2 The Scarf

"I'm not lying," Gadfly insisted as he watched Serenica write a contract in very expensive ink.

The forces of witchcraft liked contracts. Or maybe it was the witch writing them who liked them, and the forces only complied because they had no choice. Nevertheless, Serenica was precise in her words and left some space for her own signature. Next, she had to transfer the injury from the knee into the throbstone. That would take some twitchleaf.

"I'm not lying. Where do you reckon an honest sailor would get this much gold?"

"Piracy is very lucrative and I've sometimes considered it myself," Serenica said while rummaging through her cabinets for that last bag of crumbled twitchleaf.

"That's what I'm trying to say, woman! You'd be much happier. No rent, the food is cooked for you, you can have your pick of any men or women at the port, and the pay! The pay is good!"

"I don't think they like women on the high seas," Serenica said.

She found a promising box on the lower shelf of her most mysterious hiding spot. A mouse ran away from her as she lifted the box.

"On the contrary. Our bookkeeper's a fine lady. Finer than you, I might say, so you'd fit in nicely."

"I'll think about it, all right? I need you to breathe into this bag."

"Why?"

"Do you want to heal your own bloody knee?"

"I just want to know. Them doctors don't tell nothing to anyone. I reckoned you'd be a bit different."

Serenica felt strangely at home with Gadfly. Sure, his manners were awful and he was most certainly not an honest sailor. Still, Serenica had had enough of honest men.

"You breathe in the leaves, everything that's mostly messed up in your body leaves a trace in them. The trace is then dissolved in a bowl of water and the throbstone sucks it all up."

"That's so fancy," the man said, eyes wide with awe.

Gadfly didn't just breathe into the leaves. He burped into them. Serenica smelled booze and yeast in the air. Thankfully, she had a very strong stomach.

"You'll have to make up your mind in three days. We're leaving soon."

"Where can I find you if things on land get rough?" Serenica asked. She had no real intention to leave Neul. After all, this had become her home. Where else could she get fish pies at night after a binge drinking session with the finest socialites? Neul was a rare thing, forever staggering from sophistication to absolute degeneracy and back. Serenica loved it here.

"Come to the Blue Girl. I will be there. Cap'n won't, he's too good for a place for that. But I'll introduce you to him. We need a healer."

The name of the tavern sent shivers down Serenica's spine. The origin of the name was much gorier than the name itself – some drunkard had, in his anger, choked a girl in the tavern until she had become blue in the face, and then the man had proceeded to throw the poor woman through the window.

Needless to say, Serenica didn't much care for the Blue Girl.

"I'll find you if needed."

The dusty leaves mixed up with water nicely. Serenica had collected the water herself, in the light of a full moon, and she didn't really know if the moonlight did anything to the magical powers of spring water. She suspected the trick was in the special type of kettle used to boil the water before use.

"We could use a healer," Gadfly continued his whining. "My knee's not even that bad compared to the rest of us. One of the four Johns has scurvy. Cap'n is coughing blood and complaining about chest pains. And poor sweet Myorka is infertile."

"You want me to fix 'em up, you bring them to me," Serenica said, stirring the bowl clockwise.

"You'll regret this. You'll regret this forever if you don't come."

"I have three days."

Serenica dropped the throbstone in the soup of twitchleaf and moon water.

"Now, don't move your legs. At all. Move your mouth for all you like, but keep your legs still."

They sat in a sudden silence. It didn't seem to bother Gadfly at all. He had the air of a man accustomed to both silence and storytelling.

"It feels better," he finally said.

"Try and move it a little."

Gadfly bent his knee. Apparently sensing no pain, he stood up cautiously.

"It's like nothing ever happened. It doesn't hurt!"

"Normally I'd ask for two gold coins, but you've been such a fun patient," Serenica said before she even understood herself at all. She needed the money. She couldn't just start giving discounts left and right because she felt like it.

"Look," the man said, and from his voice pushed through a certain desperation common to those with very little spare change. "I haven't received my pay yet. If you could be kind and come meet me after three days, I can give you more than two gold coins. Much more."

Serenica looked deep into his pale blue eyes. She didn't see a trace of lying. She liked Gadfly. She liked how he spoke, she liked how confident he was, and she certainly liked his pirate tales. She liked money, too.

"Give me something as a pawn."

"This scarf?"

The scarf on his head was the most fashionable thing he had on. It was patterned the way that some animals in northern areas were, with black spots over a golden background, and between the patches of spots were florals. It was a very nice scarf.

"That'll do."

Serenica was holding the scarf before she even knew what she had agreed to. It was a nice scarf, yes, but it wasn't worth much, as the piece of fabric was not large enough to be considered a unit by most shops. She would have to wear it to get any value out of it if Gadfly didn't come through with his promise and she wasn't much of a scarf person.

"If that'll do, I'll see you inside the Blue Girl in three days. Until then, take care, Serenica Ingram."

Gadfly put on his pants and left, not limping anymore.

Serenica basked in the glory of having healed a potentially dangerous outlaw, pushing back the realization that she still had nothing to pay her bills with.

Rent was the most immediate thing to take care of. Firewood could wait. She could beg for wood, for food and for mercy, but her landlord didn't understand the concept of mercy. Murdon was an old man with a bad temper. He would need reassurance that his share was coming soon.

Unable to postpone the impeding sense of doom anymore, Serenica hung her head and wailed.

She hated Murdon. The man had had a problem with everything she'd ever done, good and bad alike. First she wasn't supposed to be bringing in so many patients. Then she wasn't making enough money. When she had tried to explain that they couldn't have one without the other, Murdon had decided that the way Serenica had painted her walls was distasteful and unfitting for a witch. He said it was misleading to have a light color on such a large surface. Proper witches hid in darkness, in murky waters and in dimly lit rooms full of occult and secrecy.

Serenica wanted her patients to feel hopeful about recovery.

She packed her bag and threw the scarf around her head. She went to look at her reflection and thought herself quite stylish, too stylish, actually, and took the scarf off. If Murdon would see her looking good, he'd assume she was doing well, too.

Murdon rented out a couple of apartments in the modest part of the town, on Tanner Street and elsewhere with only a tiny homeless population. He himself lived near the richer area, in an apartment of two bedrooms and a modern water closet with a newfangled pumping mechanism from the nearest well.

Serenica swallowed her tears and knocked.

"I'm not buying or selling anything!" Murdon screamed.

"It is me," Serenica yelled back. "Your healer."

It was profitable to know a healer. The discounts were bad on Serenica's wallet, but her skills had given her opportunities to gather more customers, and no soul dared to complain. The only thing she couldn't fix was the mysterious epidemic of infertility. Every other disease, injury or malady she was able to cure, not always quickly, but surely, and this was why Murdon kept her around. Even if she didn't always pay the rent on time, she could always compensate somehow. Murdon was paranoid about his health, even absurdly so, as he was of the age where death became a natural thing.

The old man opened the door with a sour expression on his face.

"What now, hag?"

"Good day to you, too," Serenica said. "May I come in?"

"Can't have you looking like that at my doorstep."