than a life of a damn sewer rat!"

"You are being awful! I won't listen to another word!"

"Then go! And take your filthy booze with you!"

As Helen was leaving in a hurry, Serenica took the bottle and threw it, not at her friend, but at the wall, and as it shattered, she yelled:"Go suck it up to Kinley, you worm! That's what you do best! You have no honor!"

Helen slammed the door shut behind her, leaving Serenica in a sobbing, screaming mess of tangled hair, broken glass and moonshine.

Morning came, as mornings usually did, bringing no new wisdom. Instead, the curtains in Serenica's apartment were open and left room for an awfully stinging ray of sunshine to come in.

The anxiety she felt was physical. It was as if her bones had turned to broken glass. She had not yet cleaned the remains of the argument.

"Gods, do I feel bad," she said to herself.

The correct way of action was either repairing things with Helen or getting the money Murdon required. She didn't feel like doing either.

The moonshine made its way back up her throat. She threw up in the vase she used as her trashcan.

The hangover itself wasn't that bad, she had thrown up before, and from her medical knowledge she deduced she wasn't dying, even though she felt like she was. The main problem was that she had no friends left in the city.

She had no way out.

It would have been wise to take a patient in. She had one appointment arranged at noon, a young mother with a sick child that was probably deformed.

"Damn the monsters, damn Kinley, damn this entire sewer they call Neul!" she exclaimed from the open window.

"Damn you too," a drunken voice shouted back at her. During the rainy season two thirds of the population were drunk around the clock. If one liked decadence, it was a glorious time.

She could always try to find Gadfly. He had been friendly. He had been honest about his intentions, which was way more than could be said about the wretched inhabitants of this city.

Instead, Serenica ruminated on her misery for three hours until the patient came. Gadfly had spoken about three days. Serenica had no reason to assume he meant a day or two.