can’t afford the League.”
“Then go to the pain merchants.” If his da’s injuries were obvious, they’d probably be OK. Hard to pretend to heal a broken leg. Trouble came when they only half healed it. One of the fruit vendors couldn’t walk again after he went to a merchant and they healed him wrong.
“I did; they turned us away. They’re turning everyone away.”
That left me mute. The ferry accident should have been harvest day for them. No one would argue over the pittance they’d offer with family members bleeding and broken. People might even be willing to pay them, and they’d make money off the healing and selling the pain-filled trinkets later. With so many refugees around, pynvium security rods were in higher demand than usual. You thought twice about climbing through a window if the sill might flash pain at you.
“They can’t all be turning folks away,” I said. “Did you try the ones by the docks?”
“I tried all five in town. Three were even charging, not paying, but by the time I got there they said no more heals.”
Not good at all. If they were turning everyone away they’d also turn me away, and this time I had plenty of pain to sell.
Danello took a hesitant step closer. “Please, my da was on the ferry. He’s seriously hurt, a broken arm and leg, maybe a rib or two. He can’t work and he’ll lose his job.”
I couldn’t do it. I already carried too much pain and who knew when Tali would be able to take it from me. “What about you? Can you pay your rent if he can’t work?”
“Heclar let me go.” He didn’t say it was my fault, but I heard it anyway.
I glanced away. “Well, you can work in your da’s place till he’s well. Most foremen’ll let you do that.”
“I can’t. My da’s a master coffee roaster and I don’t have the training. You can bet someone from Verlatta does though. If my da can’t work, the landlord’ll peg us out. My little brothers have just turned ten. My sister’s only eight.”
Too young to be tossed out on the street, even with Danello to look after them if their father died. And he could if the merchants weren’t buying. Some old soldiers could set bone, but I’d never heard of one who did it well. Danello might be able to find one of the herb sellers from the marshlands, but you couldn’t trust the powders and poultices they sold. Better to risk an untrained pain merchant Taker than that. Even if the Taker missed an injury, they’d probably heal most of it. My throat tightened and I coughed to clear it. “I don’t have any pynvium.”
“But you don’t need it! You healed me and gave my pain to Heclar. You can do the same for my da.”
“Who’s going to take his pain after? You?”
He nodded. Actually nodded! “Yes.”
Even if it wasn’t a crazy idea it wouldn’t be enough. Not if his da had that many broken bones. “Taken pain doesn’t heal like a natural injury does. It doesn’t belong to you so it just stays in your body. Once you take it, you need a trained Healer to get rid of it.”
“I can manage it until the merchants are buying again.”
“No you can’t. You’d hurt bad as he does now. Don’t you need to work too?” Even master roasters didn’t make enough to support a whole family. Not many jobs in Geveg did—at least, not the ones Gevegians could get.
“Then we’ll all take some, me and my brothers and sister. It’ll be OK if we spread it around like that, won’t it?”
“It’ll be awful.” My stomach soured at the thought. “I can’t do that to them.”
Pleading, Danello grabbed my shoulders. “You have to. We don’t have anywhere else to go for healing. We don’t have much, but we can pay. A little food, a place to stay for a few days if you need it.” He looked me over then smiled, an odd mix of hope and pity in his eyes. “Looks like you could use that.”
More than he knew.
“I can’t,” I said. “I was there, at the ferry. I…I pulled folks out. I…” Wanted to cry. Wanted to run. Wanted to say yes and sleep somewhere dry. Shame settled on me like a damp chill. Hundreds had died tonight. Was I really thinking about hurting children for a bed? If I could consider that, I might as well work for the pain merchants, trading on misery for my own comfort.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
He stepped back a pace and looked at me, critically this time, reaching out and lifting one aching arm, then the other. Noticing every time I winced and bit my lip. “How much did you take?”
“More than I should have.”
I’d seen despair before, but it never looked as bad as it did on Danello’s face. I could get used to seeing that face too. Shame we kept meeting in the dark, twisted up in our own problems. “What if we also took that pain?”
“No. You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.” I folded my arms again, trying to keep what little warmth—and self-respect—I had left. Without my terror keeping me alert, exhaustion tugged at my sleeves. I needed to find a place to sleep; preferably somewhere that didn’t ask me to give pain to children. “I’m sorry, I really am. I hope—”
“Give me some, right now.”
“What?”
“Pain. Let me see what’s it like, then I’ll decide.”
“You’re insane.”
He held out a hand. “Just do it.”
No, not insane. Desperate. Willing to do anything to save his da and his little brothers and sister. Would I do anything less crazy to save Tali if she were in trouble?
If I showed him what it felt like, he’d change his mind. I checked the alley and the street. A few folks were chatting outside the taproom, but no one was close. I took his hand and pushed.
He cried out and his hand flew to his left temple. Groaning, he pulled his fingers away and stared at them, a surprised look on his face. “I expected blood.”
“There was a lot on the man I took that from.”
Danello inhaled, blew out slowly, nodded. “OK, give me another.”
“No!”
“You need—I don’t know, room—to hold more pain if you’re going to help my da.”
The boy was crazy as a guinea hen. The pain should have ended it. Should have made him realise what a stupid idea this was and not something you did to children, no matter how desperate you were. Refusing was the right thing to do. I took his arm, prepared to take back the headache.
Memories made me pause. I was ten when we were orphaned, Tali seven. The orphanage had taken us in, but kicked us out when I turned twelve cos I was old enough to work and they needed the beds for the younger ones. Tali was scared, wanting to go home and barely understanding why we couldn’t. Danello’s siblings wouldn’t be considered orphans, not with him old enough to care for them. They wouldn’t even get a chance at a real bed or a hot meal. All four would be out on the street soon as their rent came due. Sweet as Danello was, he sure as spit didn’t know how to live like a river rat.
He’d have to learn fast or they’d all die. He’d have to become the kind of person who would consider shifting pain to children to sleep in a bed. He’d have to become me.
I gave him more pain. A little in the arm, the leg, a twinge in the shoulder. Nothing in the hands or back. Nothing that might keep him from working.
Danello closed in on himself, sucking in his breath and falling back against the wet wood of the building behind him. “It feels different from getting hurt.”
“The