Arc 7: Chapter 12: The Good Doctor
We found ourselves in a part of the town near the northern wall, a neighborhood for craftsmen, laborers, and local artisans. We navigated narrow streets lined in steeple-roofed houses and narrow shops. Even here, I noted how neat the settlement was. Straight streets, good homes, handsome courtyards with fountains and public gardens. The section we stood in had more claustrophobic alleys, but even then I didn’t see signs of rampant poverty or hardship.
Part of me had expected something else. My imagination conjured sick beggars lurking in the alleys, dour inquisitors standing guard like shrouded wraiths at every corner, the distant wails of tortured sinners echoing up from the sewer grates.
I hadn’t forgotten my time beneath Rose Malin. It still played prominently in my nightmares. Sometimes, I thought I’d left part of myself down in that stinking darkness, lost through the endless days of questions while I waited to die, or worse.
But Tol wasn’t like that, at least on the surface. I considered that Vicar’s story about the small city’s dark history had something to do with my disjointed expectations. Only a few generations ago, this had been the epicenter of horror and pestilence. Now, it looked like a fine enough place to live in comfort and quiet, ignoring all the traders and soldiers passing through for the resettlement of Kingsmeet.
There were signs of decay, of age, a weathering that told me this had once been a very fine place long ago and now it was… not bad, but faded. An old masterwork in cold oils, set against a backdrop of quiet white.
“Here.” Vicar, still wrapped inside Geoffrey the Pilgrim, stopped in front of a three story townhouse, one of the largest on the street. “She lived here before. If she’s still in town, then this is where we’ll find the good doctor.”
“Doctor? You didn’t tell me she’s a physik.” It put me in mind of Olliard of Kell. He’d seemed a good sort, and part of me believed he was at heart, but we’d ended up at odds in the end. Perhaps because he was a good sort.
“She is a polymath. You will be hard pressed to find a subject this woman doesn’t have some degree of expertise in.” Vicar started up the stairs. One of the boards was loose and creaked under his boot. “Let me do the talking.”
I waited at the bottom of the steps while Vicar rapped on the door. I felt a shiver that wasn’t just frozen air on my neck. It’s watching again. Just as I’d been warned, the Scadudemon had kept following me after that night, adding itself to the usual train of ghosts who never seemed far behind.
I would take Vicar’s advice and ignore it, though I couldn’t help looking around. An old woman stood on her front porch a few houses down, watching grandchildren play in the snow. She looked in our direction. I gave her a friendly wave, remembering Vicar’s words about Priory spies.
They could be anyone. Even a kindly old grandmother.