Chapter 14: Chapter 14: The Hospital

After dinner, I needed a little more walking around. My legs were sore and stiff, but not cramping. They wanted to move. Even still, I was reminded, it was nice not having my knees crack, little, unusual pains flare up and vanish for reasons long forgotten. Youth has its benefits.

The sun was high in the sky, it was probably late afternoon. Time to get going. “Ladies, men, we are going to the hospital.”

El shook her head, “Why ever would you want to visit that terrible place?”

Well, I could have said, I’m interested in the impoverished state of your medicine, you lead-sugar consuming people. Or that I wanted the troops to see me as on their side, someone worth fighting for. Instead, I gave her the child’s version of aristocracy, “The men we saw off to battle this morning, many will be returning wounded. They did so to protect us. It’s our duty, indeed our moral obligation, to care for them.”

Blank stares from the girls. “Moral obligation?” asked Brinley.

I rose from the table, not in the mood to explain philosophy and ethics to her, or the other, decidedly more selfish, motivations. “You’ll work it out eventually. Let’s go!”

***

Low moans, whimpers, the acrid smell of bodily fluids drying, vinegar mixed in. Not as many screams as the morning I arrived. Yesterday. It was only yesterday I walked by this place, fearful of the voiced pain, even escorted by the guards. It felt like I’d been here for a month, not a day and a night. Yet here I returned.

It was an open affair. The tent had its canvas sides rolled up, probably for fresh air. Cots arranged in rows, orderly. Most were empty. Presumably, the beds that were full carried people from previous battles, too wounded to leave.

The girls were rubbing their hands, standing behind as if an invisible wall prevented them from following inside the tents. I wondered if this were their first time visiting such a place.

“Saph, come with me. Morry, stay with the girls.”

Sapphire, not as bright and happy as usual, nodded. Morry gave me a long appraisal, said nothing. I took Saph by the hand, we entered the tent, Tread at our heels.

“Your Royal Highness!” A woman, dark circles around her eyes and slumped shoulders, sounding annoyed at my presence, asked, “Whatever can we do for you?” In her hands, a bucket of water, white cloth resting on the side.

“It’s what can I do for you. I came to learn the conditions of this hospital and its patients and render what aid I can when the soldiers arrive back from battle.”

“This is no place for a lady of your status. I think it may prove upsetting.”

“I’m sure it will prove upsetting and that is exactly why I must understand how your hospital works, how the men who fight for my family are treated, what sufferings they have been put through.”

“Oh,” her face pulled back as she straightened, a touch surprised, probably because hospitals are unpleasant places for princesses, “one moment.” She called another person over, who took the bucket from her, then headed to a patient’s bed.

“Well, my lady, what can I show you?” Her look of resignation deepened. It was like she’d been told to babysit the brat instead of help people, which I guess she was.

“I’d like to learn of your methods of treatment and triage. Let’s start with triage. How do you assign beds to patients?”

She tilted her head at the question. Lifted an eyebrow. “It depends on the severity of the cases. When a soldier’s wounds are too much, we make them as comfortable as we can, but . . .”

“Do you have pain medication?”

“Medication?” she appeared thoughtful. “Yes. Mainly opium and mandrake powder. Currently, we have plenty, perhaps for many battles, depending on how well our army fairs. Come with me.”

I, Saph, and Tread followed, his sword clanking against bedposts from time to time. She led us to the front, not far from where we entered.

“This ward, well, this space,” she gestured at empty beds, “is for not very serious cases. Washing and dressing the wounds, mainly.” The area was clean, smelled faintly of vinegar. Beds had covers pulled back, one pillow to each, often with dark stains on them, and the floor was full of hay. In between some of the beds were large pottery containers, with lids.

“I’m guessing we haven’t had a battle for a few days?”

“A few days, yes. Hence this area is clear.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“How do you clean and bandage a wound?”

If she was taken aback, she didn’t show it. “Wash the blood away with water – the water having been boiled first and cooled down – then clean the wound with vinegar. You must be abrasive enough to cause discomfort in the patient, but they’re soldiers and can take it. Better pain now than sickness later. Then, stitching to close it up.”

“Stitching!” That was impressive. I had to reconsider the quality of their healthcare. These guys weren’t so backwards after all, employing techniques that provided some measure of sterilization. That was good. “What do you do for arrow wounds?”

“Arrows,” she sighed, “are the main problem we face. It’s not just the damage they cause, but where they lodge in the body, the hooks they use, whether the shaft breaks. While we have specific tools for removing arrows, it’s a tricky business. And,” she looked down, “tools for removing limbs, when necessary. Though you didn’t ask.” She turned and walked toward another section.

I followed, my companions behind me, Saph’s grip on my hand tightening. I caught up to the head nurse, “Hey, what about soap? Do you ever use soap to wash wounds?”

“Soap? No.” Her face relaxed as she drew from memory, “soaps and oils are used for some skin conditions, but battlefield medicine requires a different urgency.”

“What about keeping your hands clean?”

“Clean? Are you suggesting my hands are unclean?” Slightly angry face, taken aback.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean,” how to bring up the concept of germs without talking about germs? “uh, the reason you use vinegar, to prevent infection?”

“Yes.”

“Soap likewise prevents infection.”

Hand on her hip, the voice you use with children, “Oh, does it now?”

I held her gaze, remained calm, trying to reach this woman like an adult, but in the body of a child, “Yes, it does.”

“Vinegar drives away the malodors that cause disease. Soap merely removes dirt and oils. I don’t think it would make for good trauma medicine. Your Highness.”

“We got off on the wrong foot here. I’m Cayce,” I said, holding out my hand, “and you are?”

She almost backed up a step out of shock but took my hand in hers and performed a proper curtesy, “Reese, Your Highness, head nurse.”

Damnit, this was going all wrong. Now I’d forced formality on her. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. Just, ah,” I put my hand on hers, “I really want to help, and I don’t think formality is going to do us any favors once the injured start arriving. Call me whatever makes you feel comfortable, from idiot child to Cayce, it’s all good.”

Intake of breath from Sapphire, like she was desperate to stop laughter from bursting out. Nervous stepping from Tread. A cough.

“I . . . I see.”

“Ok, so no soap. What’s next? How do you treat the seriously injured?”

“Right over here, my lady.” Reese directed us to the next ward. It was less open than the first, but still enough to allow for air flow. More patients in beds here, most appeared to be resting or sleeping, some moaning softly. A few sat up to stare at us. Eyes glazed over. One was rubbing his left arm, above what would have been his wrist, but it was missing.

“Here we keep those who need more than a few hours of rest.”

“These men are on opium?”

“Excellent eyes. They’d be in substantial pain otherwise, Your Highness.”

This was getting ridiculous. “Cayce, just call me Cayce.”

Sapphire tugged on my hand, intervening, “Excuse us a moment, Head Nurse.” She pulled me back into the previous room and using a harsh whisper, “She can’t call you Cayce!”

“Why not?”

“If anyone heard her, like anyone who mattered – the dowager, for example – she’d be in serious trouble! You’re forcing her into a terrible situation!”

“Oh, my god. Ok, I got it.”

“What is wrong with you lately? And don’t say it’s because of the blow to your head!”

“I just . . .”

“You forgot all rules of etiquette? Your station? You’re the princess! Act like the princess.”

That got my blood boiling, “Well if I’m the princess, why does the dowager have so much power over me! Why can’t I make decisions that matter?”

“What?” She held my hands, slipping her fingers into my fists, unclenching them, “I get it now. Hey, hey, we’ll get through this. I’m sure your brother is ok out there.” She pulled me into a hug. “We’ll get back to normal after he takes care of the invaders.”

“No, Saph, that’s not . . .” her arms wrapped around me. No point in explaining that I meant exactly what I’d asked, and she was misunderstanding. Somehow, I had to stop making mistakes. Someone wiser than these girls would eventually figure it out, someone like the wizard.

We returned to the head nurse, and I asked her to continue her tour, which she did and brought us to the section where patients could no longer be saved. It was largely empty, except for two beds. The battle, after all, had been a few days prior. Those who’d been certain to die had died and their bodies moved out.

The first one was shaking, sweat running rivulets down his skin. I turned to Reese, “Sepsis?”

“I’m sorry, what is that?”

“Uh,” I tried to put into terms she’d understand. Pre-germ theory of disease explanation. “Poisoning of the blood?”

“Yes, my lady. How did you know?”

A once white cloth rested beside his bed, next to a bucket of water. I went over, picked it up, wet it, and laid it upon his forehead.

“I’m just guessing. Are his blood veins turning black? Moving away from his injuries.”

She lifted his shirt, he moaned. A blackening wound, deep, and so full of stench, I recoiled. A spiderweb of darkening veins outward from the wound. Without antibiotics, he was going to die. That couldn’t be cleaned or cut out.

“Vinegar?” Soap would have been the better choice. How would I convince these people of that, though? Soap works precisely because it binds to the lipids in bacterial cell walls, tearing them apart. Vinegar by its acid content, therefore requiring exposure time to kill bacteria.

“It was too deep for maggots. There was little we could do but give him opium.”

“That’s a shame.” Maggots? Though a part of me knew about their antibacterial properties, another part was really hoping I wouldn’t have to have anything to do with them.

“It’s war. Ah, I’m sorry Your Highness, the other man has passed.” She pulled his cover over his head.

Trying to remain focused, I turned to Reese. “Ok, let’s see if I understand. Incoming injured are initially separated into two groups, lightly wounded, severely wounded. If you can’t help them beyond offering comfort, they end up here.”

“Yes, basically that’s it. Those we can heal readily enough to return to fighting and those we cannot.”

That caught me by surprise. “Wait, how does that work? How do you heal someone quickly enough for battle?”

She looked at me if I’d asked her how to use a fork. “Healing magic.”

I felt stupid. Of course, where magic exists it will be used for healing. Why all the trouble to clean and dress wounds then? Why bother with medicines? I was missing something. “I see. I mean, I don’t. Excuse my ignorance, but why go to all this trouble with treating wounds when you can just use magic?”

Sapphire cleared her throat almost as an apology.

Reese nevertheless went on, “Your Highness has perhaps better access to healing magic than these men. We do what we can.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, I just, I’ve never-”

“It’s ok, it’s understandable that you wouldn’t know how a battlefield hospital works.” She smiled, “It’s encouraging that you’ve taken an interest. Perhaps you could speak with the prince about allocating more resources?”

“Yes, certainly! Honestly, this should be prioritized. I’m surprised it isn’t.”

Sapphire jumped in with, “Demands of war, I’d imagine.”

Someone raced into the area we were, looked at Reese, “Incoming! The troops are returning. And they look awful!”

“Listen,” I said, taking her by the arm before she ran off, “we can help, we can be your extra resources today. I can clean wounds – the less serious ones – the other girls, they can carry hot water, supplies.”

“Your Highness! This isn’t the time. I can’t train or help you now, I have to deal with the injured.” She shook me off.

“I’m trained in first aid and CPR.”

“What?” She looked desperately toward the entrance, where soldiers would be coming in, clearly not wanting this bother.

“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go over to the first room, to treat the lightly injured. I can clean their wounds and raise their spirits.”

Reese closed her eyes, deep breath in, opened, looking at me, “As you wish. But if you become overwhelmed-”

I acted as calmly as I could, gaze level, holding hers, “I won’t. I’ll just be cleaning wounds. Now go and run this hospital.”

“Only those not in mortal danger – and follow my instructions when I give them!”

“To the letter! Go, take care of your other problems.”

She took the messenger by the arm, “Take the princess to the back, get her and her companion dressed properly, then bring them to the front to help.”

“We’re fine as we are.”

Reese looked me up and down, “not in these dresses you aren’t.”

“Who cares about the dresses?”

“I care about the dresses!” Sapphire jumped in.

Reese actually smiled briefly and, still speaking to the man, “See to it, then come find me.”

As Reese headed off, it finally dawned on the orderly or whatever this man was just who we were, his face paled and he bowed low, mumbling, “Your Royal Highness.”

“Never mind all that,” I waved his bow away, “let’s get changed. Come on.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive these dresses are?” Sapphire squeezed my hand as we were led to what amounted to a wardrobe but was really clothing hanging off a clothesline. “I am not getting blood on this! And it’s my job to make sure yours is clean, too.”

“Oh Sapphire, they’re just dresses.” She almost looked like she wanted to punch me, “Ok, ok, we’ll hang them here. Far from the blood. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

The orderly mumbled something about clothing, then took off. I started pulling my dress up and over my head, when Saph shouted, “Tread! Turn around you idiot!” And she helped me with getting it off and getting into a stiff dress, then a smock overtop, sleeve protectors, and finally a bonnet that kept our hair out of the way and tied back. I did the same for her.

***

At first it felt like chaos. The injured streaming in, a crowd forming outside. Yet, the soldiers were veterans of this kind of war and treatment, the hospital staff well trained. If I hadn’t experienced it, I never would have believed the quick order they forced out of the mess. Somehow, the injured were separated. The moderate and severely injured were brought to the other room, where Reese worked on them, those needing less care were directed into the tent I worked.

I tried to turn it into a kind of factory – at least in my mind. Little cuts? Here, let me clean that for you! Go to station 2 to get sewn up.

But it didn’t work out that way. First, Giselle had fainted and El was waving a paper fan over her, becoming a frustrating obstacle outside the tent, probably exactly what Reese had foreseen.

“Saph! Can you do something about them?”

“It’s all the blood. They . . . this is new for them.”

“Yeah, I don’t care. Just get them out of the way. Uh, tell them to go boil some more water. Looks like we’re going to need a lot of it. They don’t have to be here, just get them doing something useful away from here.” She was about to head off, but I hastily added, “And take Tread with you, fetch some soap and hot water for me, please.”

“Soap? But-”

“Just do it. I know what the nurse said. She’s wrong.”

I moved my buckets – one with water, one with vinegar – over to a new patient. The water bucket was a filthy mess, probably full of bacteria, so I tossed some of the vinegar into it. Hopefully, it’d help.

He was cradling his left arm, blood caked on down to his elbow.

“Can I take a look? What happened?”

“Yeah. Arrow went into my arm. I pulled it out.”

Stunned, I asked, “You pulled out the arrow?”

“Yeah.”

An angry red cut, straight into the muscle, still bleeding but largely coagulated. I didn’t know how to clean it. Inside? “Uh, how deep did it go in?”

“Just the head.”

“The head?”

“Arrowhead.”

“Damn, but you are tough for pulling that out.”

He snorted. “It was that or leave it in.”

I washed off the caked blood and dirt around the wound, wondering what to do and fearing the answer. I had to rub vinegar inside the wound or it could get infected. I didn’t want to. “This, ah, this is going to hurt.”

“Ok.” He breathed in.

Having never done this before, I saturated the vinegar rag, pressed on his wound with my left hand, pushing it open, blood welled up and out and down his arm and I pressed the rag into the wound, squeezed it shut around the rag, and counted to ten. He didn’t make a sound. I pulled out the cloth, squeezed the wound closed to slow the blood flowing out, holding it. I berated myself for not washing his hand so he could hold it shut.

He reached up and held onto my left arm tightly, “You did good.”

My knees felt week, the room was too bright, and my vision was narrowing onto him. I wobbled, but he held me steady. Shit! I was fainting or having a panic attack. I concentrated on holding his wound closed, his flesh beneath my fingers, standing and not falling, standing, standing, and somehow I remained upright.

“It didn’t hurt. You did good. You’re white as a ghost though!” and he laughed, the chuckling seeming to draw me out of the attack and my vision expanded back to normal, legs felt more solid.

“Damn, I’m sorry. I’ve, ah, never done this before.” He had pale blue eyes. Rough, short-cropped beard.

“Don’t apologize for treating me. Or anyone. You did good.”

“I have to get, ah, here, let me just wash your hands so you can keep the wound closed. I have to get someone to sew you up.” I stuck his hand into the dirty water bucket, massaging the filth off his fingers, around his palm, the backside. Then I ran the vinegar cloth over it, and he took over.

Another nurse or orderly, a tall, thin man, was sewing up a soldier, so I asked him, “Can you stitch up that man over there after you’re done?”

“You’ll have to do it. I’m busy. We’re all busy.”

“But I haven’t ever stitched up anyone.”

“Well, you’re going to learn then. Here,” he gestured to a table beside him, “extra needles, thread. All been boiled.”

“No, really, I’m just here to clean-”

“Look, either you learn to stitch or you’re useless and get the hell out.” He paused and lowered to sneer angrily into my face, “This or whoring, eh? Better to learn this trade, let me tell you. Now get to stitching!”

I looked at the needles and thread and slowly picked up both. “Alright.”

“It’s ‘yes, Physician’ to you.” He shook his head, “I swear, if we weren’t so busy . . . Look, it’s just like sewing. You’ve done that, right? In your life, you’ve sewn cloth? As thick as you are, you can do this, too. Not too deep, just the skin. Observe. Look at what I’ve done. Now observe me do the next few stitches.”

I watched him work. He was skilled, quickly moving the curved needle through the skin on both sides of the cut, pulling the thread through rapidly. “Don’t go slow. You’re going to want to, but don’t. Quick and easy, less painful for everyone involved. Alright, I’m going to a new patient. Stop standing about like an idiot-child and get to work. Go!” He turned me around by the shoulders and smacked my butt.

I was too surprised to say anything and just went with it, back to my first patient. I swear to god, this soldier was tough as nails. He didn’t wince or comment but seemed mildly interested as I sewed him up. Oddly, my hands weren’t shaking, I didn’t faint, just concentrated on his arm like it was a piece of cloth that needed closing. Upon tying the knot, I exhaled deeply and finally breathed again.

“You’ll make a fine nurse, girl.” He patted me on the arm, winked at me.

“Uh, thanks. Hope you heal quickly!”

I moved on to others. There were so many, the nervousness eventually faded, and my movements became methodical. I asked the men their name and position, small talk if they could, while I worked, but most were relatively reticent. Probably concentrating on managing their pain. Or worried about their future. Or remembering the horror they just went through. Stitch them up, send them on their way.

Neither Sapphire, nor Tread, nor the other girls returned. I hadn’t seen Morry since entering the tent. I wanted the soap, so I was annoyed, yet there was nothing to do but keep treating these men.

“Ma’am?”

I was rinsing out my now dirty cloth into dirty water and looked up, “Yes?”

“My friend here, could you take a look?” His voice was calm.

The soldier on the cot was very pale, unconscious, breathing shallowly. I touched his neck, nothing. Longer, eventually finding a faint heartbeat. The one who spoke had his hands pressed on the patient’s right abdomen, just under the rib cage. “He’s not well. What happened?”

“He took a pike to the gut.”

“The part you’re pressing on?” His hands were full of dried and dark new blood, one hand overtop the other. The abdomen itself was oddly swollen below his hands.

“Yes.”

“Good man. Keep pressing on it. I’ll go get help.”

“You can’t help him?”

“Not me, but I’ll get someone quickly.” I made my way to the second part of the hospital through the crowd as fast as I could. Not so difficult being this small, slipping around orderlies and the wounded, though the place was filling up. We soon might run out of beds.

In the other room, Reese was kneeling by a soldier with a vicious gash along his right collarbone and chest. Getting closer, I stopped in my tracks. His collarbone was torn in half, sticking through the skin. It began to glow, orange then yellow and brighter until I had to avert my eyes. A cracking sound, an odd tearing sound. The light gone, I looked, the man’s face had a look of bliss, his chest and shoulder back to normal.

Reese slumped against the bed, left arm holding her head up.

I quickly knelt by her side, “Are you ok?”

“What are you doing here? I thought you agreed to help out in the front.”

“There’s a man who’s severely injured, likely lost a lot of blood. Spear wound to the right side of his abdomen.”

She sat back, her head up, gesturing with her right arm to the room, “Look around you. Everyone here needs my help. I can’t leave.”

“But he’s likely going to die.”

She pointed at a bed, “He’s going to die without my magic. Him over there, him too. That man beyond. I don’t have the energy to run back and forth. Or the time.” She stood. “Bring him if you can.” She moved on to another bed.

I returned to the bed where I’d left them. The soldier still had his hands pressed against his friend’s gut. I couldn’t find a pulse this time and, placing my hand over his mouth, he’d stopped breathing. The prone man’s lips began to turn blue, his face losing its color. Death on a cellular level. Or pixel level, if this were a game.

I put my hands atop the still living man’s, tried to catch his eyes. “I’m sorry, he’s passed.”

“Passed?”

“You did what you could. You brought him here.” I wanted to say ‘home,’ but didn’t want to overreach. This wasn’t his home after all. If he came from one of the towns on the other side of the river, that home was likely pillaged.

He didn’t move, just stared off. I took his hands in mine, moved them away from the dead man’s wound, squatting in front of him. His eyes focused on me, and he gave a brief smile, “If you don’t mind . . . I’ll sit here for a bit.”

I nodded. “By all means.” I stood, went back to work. Cleaning wounds, sewing wounds, a world of cold water, blood, bloody water and the all-pervasive vinegar smell sinking into my skin and just slightly keeping other, more worse odors, at bay.

At one point, on the way to dumping my ever-dirty bucket of water to give it a brief period of cleanliness, I caught the dowager scowling at me from beyond the tent. She didn’t enter, didn’t berate me, only stood there scowling. Whatever else, this taught me why I never received my soap.

***

I only noticed the sun setting because people lit torches and candles. By that time, I was on automatic. Wash, rinse, vinegar, clean the wound, stitch. Any cases more difficult, I grabbed the physician. The pain tolerance these men exhibited was greater than anything I’d experienced. But they were people who grew up getting beaten and lived in front of blades trying to maim and kill them. They were tough.

Few of them recognized me. Or if they did, they kept it to themselves. The blood and grime on my face, the rough clothes, these all kept me hidden. When a man said, “Princess Cayce?” to me, I smiled, but focused on cleaning them up, sewing them up.

Then it was dark, and I was exhausted and out of easy to treat patients. I rinsed off my hands and arms, preparing to go find Reese.

The physician grabbed my shoulder, jerked me around to face him, “You’re not leaving, girl. Come, I require your assistance.”

“Alright.”

He scowled and looked as if to raise the back of his hand but didn’t out of tiredness.

“Yeah, ‘alright Physician.’ Calm down. You got your honorific. Lead on.”

He brusquely straightened his posture with a “Hrmmph!” and walked away, further in, toward the more seriously injured. I followed. It was brighter here, more candles to see by.

I briefly thought about pulling rank but decided to let him work that out. Anyways, there were more people to treat. I could return to a hot meal and bath, but somehow that felt wrong. I don’t know, if this were a game, that choice might mar the outcome. Or I was just being an idiot. Par for the course. I didn’t, after all, advertise my presence. I guess I ended up helping out for the moral duty after all, rather than the selfish power base building. I sighed.

“Don’t sigh. You can rest when you’re dead. Come on, chin up and good posture. That’s a good girl.” We stopped in front of a table with a bunch of wicked looking tools – saws, odd looking forceps with wires on them of various shapes, sharp and blunt knives, plenty of bandages, fresh water and vinegar.

“Uh . . . ?”

“Arrows. We’re going to extract arrows from these unfortunate men. I’ll do the extracting. You’ll do exactly what I tell you to. You understand?”

“Yes, Physician.” No need to upset the man. Plus, I had no idea how arrows could be extracted. In movies, they always broke them off, pushed them through the other side. Yeah, thinking about it, that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Lots of extra damage doing that.

He had me clean around the arrow on our first patient. It was sticking out of the man’s chest. Then soak the area in vinegar. It was a younger man, his eyes glazed over.

“Opium,” said the physician. “All these men, on opium and mandrake powder. For this is a terribly painful procedure. This man is lucky, a little up, a little down, the arrow would have lodged in his lung and he’d be dead. Instead, it hit a rib straight on.”

“I see. Why don’t the magical healers deal with these cases?”

He shook his head, “Girl, everyone new asks that. We only have two such healers and they are exhausted. Healing by magic drains you. I don’t envy them.” He took the forceps-looking device with a wire, placed it along the arrow rod, and pushed in. “Yes, I can feel it, the head is lodged into the bone. This will be a little tricky. Hold him steady!”

I placed my hands on the man’s chest, his gaze slowly met mine and he smiled. After more adjusting, the physician pulled hard, the soldier’s chest bulged at the arrow point, I closed my eyes, and was suddenly pushing too hard on the man’s chest after the arrow yanked out.

“Don’t ever close your eyes, foolish girl! This is dangerous work. You could lose a hand. Or an eye.” The forceps held the arrow but not between the metal ends. He didn’t pinch it out. Rather, he’d somehow looped the wire around the arrow and that got the arrow out. Blood dripped from it. “Well, clean him up. Get vinegar into that wound.”

I shook my head and got to work. “Yes, sir, sorry. I’ve, uh, never seen that before.”

“Of course you haven’t. At your age, you probably haven’t seen much more than udders on a cow. Ok, when you’re done, stitch him up and we’ll move onto the next man.”

And so it went. Depending on where the arrow was in the body, he’d choose the appropriate tool to extract it. With each man, he did so quickly and evenly. I washed, I vinegared, I stitched, he berated me, we slowly moved through the room.

Oddly, his insults helped. It prevented me from lingering on the horror in front of my eyes, the horror of our treatment. Every arrow we pulled out, we caused so much more damage. Good thing they were on opium – imagine vinegar being roughly rubbed into your deep, open wound. I kinda wanted some opium myself but had to keep my wits about me in case the dowager had something planned.

As the night wore on, and no one came for me, I wondered. Clearly, she’d instructed my ladies in waiting to stay away. Even my guards hadn’t returned. Something was up. Unfortunately, again, I just didn’t know enough to know what traps she could be arranging.

That gave me an idea. “Hey,” I asked in soft voice, “do you know why we are having this war?”

“Bah! To keep me in top form, I imagine. Kings are greedy and want more. Always more! Land, power, control. He’s dead, though, the king. Overall, not a bad ruler. Not great. The prince will be the next king and he likes fighting, so we’ll be in for more of this nastiness. Like I said, girl, this profession is better than the other one you could be doing. The whore’s life is maybe less bloody, but no less tiresome.”

Another dead end. I almost wanted to ask him follow up questions to that last comment, like ‘How do you know that, sir?’ but refrained. Last thing I needed was this guy lecturing me on sex. It did bother me, a little, that he’d pegged me at either an orderly or a prostitute. What? I couldn’t flip burgers?

I was thinking to ask him how he got his training when from behind, Reese’s voice said, “Ah, I see you’ve found our most skilled arrow surgeon. Physician Markin here is famous for his advanced technique.”

“It has truly been an experience. How are you? You must be exhausted! The, uh, Physician Markin explained to me how draining healing magic is.”

“Girl!” he smacked me across the top of my head, “You will refer to the head nurse by her proper title.”

“Oh my word, Markin!” Reese pushed herself in between us, “I take it you weren’t formerly introduced?”

“Well, I can’t be expected to learn all their names until they’ve proven themselves. I will admit, she works hard and-”

“Master Physician Markin,” she cut him off, “may I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Cayce.”

The color fled his face, his jaw dropped open and I smiled, blood caking my arms, streaks of sweat, red and black, running down my face, dirt under my nails, I picked up the edges of my filthy, stiff dress, and gave him my best curtsey, offering him my hand, “A true pleasure, Master Physician.”

“I . . . I . . . apolo-”

“Forget it,” I waved him off, “you’re doing good work here.”

Even through the dark circles under her eyes, the sweaty, matted hair, Reese broke into a smile.