Forest-things. Uulamets was a wizard, absolutely: he had
watched
the color come back to Pyetr's face last night, he had watched Uulamets hold his hands over the injury and seen Pyetr's sweating, pain-twisted face settle slowly to ease.
No wizard in Vojvoda could do that… or there would be no people hurting who could afford the cure. Everyone in town would know it: people would flock to that wizard and make him richer than any boyar could dream—he would be the tsar's own physician.
Uulamets could surely go down the river to Kiev and make his fortune with such skill-Could he not?
Then why did he sit in this hovel, beside a ferry crossing where no one came anymore, in a woods that had not a rabbit or a squirrel to populate it?
Bandits, he had called them.
But where were the bandits that everyone believed lived in this forest? And if they were off in some secret camp deep in the woods—how did they feed themselves with no travelers to rob and no game to hunt, except they lived as old Uulamets claimed he lived, by fishing and by gardening? That hardly seemed the life brigands would practice.
There was a lightness about the morning and a wrongness about the place which counseled Sasha«he might be in greater danger than the bright sun could warn him of, and he might well, if he were wise, wish himself back in Vojvoda, carrying buckets to his ponies that he very much missed this morning, or expecting the cat to walk the rail and wish him good morning—
— all the homely, ordinary things that just were not here, in this musty, dusty place on the edge of a river that saw no boats.
He had Pyetr, without whom he did not know what he would do. The thought of being alone with the old man appalled him for reasons he could not precisely lay a name to, and he was not so naive as Pyetr accused him of being: he knew which of uncle Fedya's customers to avoid and how to give the slip to trouble.
But Uulamets , he thought, lugging the bucket the third time up the hill—but the way Uulamets looked at him with those eyes that did not let him look away, eyes that once fixing on him had made him fool enough to mumble yes when the old man asked would he pay the price he asked, not asking first what it was—
Because otherwise Pyetr would die and he would be alone here.
Pyetr could not leave without him, Pyetr could not be so cruel as that, Pyetr surely would owe him some gratitude—
— that because he was not wizard enough to heal him, he had made such a fool's bargain with one who was.
By afternoon Uulamets had put him variously to scrubbing the log walk-up and the porch (more water to carry) and mending a loose plank and a broken shutter. By afternoon Pyetr was awake, sore and very weak, but avowing himself free of pain. He took a little tea, which Uulamets prescribed, and then got up, wrapped up in his ghastly rag of a shirt, and tottered outside for necessities, with Sasha's help, scarcely steady enough to walk.
Pyetr had very little to say, except that the tea was good and that he felt better—and finally, before they reached the porch again, he said that they had best stay a couple of days before they were on their way again.
"We can't," Sasha said miserably. "—The 'be on our way again,' that is. The old man holds us to account for your doctoring."
"Well, we'll pay him."
"We tried that," Sasha said, realizing that Pyetr might have dropped many more things than that from his recollection of last night, and he stopped while they were still alone. "He's a wizard. He says he doesn't want money."
Pyetr laughed, a weak, desperate sound. "All wizards want money, it's what they do best."
"Not this one."
"The old man's a good herb doctor. His stuff works. We pay him a couple in silver—I've got it—and we pay for our lodging and our board and
maybe
for a passage, if we can persuade the old goat to take that boat out—"
"He's not the
watched
the color come back to Pyetr's face last night, he had watched Uulamets hold his hands over the injury and seen Pyetr's sweating, pain-twisted face settle slowly to ease.
No wizard in Vojvoda could do that… or there would be no people hurting who could afford the cure. Everyone in town would know it: people would flock to that wizard and make him richer than any boyar could dream—he would be the tsar's own physician.
Uulamets could surely go down the river to Kiev and make his fortune with such skill-Could he not?
Then why did he sit in this hovel, beside a ferry crossing where no one came anymore, in a woods that had not a rabbit or a squirrel to populate it?
Bandits, he had called them.
But where were the bandits that everyone believed lived in this forest? And if they were off in some secret camp deep in the woods—how did they feed themselves with no travelers to rob and no game to hunt, except they lived as old Uulamets claimed he lived, by fishing and by gardening? That hardly seemed the life brigands would practice.
There was a lightness about the morning and a wrongness about the place which counseled Sasha«he might be in greater danger than the bright sun could warn him of, and he might well, if he were wise, wish himself back in Vojvoda, carrying buckets to his ponies that he very much missed this morning, or expecting the cat to walk the rail and wish him good morning—
— all the homely, ordinary things that just were not here, in this musty, dusty place on the edge of a river that saw no boats.
He had Pyetr, without whom he did not know what he would do. The thought of being alone with the old man appalled him for reasons he could not precisely lay a name to, and he was not so naive as Pyetr accused him of being: he knew which of uncle Fedya's customers to avoid and how to give the slip to trouble.
But Uulamets , he thought, lugging the bucket the third time up the hill—but the way Uulamets looked at him with those eyes that did not let him look away, eyes that once fixing on him had made him fool enough to mumble yes when the old man asked would he pay the price he asked, not asking first what it was—
Because otherwise Pyetr would die and he would be alone here.
Pyetr could not leave without him, Pyetr could not be so cruel as that, Pyetr surely would owe him some gratitude—
— that because he was not wizard enough to heal him, he had made such a fool's bargain with one who was.
By afternoon Uulamets had put him variously to scrubbing the log walk-up and the porch (more water to carry) and mending a loose plank and a broken shutter. By afternoon Pyetr was awake, sore and very weak, but avowing himself free of pain. He took a little tea, which Uulamets prescribed, and then got up, wrapped up in his ghastly rag of a shirt, and tottered outside for necessities, with Sasha's help, scarcely steady enough to walk.
Pyetr had very little to say, except that the tea was good and that he felt better—and finally, before they reached the porch again, he said that they had best stay a couple of days before they were on their way again.
"We can't," Sasha said miserably. "—The 'be on our way again,' that is. The old man holds us to account for your doctoring."
"Well, we'll pay him."
"We tried that," Sasha said, realizing that Pyetr might have dropped many more things than that from his recollection of last night, and he stopped while they were still alone. "He's a wizard. He says he doesn't want money."
Pyetr laughed, a weak, desperate sound. "All wizards want money, it's what they do best."
"Not this one."
"The old man's a good herb doctor. His stuff works. We pay him a couple in silver—I've got it—and we pay for our lodging and our board and
maybe
for a passage, if we can persuade the old goat to take that boat out—"
"He's not the
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