Poison Study (7 page)

  The medic returned with a tray full of shiny medical instruments that included a jar of a substance that looked like jelly. She scrubbed my arms with alcohol, making the wounds bleed and sting. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

  “They’re all superficial, except this one,” the medic said as she pointed to the elbow I had used to break the glass. “This wound needs to be sealed.”

  “Sealed?” It sounded painful.

  The medic picked up the pot of jelly. “Relax. It’s a new method for treating deep lacerations. We use this glue to seal the skin. Once the wound heals, the glue is absorbed into the body.” She scooped out a large amount with her fingers and applied it to the cut.

  I winced at the pain. She pinched my skin together, holding it tight. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

  “It was invented by the Commander’s cook, of all people. There are no side effects and it tastes great in tea.”

  “Rand?” I asked, surprised.

  She nodded. Still holding the skin together, she said, “You’ll need to wear a bandage for a few days and keep the cut dry.” She blew on the glue for a while before releasing her grip. She bandaged my arm. “Valek wants you to stay here tonight. I’ll bring you dinner. You can get some rest.”

  I thought eating might require too much effort, but when she brought the hot food, I realized I was starving. A strange taste in my tea caused me to lose my appetite in an instant.

  Someone had poisoned my tea.

Chapter Seven

  I waved down the medic.

  “There is something in my tea,” I cried. I began to feel light-headed. “Call Valek.” Maybe he had an antidote.

  She stared at me with her large brown eyes. Her face was long and thin. Longer hair would soften her features, her short style merely made her resemble a ferret.

  “It’s sleeping pills. Valek’s orders,” she said.

  I let out a breath, feeling better. The medic gave me an amused look before she left. My appetite ruined, I shoved the food aside. I didn’t need sleeping pills to help me give in to the exhaustion that lapped up my remaining strength.

  When I woke the next morning, there was a blurry white blob standing at the end of my bed. It moved. I blinked and squinted until the image sharpened into the short-haired medic.

  “Did you have a good night?”

  “Yes,” I said. The first night in a long time free of nightmares, although my head felt as if wool had been shoved into it, and a rank taste in my mouth didn’t promise for a good morning.

  The medic checked my bandages, made a noncommittal sound and told me breakfast would be a while.

  As I waited, I scanned the infirmary. The rectangular room held twelve beds, six on each side, and spaced so that they formed a mirror image. The sheets on the empty beds were pulled tight as bowstrings. Orderly and precise, the room annoyed me. I felt like rumpled bedding, no longer in control of my soul, my body, or my world. Being surrounded by neatness offended me, and I had a sudden desire to jump on the empty beds, knocking them out of line.

  I was farthest from the door. Two empty beds lay between the three other patients and me on my side of the room. They were sleeping. I had no one to talk to. The stone walls were bare. Hell, my prison cell had more interesting decorations. At least it smelled better in here. I took a deep breath. The clean, sharp smell of alcohol mixed with disinfectant filled my nose, so different from the dungeon’s fetid air. Much better. Or was it? There was another scent intermixed with the medical aroma. Another whiff and I realized that the sour odor of old fear emanated from me.

  I shouldn’t have survived yesterday. Brazell’s guards had me cornered. There was no escape. Yet I had been saved by a strange buzzing noise that had erupted from my throat like an unruly, uncontrollable offspring. A primal survival instinct that had echoed in my nightmares.

  I avoided thoughts about that buzz because it was an old acquaintance of mine, but the memories kept invading my mind.

  Examining the past three years, I forced myself to concentrate on when and where the buzzing had erupted, and to ignore the emotions.

  The first couple of months of Brazell’s experiments had merely tested my reflexes. How fast I could dodge a ball or duck a swinging stick, harmless enough until the ball had turned into a knife and the stick into a sword.

  My heart began to pound. With sweaty palms I fingered a scar on my neck. No emotion, I told myself sternly, flicking my hands as if I could push away the fear. Pretend you’re the medic, I thought, asking questions to gain information. I imagined myself dressed in white, calmly sitting next to a fevered patient while she babbled.

  What came next? I asked the patient. Strength and endurance tests, she answered. Simple tasks of lifting weights had turned into holding heavy stones above her head for minutes, then hours. If she dropped the stone before the time was up, she was whipped. She was ordered to clutch chains dangling from the ceiling, holding her weight inches above the floor, until Brazell or Reyad gave permission to let go.

  When was the first time you heard the buzzing? I prompted the patient. She had released the chains too early too many times and Reyad became furious. So he forced her outside a window six floors above the ground, and let her hold on to the ledge with her hands.

  “Let’s try it again,” Reyad said. “Now that we’ve raised the stakes, maybe you’ll last for the whole hour.”

  The patient stopped speaking. Go on, tell me what happened, I prodded. Her arms had been weak from spending most of the day hanging from the chains. Her fingers were slick with sweat; her muscles trembled with fatigue. She panicked. When her hands slipped off the ledge, she howled like a newborn. The howl mutated and transformed into a substance. It expanded out, enveloped and caressed her skin on all sides. She felt as if she was nestled in a warm pool of water.

  Next thing she remembered she was sitting on the ground. She glanced up at the window. Reyad watched her with his face flushed. His perfect blond hair an unusual mess. Delighted, he blew her a kiss.

  The only way she could have survived the fall was by magic. No. Absolutely not, she insisted. It had to have been some strange wind currents or landing the right way. Not magic.

  Magic, a forbidden word in Ixia since Commander Ambrose came to power. Magicians had been treated like disease-riddled mosquitoes. They were hunted, trapped and exterminated. Any hint or suggestion that someone had magic was a death sentence. The only chance to live was to escape to Sitia.

  The patient was growing agitated, and the other occupants of the room were staring at her…Me. Small doses, I told myself. I could handle the memories in modest quantities. After all, I hadn’t been hurt by the fall, and Reyad was sweet to me for a while. But his kindness only lasted until I started failing his tests again.

  To distract myself from the memories, I counted the cracks in the ceiling. I was up to fifty-six when Valek arrived.

  He carried a tray of food in one hand and a file folder in the other. I eyed the steaming omelet with suspicion. “What’s in it?” I demanded. “More sleeping pills? Or another new poison?” Every muscle in my body had stiffened. I tried unsuccessfully to sit up. “How about giving me something to make me feel good for a change?”

  “How about something to keep you alive?” Valek asked. He pulled me to a sitting position and offered a pipette filled with my antidote. Then he placed the tray of food on my lap.

  “No need for sleeping pills. The medic told me you picked up on that taste last night.” Valek’s voice held a note of approval. “Taste your breakfast and tell me if you would allow the Commander to eat it.”

  Valek hadn’t been exaggerating when he said I’d have no days off. Sighing, I smelled the omelet. No unusual odors. I cut the omelet into quarters, examining each for any foreign material. Taking a small piece from each section, I put them into my mouth one at a time and chewed slowly. Swallowing, I waited to discern any aftertaste. I sniffed the tea and stirred it with a spoon before sipping. Rolling the liquid over my tongue, I detected a sweet taste before I swallowed.

  “Unless the Commander doesn’t like honey in his tea, I wouldn’t reject this breakfast.”

  “Then eat it.”

  I hesitated. Was Valek trying to trick me? Unless he had used a poison I hadn’t learned, the breakfast was clean. I ate every morsel, and then drained the tea while Valek watched.

  “Not bad,” he said. “No poisons…today.”

  One of the medics brought another tray to Valek. This tray held four white cups of an olive-colored liquid that smelled like mint. Replacing my breakfast tray with the new one, Valek said, “I want to go over some tasting techniques. Each of these cups contains mint tea. Taste one.”

  Clasping the closest mug, I took a sip. An overwhelming flavor of mint pervaded my mouth. I choked.

  Valek grinned. “Taste anything else?”

  I attempted another mouthful. The mint dominated. “No.”

  “All right. Now pinch your nose tight and try again.”

  After some fumbling with my bandaged arm, I managed to gulp the tea while holding my nose. My ears popped. I marveled at the taste. “Sweet. No mint.” My voice sounded silly so I released my grip. Immediately, the mint eclipsed the sweetness.

  “Correct. Now try the others.”

  The next cup of mint tea hid a sour taste, the third had a bitter flavor, and the fourth was salty.

  “This technique works for any drink or food. Blocking your sense of smell eliminates all flavors except sweet, sour, bitter and salt. Some poisons are recognizable by one of those four flavors.” Valek paged through his folder. “Here is a complete list of human poisons and their distinct tastes for you to memorize. There are fifty-two known poisons.”

  I looked through the inventory of poisons. Some of them I had already smelled. My Love was at the top. The list would have saved me from the dizziness, nausea, headaches and occasional delusional effects of the poison. I brandished the paper in the air. “Why didn’t you just give me this list instead of making me sample My Love?”

  Valek stopped paging through his folder. “What would you learn from a list? Kattsgut tastes sweet. What does that taste like? Honey sweet? Apple sweet? There are different levels of sweetness and the only way to learn them is to taste them yourself. The only reason I’m giving you this list is because the Commander wants you working as soon as possible.” Valek snapped his folder shut. “Just because you aren’t going to taste those poisons now doesn’t mean you won’t in the future. Memorize that list. Once the medic releases you from the infirmary, I will test your knowledge. If you pass, then you can start work.”

  “And if I fail?”

  “Then I’ll be training a new taster.”

  His voice was flat, monotone, but the force behind it caused my heart to lock.

  Valek continued. “Brazell will be in the castle for another two weeks. He has more business to attend to. I can’t have you guarded all day, so Margg is preparing a room for you in my suite. I’ll come back later to see when you’ll be discharged.”

  I watched Valek walk to the door. He glided across the room, balanced and athletic. I shook my head. Thinking about Valek was the absolute worst thing I could be doing. Instead, I focused on the list of poisons clutched in my hand. I smoothed the paper out and hoped my sweat hadn’t smeared the ink. Relieved that the writing was legible, I began to study.

  I barely noticed when the medic came to check on my arm. She must have taken the tray of teacups, because it disappeared from my lap. I had blocked out all the noise and commotion of the infirmary so that I jumped when a plate containing a round pastry was thrust under my nose.

  The arm that held the plate led to Rand. His grin was gleeful.

  “Look what I smuggled past Medic Mommy! Go ahead. Eat it before she comes back.”

  The warm dessert smelled like cinnamon. Melted white icing dripped down the sides, causing the cake to stick to my fingers when I picked it up. I examined the pastry closely, inhaling the aroma in search of a foreign smell. One small bite revealed multiple layers of dough and cinnamon.

  “My God, Yelena, you don’t think I’d poison it?” Rand’s face was pinched tight, as if he was in pain.

  Exactly what I’d been thinking, but admitting it to Rand would offend him. His motives for being here were unclear. Seeming nice and friendly, he could be holding a grudge over his friend Oscove, the previous food taster. But then again, he was a potential ally. Who better to have on my side? Rand, the cook, whose food I’d be eating on a daily basis, or Valek, the assassin, who had a nasty tendency of poisoning my meals?

  “Occupational hazard,” I tried.

  He grunted, still put out. I took a big bite of the pastry.

  “Wonderful,” I said, appealing to his ego to give me another chance.

  Rand’s face softened. “Good, isn’t it? My latest recipe. I take a long strip of pastry dough, cover it with cinnamon, roll it up into a ball, bake it, and then spread the icing on while it’s hot. I’m having some trouble with the name though. Cinnamon cake? Ball? Swirl?” Rand stopped his rambling to find a chair. After quite a bit of twisting to compensate for his unbendable left leg, he finally settled into a comfortable position.