"Please."
Hanabaptiste blinked, her mind foggy. Shaking her head to clear it, she opened the door and stepped aside, letting the big man in. It was late, and while she could hear the bands of sailors whoring and gambling further away, the street was empty. "Alright. Come in." She stepped aside, letting the blond man inside.
"Is there a place I could put him?" He asked, almost sheepishly.
Hanabaptiste went to her cot, folding the quilts and moving them to one of the chairs. She gestured, and the man placed wrapped bundle on the cot. Moving the (sailcloth?) wrappings, she saw the face of a young boy, golden curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. He was pale, and shifted and turned, muttering to himself in a language she didn't know. Behind her, the man stood perfectly still, watching intently. The only light in the room was from the street lamps outside, sputtering a faded yellow that had been collected from the days sunshine. It was hard to make out detail in the gloom.
"Lad's been shot in the side three days ago. I've been keeping it clean but I don't know how to do anything else."
Hanabaptiste straightened abruptly, and went to the fireplace. Placing a fresh log in, she muttered something and a blaze of fire engulfed the log, lighting the room abruptly. Returning to the patients side, she threw away the rest of the coverings and pulled back the bandages. The wound was festering, pus oozed when she withdrew the bandage. Turning her head sharply away, Hanabaptiste concentrated on breathing, trying to ignore the smell. When she attended to the wound again, her face was a mask. This will not get to me.
"There is a well down the street. If I am to to attend to this boy, I will need fresh water. The bucket is by the table."
She turned back, waiting. Her heart pounded as the man fetched the bucket and left. She'd helped pirates in the past, but it was unusual that only one man had arrived, instead of five. They would crowd around her, questioning and challenging everything she did, suspicious of her (admittedly flimsy) expertise. And she was treating what looked like the cabin boy. Strange.
Going to her bag, she withdrew the small case that held her medical supplies. Some of it was normally found in a doctors bag, but much of it was scrounged together, implements and medicines that she had found use for as her time as a hedgemage. It wasn't much, but she'd been able to get by with it.
Returning to the patients side, she began further examining the wound. Though the stitching was crude, it had held. Taking a pair of scissors, she cut away the stitches, revealing the wound. Taking a small knife from her case, she cut off a sliver of flesh from the edge of the wound. Walking to the fire, she cast an inspection spell and threw the flesh into the fire, hoping to discover more about the patients condition and determine if she could use his inborn magic to expedite the healing. The fire jumped again, and the flames changed to a greenish yellow briefly, before returning to a reddish silver. Hanabaptiste, gasped, frowned, and looked back at the patient. He seemed like any ordinary child.
The door opened again, the man carrying the bucket of water in one hand.
"Why is there a shapeshifter on my bed?"
The man gingerly set down the bucket, walking over to Hanabaptiste. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and looked deeply into her eyes. His face was haggard and lined with worry. Dark bags circled his eyes.
"I've sworn to protect and raise the lad. Please. There's nothing left I can do. Help him."
She wasn't a mage. She wasn't even a doctor. But she had a job to do.
"Very well. Wet a clean rag and bring it to me, then set the kettle to boil."
She returned to the boys side, chewing her lower lip. She wasn't sure she could use a regular healing spell, those relied on it's subject being human so the spell could target and heal the specific parts of the body. What she could do, however....
First she had to remove the ball.
Cleaning the patients wound with the rag, Hanabaptiste removed the pus and discharge, exposing the raw, angry wound. Gently pressing her fingertips against the wound, she cast Hyur's Fifth Removal, causing the ball and any splinters of lead left in the bloodstream to slowly work its way back out. The man swore as the wound began bleeding heavily again, but it stopped once the ball and a few bits of metal lay bloodily in her hand.
Cleaning her hands with a rag, she handed him the shrapnel.
"A memento."
Taking the kettle from the fire with the metal hook, she poured the water into a wooden bowl. Taking a satchel of powder, she measured out a dosage and mixed it into the water, mixing it into a thick paste.
"This is a powder made from the shell of a Moss Island turtle. They have magical properties that bend and shape magic. It's typically used in enchantment when trying to bind two or more magics together."
Taking the bowl to the patients side, she gently smeared the paste onto the boys side, thickly covering the wound, wheels still turning in her head as she figured out what to do next. A trained mage would have known how to modify a healing spell on the fly, but she didn't have the vocabulary to even begin to figure out how to do it. So she'd have to get inventive.
Taking a length of thread, she cut it, saying, "I bought this from the market yesterday."
Working one end into the paste, she handed the other to the man.
"May I see your hand, please."
Brow furrowed, he complied.
"This will only hurt a moment." Hanabaptiste drew the knife across the palm of his hand and pressed the the thread into the cut, smearing a dollop of the paste on top.
"This will hopefully create an umbilical between the two of you, letting the spell work itself downstream from you to the boy. This way I can work healing magic on you, and the effects will go to the boy. It'd have been simpler to enchant the paste directly, but I can't recall the conversion clause. Anyway, a moment, please."
She chanted steadily for a moment, looking intently at the cut. Berlin felt his hand grow uncomfortably warm, like holding it too close to a fire. Eventually, just when he was about to pull away, the sensation stopped.
Hanabaptiste returned to the patient, scraping away the paste. The wound was completely healed, raw skin flushed red where the jagged injury had been. Berlin checked his hand, the end of the string was red, but his hand was fine.
"There. He shouldn't run or do anything strenuous for about a week. If that skin tears, the entire spell might come undone and he'd bleed out on you. That said, once the week passes and the body heals naturally, it'll be fine. Make sure he eats meat and fish, he needs the animal humors to help replenish the blood. Wine, too, so long as it's watered down and with meals. We can let him sleep for now."
Hanabaptiste and the man sat down at the table. The sun was starting to rise.
"Can I uh, can I get you some tea?"
The man smiled, so she quickly prepared a pot of tea and returned with it, setting a bowl of sugar cubes next to them.
"My name is Hanabaptiste. And you are?"
