Wonderful set On Alchemy aside on her bed and reached for The Healer’s Garden. She thumbed carefully through its pages, tracing the faded sketches of leaves and roots, the neat lists of tinctures, salves, and poultices. She had found the book in Pagan’s cave and slipped it quietly into her pack when they left. There had to be something in here that could help Daddy’s bruise. He’d had it for as long as she could remember—a dark blotch spreading across his forehead, swollen and green and purple, like a wound that refused to forgive.
Bright said Daddy had gotten it when a boulder from Giant Wrath struck him—before she was born. Some wounds, she thought, just never healed. Bright still limped from his own battles—with Wrath, and later with Plague.
Then there was her. She didn’t have a bruise or a limp, but she was broken just the same. Maybe it was from their time in the cave—rationing every morsel of food while Plague ravaged the world outside. Maybe it had started even before that.
By all reason, she should have been happy. Daddy had found work in Fair-Speech, and they had a lovely home to live in—a kitchen as nice as the one in the Valley, and her own room. Mama had taken her out to buy new clothes, and there were so many delicious, interesting foods here.
Mama and Daddy had gone out again. Every day, Comfort discovered a new place to take them—a different restaurant, new flavors to taste. After their long confinement in the cave, it warmed Wonderful just to see Mama smile again. And yet, something still felt very wrong. Vanity was bright, exciting—full of sights and sounds she’d never known—but beneath it all, the people felt hollow. Their smiles were wide, but their eyes empty.
A wave of dizziness swept over her. She’d lie down—just for a minute or two.
***
Seeker and Beautiful strolled through the streets of Vanity Fair, where tents and banners blazed with color beneath the sun—some striped, others woven with intricate designs. On either side of the road stood booths overflowing with goods, vendors crying out to the passing crowds.
“Where is it today?” Seeker called, raising his voice above the din of the Fair.
“Comfort told me about a place that makes excellent grilled fish,” Beautiful replied.
“You already had fish,” Seeker said, wrinkling his nose.
“That was fish stew,” she countered, eyes dancing. “Besides, we ate what you wanted yesterday. Today’s my turn.”
They passed a juggler and a fire-breather. Beautiful flinched as the flames burst out, stopping only inches from her. Down the street, someone was leading an ape by a rope.
“I miss Bright,” Beautiful said softly.
Seeker nodded. Then, trying to lighten the mood, he added, “I bet Wonderful could even find her guinea pig here.”
“Here,” said Beautiful, pointing down an alley as they reached the edge of the Fair.
A sign caught Seeker’s eye: Ye Olde Books. He drifted toward the doorway, but Beautiful tugged his hand.
“I’m hungry,” she said with a small pout. “And you already have too many books.”
Seeker let himself be led away—reluctantly. But he knew he’d be back. There was a book in the window that had caught his eye.
The restaurant was small and cozy, with tables both inside and on the porch outside. A wooden sign displayed the menu near the door. Beautiful pointed at it.
“I told you they’d have food you like too,” she said, smiling.
***
[Authors note: Where is Comfort? She has her own place in Vanity and has parted ways with Seeker, Beautiful, and Wonderful for a time. I hear she’s been spending her days with Thoughtful, who also dwells in Vanity. What they’re doing, my friend—that lies beyond the scope of this dream]
***
“Have you seen Wonderful?” Beautiful asked, setting down the basket. “I brought home food for her.”
Seeker shook his head. “No. She hasn’t come out of her room.”
“Wonderful!” Beautiful called, hurrying down the hall. She knocked softly. “Wonderful?” Silence. She eased the door open and stepped inside. When she emerged moments later, worry was etched deep in her face.
“She’s burning up.”
Seeker stepped into the room. Wonderful lay curled beneath her blanket, shivering. Beads of sweat glistened on her brow. Her lips moved, murmuring words he couldn’t make out.
Seeker sank beside the bed. “Wonderful?”
Beautiful appeared with a cup of water and a few capsules. She eased Wonderful upright, her movements careful and practiced. “Here,” she murmured, pressing the rim to her lips. “Take these. They’ll make you feel better.”
–
Seeker stayed beside her through the night, wiping her brow with a damp cloth. Beautiful entered quietly.
“Get some rest,” she said. “I’ll look after her.”
–
Days slipped by. At night, Seeker kept watch by Wonderful’s bedside. By day, Beautiful tended to her while Seeker worked in Fair-Speech. She gave Wonderful the medicine she’d bought in Vanity, but there was no change—no flicker of improvement.
***
“I’m going to find Mr. Skill,” Seeker said.
Beautiful looked up sharply, but before she could answer, he went on.
“He’s one of the King’s men. Good-Confidence told me about him back in the Valley of the Shadow of Death—the healer who tended the heroes after their battle with Plague. They were half-dead when they reached him, but he made them whole again.
Surely, he wasn’t the same Mr. Skill Christiana had sought in the Book Beautiful gave him—perhaps a descendant, carrying on the work of his forebear.
Seeker pushed through the tangled lanes and streets, heedless of the noise and bustle around him. All his thoughts were on his daughter. At last, he stopped before a small house—this was it. He was certain. He knocked once. Then again, harder.
A young man opened the door—his eyes calm yet burdened with a wisdom far older than his years.
“Yes?” he asked quietly.
“Mr. Skill?” Seeker’s voice trembled. “Please—come with me. My daughter is dreadfully ill.”
Mr. Skill stepped inside without a word and soon returned with a leather satchel in hand. Then, without hesitation, he followed Seeker through the crowded streets back to his home.
Mr. Skill took Wonderful’s wrist gently between thumb and forefinger. He bent close, listening to her breath—and then inhaled, as if testing the air itself. His eyes drifted shut in concentration.
“You were wise to come,” he said at last. “This is no sickness the physicians of Vanity can cure.”
He straightened and looked to Seeker. “I will leave you medicine. Give it to her once a day, and she will recover.” He reached into his satchel and drew out several small packets of bitter-smelling powder, placing them carefully in Seeker’s hands. Then he brought forth a clay jug and handed it to Beautiful. “This is from the Waters of Life. Mix one packet in a cup of water and give it to her every day.”
“Thank you,” Beautiful whispered.
“How much do we owe you?” Seeker asked.
Mr. Skill smiled and shook his head. “Freely you’ve received; freely give.”
***
Beautiful emptied the packet into a cup and poured in water from the jug, stirring until it dissolved. Then she lifted Wonderful upright and pressed the cup to her lips.
Within minutes, Wonderful was sitting up on her own. By the next day, she was walking about the house. Before the week was over, she was smiling and singing again—the glint in her eyes Beautiful hadn’t seen in years had returned.
***
Beautiful’s heart tightened as Seeker came through the door. He’d been driving himself past the limit. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders stooped beneath the weight of his load.
“Seeker!” she snapped. “Why are you carrying your books?”
“Can’t,” he stammered. “Lose… my books.”
“What are you talking about?” she said. “You’re not going to lose anything.”
The bruise on his forehead was awful to look at. He’d carried it since the day Giant Wrath had struck him, but never had it looked this bad. The color had darkened and spread—down the side of his face, up toward the crown of his head—like something alive beneath his skin.
He pressed a hand to his head, eyes unfocused.
“Lost,” he said. A pause, shallow breath. “Lost.”
“Lost what, Seeker?” she asked softly, taking his hand in hers. Her brow furrowed, the worry showing in every line of her face.
“My job.”
He swayed, the words slurring at the edges—then crumpled to the floor.
