Page 9 of The Mage’s Rake (Catkin Trilogy #2)

As we talked, we made our way down the main street.

This area, I was familiar with, but taking a left, Hugh took me to the eastern gate of Rimefrost and down the slight incline to the shantytown that pressed up against the city’s great stone walls.

This area was called the Lower Rime, according to Hugh.

A place where migrant workers and refugees lived, where they eked out their living doing odd jobs and hard labor.

I stared in curiosity at the ramshackle houses and shivered.

The walls and roofs of the wood shanties were thin and poorly made, barely providing any warmth or protection against the north-easterlies that came blustering in.

If I lived in one of these, I imagined I’d die within a few days.

I fell silent, feeling as though all cheer that might have remained within was sucked out of me instantly.

Even Hugh fell silent and grim as his great black charger picked its way past potholes, shifting gravel, and refuse.

“Why…”

Why is it like this?

Before I could ask, I heard someone calling out.

“Oi! Oi, there! You lot! Yes, you!”

Their voice was rough with anger and filled with desperate urgency.

A hand appeared to reach out of nowhere and grab my boot.

I glanced down, eyes wide, at a short, spare catkin who had clutched the heel of my boot.

His hands were roughened and reddened, uncovered despite the inclement weather.

In his other arm, he held a cowering kit, who suddenly coughed—a deep wracking cough that shook its frail frame.

“I knows you,” said the catkin, glaring up me. “Not a quack like the lot o’ them, but you bloody Tower lot, you!”

“What do you want with me?” I ask, gripping my reins tightly.

Already Hugh was turning about, glaring at the tom as though he was about to plant his sword in the catkin’s chest. Part of me was glad to see Hugh behave so protectively.

It was nice to know that Hugh had my back.

Another part of me, however, was horrified by the sound of the kit’s coughing.

The kit was very, very ill. Judging by the wild look in the older tom’s eyes, he knew that as well.

“My kit’s taken ill. His mother and sister’s already gone,” the tom said and then spat close by my horse’s hoofs.

“And what are the wellborn about to do about my little Tomlyn? Nuthin’, I reckon.

Nuthin’ unless I yell real hard. Even then, what is your gennulcat knight friend to do—beat me for the impertinence?

Might as well murder my little kit as well and spare him the misery of his suffering. ”

Most kits survived the ague, but without proper housing and food, they would need more help than most. I knew what elixir would solve the problem. I had all of the ingredients. I was practically making it in my head as we spoke.

“The Elixir of Maximum Healing is what he needs,” I said softly, gaze fastened on the thin brown wool that covered the little boy kit’s shoulders.

“Alan, allow me to—“

“Hugh, no,” I said.

Hugh stared at me as I leaned forward to call my magic forth. Pulling off my left glove, I winced a little as the cold began to nip at my pale fingers. Ignoring the chill, I leaned forward and extended the power of my spirit.

My aura was the purest of all the mages in the White Tower.

It was why I had been sent to King Landis.

They had wanted to curry favor with the new king, hardly knowing that the new king of Sumarene was no brute.

And thus was I sent, only to find my time spent with making potions and poultices for the court.

Now, for the first time ever, I knew that I could truly make a difference.

The gentle wave of spirit magic pulsed from my fingers, entering the kit’s back and easing his lungs a little.

Hurriedly, I shoved my glove back on and stared down at the tom, who gazed up at me in shock.

He had called out for help though he had expected nothing.

I forced a small smile, meeting his dark green eyes that were now empty of rage.

A Munni, I guessed from his coloring. I could send Corrin or one of his kinfolk with the potion. It would be better delivered that way.

“That will not be enough,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Where is your home that I may send an elixir by nightfall?”

“E-eleven Derry Lane, m’lord.”

“And your name?”

“Ian, m’lord. Ian and Tomlyn Nott.”

“Good, Ian. I shall send an elixir after my errands are done. The lad must take a sip every three turns of the glass, you understand?”

“Yes, m’lord. And many thanks, m’lord,” said the tom hurriedly with a short bow.

“And in turn, perhaps you could help us,” Hugh said casually. “Have there been any hedge witches, hedge mages, or the like peddling potions of late in Lower Rime?”

“Aye, and I spent two silvers on ’em. Bunch of quacks, I say. Not like the White Tower mages, not at all.”

“Where might they be?” asked Hugh. “Last I browsed down here, they tended to group by the White Oak Square. Does that still hold true?”

“And it does, good Ser.”

“Many thanks,” Hugh said with a sharp nod.

He led me away, but I couldn’t help looking back to see the tom move down a narrow street, hopefully back to his home.

“It’s a good thing you did, Alan,” Hugh said after a moment. “But you must be careful. You’re Landis’s High Mage, not the mage of the people, you understand?”

“Are you going to stop me?”

Hugh hesitated and then grunted. “No. The poor thing sounded… Just send one of the lads out. We oughtn’t to judge, but maybe tell them to ensure the kit actually gets the medicine.”

I stared at Hugh in shock as I realized what he was saying.

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen it,” Hugh finally admitted. “Parents using their kittens for charity and then selling the proceeds of whatever was given out of the goodness of the cityfolk’s heart.”

“I don’t think I see much of the cityfolk’s good hearts out here,” I muttered.

“It’s been a long process,” Hugh said. “Landis knows, but it will take a while to fix. Things can’t change overnight… but I suppose it’s a shock.”

“Well, I was thinking Corrin or one of the other Munni guards. To make sure it’s delivered safely… and administered to the boy.”

“Good thinking. Now, let’s see…”

With that, Hugh escorted me to a large square that he called the White Oak Square.

Here, we moved from stall to stall, talking about recently arrived potion makers and peddlers.

We interviewed two sullen hedge mages who stared at me as though I had grown two heads and a hedge witch who pinched my cheeks and declared me as cute as a button.

None of them seemed fearful of our approach and sold us pinches of their shadowmoss eagerly.

The older hedge mage also shared rumors with Hugh about various meeting places on the fringe of the shantytown.

As promised, further down the sloping hills of the Lower Rime, Hugh and I managed to locate another alchemist—an ancient, white-haired molly, a Crone, no less, who stared at us with blue eyes so pale, they looked like tinted ice.

At the sight of me, her thick white eyebrows rose, and she hawked and spat in my general direction, but offered a wobbly nod all the same.

Her look was that of annoyance and curiosity and some kind of respect.

“Ah, a White Tower fuddy-duddy, is what I’d say,” she drawled. “Come in, come in. I bet a Southerner such as yourself would rather a warm hearth.”

“Indeed,” I said, dismounting without asking Hugh’s permission. The promise of warmth was too good to pass up. At this rate, I’d never feel my toes again. “Hugh,” I added with my best attempt at a fond look sent his way, “be a dear and tie up my horse.”

“Sure,” he sighed.

“Whispers been reaching my ears all morning.” The elderly Crone hobbled about and threw a narrow piece of wood onto the fire.

“A knight and the High Mage of Rimefrost come down to Lower Rime themselves! Imagine that! And here you are. You must have some kind of reason to be knocking up the doors of our humble abodes.”

Damn. The old molly was sharp. I had to give her that. I thought about Hugh’s chest still beneath my hands, frozen as if in death. And Landis, lying unconscious in the lodge. I didn’t want to tell her too much, preferably nothing.

“It’s a matter of utmost discretion,” I said softly. “You see… Hugh is, well, he’s my lover.”

Hugh, coming in the door, dropped his mitts.