Page 8 of Inferno
And here Nerik was, a simple messenger boy, running about the streets in a…
Fucking hell, he was still wearing the shirt Yorin had given him that morning. And while he’d seen a number of people giving the shirt appreciative looks, he hadn’t yet actually mentioned to anyone who had made it for him. Some help he was being.
It was better this way, he told himself, stepping numbly out of the alley and walking on stiff legs towards the hospital. After all, he was not just a messenger, but another man – something that Minia was still fairy dubious about, when it came to romantic relationships – and on top of that, he was a fire elemental; an infernal. He was what Yorin would have considered to be a demon. And all the wishful thinking in the world was unlikely to ever be able to bridge that hideously large gap between their respective realities. If the humans had their way, Nerik wouldn’t even exist. He had no business trying to start a romantic relationship with ahuman.
Forcefully shoving his chaotic thoughts out of his mind, Nerik slapped on a smile and strode confidently up to the reception desk in the hospital waiting room. Henrietta was sitting at the desk. She was one of the nurses, middle aged and generally very capable, though privately, Nerik thought her a little too prone to excitement when anything unusual happened. Her brown hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and her lips were pursed as she scribbled notes into the appointment book in front of her.
“Just a moment,” she muttered, flicking her eyes very briefly in Nerik’s direction. “Sorry, but one of the doctors just went home sick and I have to move all his appointments…”
She scribbled for another few moments, then sighed and set down the pencil. She sat back in her chair and looked up, plastering a tired smile on her face. “Nerik. Good to see you. A delivery for us?”
Nerik nodded. “Herbs from the herbalist. Is Gosta around? I’ll take them up to her.”
“Oh, you can leave them here,” Henrietta said, no doubt trying to be helpful.
But Nerik shook his head. “There’s a couple of fairly nasty things in there. I would hate to think anything got mixed up. You could seriously kill a patient with some of these ones. I really need to give them to Gosta personally.” Gosta was the most senior nurse in the hospital, with over twenty years of experience.
“Oh, yes, I suppose that’s best, then,” Henrietta agreed easily, much to Nerik’s relief. “She was upstairs last time I saw her, tending to a patient in room eight. You know the way.” She waved Nerik towards the hallway, turning back to her ponderings over the appointment book.
Not wasting any time, Nerik headed in the direction of the stairs, breathing out a sigh as he rounded the corner. Gods, the number of lies he told in a day should have caught the ire of Alfrix the Destroyer long ago. The ancient Chalandrian god was fond of causing mischief for those who lied or stole or cheated in card games. The truth was that there were no herbs to deliver, and if there had been, there was a minimal likelihood that any of them would actually have been dangerous. On the odd occasions that the hospital genuinely needed the more potent of their treatments, Gosta or one of the doctors invariably went to collect the herbs themselves. Regardless of Nerik’s spotless reputation, everyone preferred to avoid the risk of anything falling into the wrong hands.
Upstairs, Nerik trotted along the hallway, sticking his head into each of the patients’ rooms as he went. No Gosta in any of them, and he eventually found her in the office at the back of the building, nose buried in some book or other. Since crossing the gate, Nerik had learned the basics of the human script and could read the street signs and labels on his packages, but he and books really didn’t mix. An infernal should not be spending large amounts of time handling things that were inherently highly flammable.
“Special delivery,” Nerik announced, slipping into the room and taking a seat in a chair opposite Gosta without being asked. Gosta had a well-earned reputation for being a cantankerous old grouch, and there weren’t many people in Minia who would dare to treat her with such casualness. Nerik, though, was a clear exception.
Gosta looked up, her face showing a fleeting surprise before she scowled and glanced out the window, noting the position of the sun as it slowly sank towards the horizon. “Oh gods, it’s that time again, isn’t it?” she muttered, slamming the book shut in irritation.
“I don’t make the rules,” Nerik said, knowing that the next few days were going to be just as frustrating for Gosta as they were for him. In some ways, probably more so.
On the outside, Gosta appeared to be an aging woman with greying hair and a dumpy frame. Her face was round and her hair pulled back into a bun, giving her a severe look, even before one took in the habitual scowl on her face.
But like so many people in Minia, a very different truth lay beneath the surface. Gosta was a salas, a race of powerful, black-skinned, horned people who had a reputation as fierce warriors, both men and women alike. In her native form, Gosta was taller, leaner, and far stronger than her human form made her appear, and Nerik knew from long experience how distasteful she found her human appearance to be.
But, like all the other ‘demons’ living in Minia, she had little choice. They could disguise themselves as humans or be slaughtered on sight, and with obsidian in short supply and witches charging a small fortune for their magic, one couldn’t afford to be choosy about exactly which spell one used to glamour themselves.
Without a word, Gosta stood up and went to close the door. Then she came back to the worn wooden desk, pulled a key out of one of the deep pockets in her skirt and unlocked a drawer. The drawer was stuffed full of notes scrawled on sheets of parchment, each with a clear addressee.
Nerik’s eyes opened wider as he took in the sheer volume of messages. “Gods above, there’s a lot of them.” There must have been twice as many as last cycle.
Gosta sighed. She shuffled the papers into various loose piles. “The salases in Varismont want to bring more vreki through the gate. The fire-dogs want to send instructions again about how to evade the warriors. Stanley’s sending another message about how the unicorns can get to safety. There are four hadathmet brothers living in Red Hill who are trying to get their sister safely across the gate. The list is endless.”
All worthy causes, and yet the number of messages to be sent was going to make Nerik’s task all the more difficult. “Maybe I should start charging for this shit,” he muttered, taking the first bundle from Gosta as she stacked the notes in neat piles. “I get a copper coin every time I deliver a letter in Minia. Getting one across the gate has to be worth at least that much.”
In truth, he wasn’t serious about the scheme. For all his complaints, he knew how important these letters were. But Gosta thumped the latest pile down onto her desk, glaring at him as her scowl deepened. “Charging money? For saving refugees from certain death? Every single one of us does our bit to help them. Do you think I like spending my days looking like someone’s ugly, overweight great-aunt?” She gestured to her own body with a grimace. “Do you think I like treating the injuries of the warriors who spend their days slaughtering our people? None of us like it, Nerik, but we all have to do our bit. Or we just abandon everyone still in Chalandros to their fate.”
Okay, so Gosta was clearly having a bad day. Nerik chose not to bite back. There was no telling what had gone on in the hospital today, and there was a good chance he was just being difficult because he was disappointed about Yorin.
“Sorry,” he said, as he accepted the next bundle of papers. “It was a bad joke. You know damn well that I know how important this is.”
Gosta sighed. “Yes, well…” She shook her head. “Yitiva’s sister was found dead in front of the gate after the last time it closed and Rodrigiada received a message that his brother died in his attempt to cross the desert. There are dozens of humans protesting against the vreki being allowed to visit Minia. And just to add insult to injury, Rimdolen tried to kick me again last Saturday.”
Nerik felt a sharp urge to laugh at that latest piece of news, and clamped his jaw shut, determined not to let a single snort past his lips. “He can be a temperamental bastard,” he said sympathetically, while deep down, he actually found the situation thoroughly amusing. Gosta went out of her way to antagonise the proud unicorn, and then acted all affronted when Rimdolen retaliated.
Gosta handed him the last of the notes, and Nerik tucked the bundle into his satchel. “Here’s this cycle’s collection,” he said, fishing the handful of coins out of the purse for the Chalandrian refugees. There were thirteen silver coins and nineteen coppers. Gosta quickly stowed the money in the drawer and locked it again.
“Henrietta thinks I came here to give you some herbs, just in case she mentions it later. Aside from that, I’ve got no particular news.”
Gosta nodded. “Well, while you’re here, here’s a packet of herbs for Mrs Riverstone, out by the east bridge. And here’s a new bandage for Alric’s son. He burned himself on a hot pan and I said I’d send over a clean wrapping for it.” She handed over the three copper coins for the deliveries – two for the one outside Minia, and one for the carpenter’s son, which was just a few streets over. Neither delivery was going to get done today, but Gosta would be well aware of that.