The clinic took up the first floor of a small stone house just off the plaza. The woodwork of the lintel was worn, and the door itself scarred, but the walk was fresh swept, and flowers lined the verges. The was no sign, and it was one of the neighbours who helped me.

  “Aye,” he said, “Oliva. Hedge witch. You’ll find her there.” He pointed.

  Two small silver bells jangled as I opened the door. I stood in an anteroom with benches on three sides, a small table in the centre, and little else. A closed door led to the back. The benches were occupied with several adults and children. Two of the children were coughing.

  “Hello, the house,” I called.

  A woman opened the door, drying her hands on a towel.

  “Do you have my herbs?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I’m here to find Oliva.”

  “And you have. But I’m very busy. Come back some time. With some radilla, if you can find it.”

  I heard quiet moaning through the open door.

  “May I help? I have some ability to heal.”

  She looked me up and down. “This is a bit more than you can handle, I think.”

  I passed her my license wordlessly. She glanced at it, and then her eyes widened.

  “I—” she swallowed, “—my clients cannot afford a Mage, my lady. This is not a rich neighbourhood.”

  “I’m aware,” I said, “I live just up the street.” I inclined my head at the open door. “Will it hurt if I look?”

  On a low cot was a young boy of no more than six, crying quietly. Occasionally he would gasp. His forearm had been crushed; the limb was deformed with an angulation. A fragment of bone penetrated the skin, and blood had pooled on a rough dressing. There was a degloving injury of his hand. A woman knelt next to him, eyes red and face white.

  “Carriage or cart?” I asked.

  “A cart. How did you know? asked Oliva.

  “Nothing much else causes wounds like this.” I looked at the mother. “Hello?”

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  She looked at me.

  “I’m a Healer, Madam. I would like to help your son. What’s his name?”

  “Jorn.” She looked at me uncomprehendingly. “What is a Healer doing in Tarnto Street?”

  “I live here.”

  “Why would you help?”

  “Hecate commands, Madam. I heed her call.” I turned my gaze to the child. “With your leave?”

  She nodded slowly, eyes never leaving me. I turned to the boy.

  “Jorn,” I said gently. His eyes opened. “I’m Circe. I’m going to help you with that arm.”

  “It hurts.”

  “I bet. Let’s see if we can do something about that first.”

  I focused on the arm, probing deeply until I saw the shattered bone, bleeding vessels, and nerves. I followed the courses of the radial and ulnar nerves up the arm to the biceps and triceps and gently wrapped a spell around them. I squeezed. Jorn twitched slightly and then relaxed.

  “Better?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good. Now just look up at the ceiling for a minute, will you?”

  He gazed up, and I reached out to take the arm above and below the break. I pulled along the axis of the arm and then straightened the fracture. There was a spurt of arterial blood, and the mother cried out, but Jorn lay still. I held the limb in position and built up a spell along the arm from elbow to fingertips. The bleeding ceased, and the wound began to close; I focused on the bone, molding it and ensuring that the fragments remained aligned. Then I closed the skin and removed the nerve block.

  “Hey.” Jorn jumped. “That feels buzzy.” He shook his arm and looked at it. “It’s better.” He looked at me “Can I go home now?”

  “Sure, as long as you stay far away from any carriages,” I said.

  “Lady Mage,” the woman was on her knees, “what do I owe you?” She looked up and wiped tears from her face. “I—it may a little time, but—”

  “A prayer of thanks to Hecate would be welcome,” I said.

  “But—”

  “And if you wouldn’t mind, can you ask the next patient to step in?” I turned to Oliva. “I hope I do not overstep my welcome, Madam.”

  “Goddess, no,” she said.

  Most of the other cases were trivial. The exception was an older woman with abdominal pain who turned out to have acute cholecystitis. I dissolved her stones, treated the incipient infection, but shook my head doubtfully at Oliva.

  “She’ll be back, sure as fate,” I said. “Might be a year, maybe more.”

  “I’ve warned her about her diet,” said Oliva. “Perhaps she’ll listen after this.” She looked at a small pile of coins on the table and pushed them towards me.

  I pushed them back. “These are yours. How else can you afford to run this place?”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Look, Oliva: word will get out, yes?”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Well, when it does, I would expect some wealthier clients. And those we can charge in full. And—” I held up a hand to forestall any protests, “—split the proceeds. Agreed?”

  “Did the Goddess direct you here, Lady”?

  “Not really,” I said, “I try not to speak to her too often. She has a twisted sense of humour.”

  By the time I returned to our house, Aelyn had finished at the Academy. He was standing in the front hall, examining a collection of casseroles, baked goods, and baskets of fruits. He looked at me with a baffled expression.

  “What is all this?” he asked.

  “A welcome to the community,” I said. I lifted a lid and inhaled deeply. “Wow. Well, we can’t eat all this ourselves. What do say we meet the neighbours?”