Chương 52: Old Friends

Jacob chose the three names before he reached the end of the street. He did not need guild records yet; he needed people whose histories he knew well enough to recognize what changed, and who trusted him enough to drink something made by a man they had never met. Garren Blade lived closest. Rain darkened Jacob's coat by the time he reached the house, while the padded case beneath his arm stayed dry. Garren opened the door with a bread knife in one hand and a cup in the other.

At sixty-two, the A-rank vanguard was still broad, though his right leg carried the stiffness of old injuries.

"You usually arrive after I cut the bread," Garren said as he stepped aside.

"If this is business, your timing has become worse."

"I knocked before lunch was finished," Jacob replied.

"Your bread appears to be the unreliable part." The kitchen smelled of onions, pepper, and dark stew. Garren noticed the case, then Jacob's even stride, and his expression changed.

"What happened to your limp?" he asked.

"You had one the last time I saw you." Jacob set the case on the table.

"That is why I am here, though I would rather explain after we eat." Garren agreed because the stew was getting cold. Over lunch, Jacob explained the gargoyle, the wrong bottle, and the morning when old injuries and scars had disappeared. Garren listened until the end before pulling back Jacob's sleeve. His thumb passed over the clear skin near the wrist where a pale scar should have crossed it.

"That was the mine tunnel," Garren said.

"You bled on my coat."

"You complained about it for three days," Jacob replied.

"I remember the coat more clearly than the wound."

"It was a good coat." Garren released his wrist and narrowed his eyes.

"You sound more like Amon than you used to." Jacob considered that.

"He complained about one of my coats yesterday, so perhaps it goes both ways."

"You are quoting your son now. Another year and you will be explaining breakfast to strangers." Garren shook his head.

"I preferred you before he became contagious." Jacob opened the padded case.

"You can preserve that preference by refusing the bottle, though I did walk here in the rain." Garren leaned closer.

"Who made it, and why should I trust something from him?"

"Joe Benson. Amon's friend, and the owner of The Second Spark." Jacob left the bottle in the case.

"You have not met him, but I trust him." Garren studied Jacob instead of the bottle. Then he nodded while Jacob repeated the conditions: one dose after food, no other healing potion that day, no second dose, and no hiding anything unusual. Garren drank and complained that experimental medicine should taste better. He stopped when warmth reached his hip. He stood carefully and crossed the kitchen. His second turn was smoother than the first, and by the third the old hitch in his stride had vanished.

Garren bent the knee, then crouched until his heels nearly touched the floor. He stayed there for a breath, staring at the joint as though it belonged to somebody else.

"You do not need to test twenty years in one afternoon," Jacob said.

"The knee has already made its point."

"I spent twenty years avoiding this," Garren replied as he stood.

"I am allowing myself five minutes of poor judgment." The limp did not return. Garren sat slowly, rubbed both hands over his face, then looked at the empty bottle.

"Tell your restaurant man it worked," he said.

"Also tell him I dislike how much that sentence means." Jacob wrote the result down.

"He will probably ask for more detail, so I will leave out your opinion of the taste." Luci Ary ran an archery school near the northern practice yards. At fifty-eight she remained A-rank, though an old shoulder injury left two fingers partly numb and a full war-bow draw painful. She dismissed her last students early when she saw Jacob under the awning. Her attention went immediately to the case beneath his arm.

"You have the expression you used before telling me the western ruin collapsed," Luci said.

"I assume something expensive has gone wrong."

"That collapse was Garren's fault," Jacob replied.

"This is unrelated, although Garren has already volunteered." Inside, Luci put bread, cheese, and an apple between them before allowing him to explain. She had never met Joe and wanted to know why Jacob trusted an unknown cook with medicine. This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"He failed the wizard examination five times," Jacob said.

"He also records his failures carefully and made this for himself before anyone else drank it." Luci stared at him.

"You began that recommendation poorly, but I understand the rest." Jacob pushed the bottle no closer.

"You do not have to take it, and I would rather you refuse than agree because of me." Luci looked at his unscarred forearm and the knee he had climbed her stairs on without favoring.

"Your evidence is better than your salesmanship, which may be fortunate." After eating, she drank. The warmth reached her shoulder slowly, and when it moved into her hand, she pressed her thumb against the two fingers that had carried dull sensation for nearly a decade.

"I can feel the table grain," she said quietly.

"I had forgotten how sharp that was." She stood and crossed to the bow rack. Jacob rose too, which earned him a look before he could speak.

"No training," he said.

"Range of motion is enough, and I am not arguing that point."

"I was going to say the same thing." Luci took down her old war bow.

"You are becoming irritating in your old age."

"That opinion is not new enough to record, so the notebook is safe." Jacob stayed close while she drew without an arrow. The string reached her cheek smoothly, and the injured shoulder held without its old tremor. Luci eased the string forward, then touched the restored fingers before returning the bow.

"Tell Joe Benson that an A-rank archer regained full draw and fine sensation," she said.

"You may leave out the part where I stared at my hand."

"I am not editing the result for your dignity," Jacob replied.

"You knew that before drinking it." The third bottle went to Carl Basts, who owned a clock shop near the eastern canal. Jacob had always found that funny because Carl had once been incapable of sitting still. At forty-five, Carl's left sleeve remained pinned above the elbow, as it had since a ruin door took the arm twenty-two years earlier. He had only been C-rank then, but Luci had expected him to climb much higher. The healers saved his life but never stopped the phantom pain.

Some nights the missing hand cramped until Carl woke gripping an arm that was gone, and that was why Jacob had chosen him. Carl looked from Jacob to the case when he opened the shop door.

"If that contains company paperwork, I have already closed."

"It contains medicine," Jacob replied.

"You may prefer the paperwork after I explain it." Carl's wife, Mina, made them eat first. Afterward, Jacob described his own recovery and the results from Garren and Luci without promising more than he had seen. Carl rubbed the pinned sleeve.

"You think it might help the phantom pain, because whatever causes it is still there."

"That is the idea." Jacob rested both hands beside the case.

"If the old mana pathways remain, the potion may settle them." Carl studied the bottle when Jacob removed it.

"I do not know this Joe Benson, so I am trusting your judgment instead."

"That is fair," Jacob said.

"I would rather you be clear about what you are trusting." Carl took the dose, and the first warmth matched the others. It moved from his stomach into his chest, then reached the left shoulder and drew a sharp breath from him.

"The hand feels warm," Carl said.

"That is new, and it does not feel like the usual pain." Jacob opened the notebook.

"Is the phantom pain fading, or changing?"

"It is clearer." Carl stared at the pinned sleeve.

"I can feel every finger." Jacob had expected the sensation to fade. Instead, Carl described each missing finger more clearly. Then the sleeve twitched, and Mina's cup stopped halfway to the table. Jacob stood as mana gathered around Carl's shoulder and moved downward through pathways refined years ago by sword work, climbing, and repeated drills. The current continued past the place where the arm ended. Jacob moved around the table but did not touch him.

"Jacob, what is happening?" Carl asked.

"Because this is no longer phantom pain."

"I do not know," Jacob said.

"Tell me immediately if it hurts."

"It does not hurt, which is not making this better." Carl's breathing turned uneven as the empty sleeve began to fill. The change came slowly and without light. An elbow formed beneath the cloth, then a forearm, and the pin struck the floor. Mina covered her mouth while Carl stared down without blinking. A wrist filled the cuff, then pale fingertips appeared until a trembling left hand rested against the table. The fingers curled weakly, opened, and curled again.

Jacob had heard the healers call the loss permanent, and he had no useful words now. Carl lifted the hand barely an inch. It shook badly, but it lifted.

"I thought you were fixing the pain," he said, and a laugh broke through the last word.

"That was the whole reason you came."

"So did I," Jacob replied.

"The plan failed rather dramatically." Mina crouched beside Carl and touched the back of the new hand with two careful fingers. Carl turned it beneath hers, and Jacob closed the notebook because the next few minutes did not belong to the report. The Second Spark was nearly closed when Jacob returned. Warm light softened the windows while Joe sat at the counter with his notebook open, and his attention moved immediately to the empty case.

"All three responded?" Joe asked.

"You were gone longer than I expected."

"Garren's knee and hip recovered, and Luci regained full movement and sensation." Jacob set the notes down but kept one hand on the last page.

"Carl was different." Joe waited without reaching for the notebook. Jacob appreciated that and continued.

"I chose Carl because he has phantom pain from an arm he lost twenty-two years ago," Jacob said.

"I thought the potion might settle the old mana pathways, but his arm grew back instead." For once, Joe did not move. He looked at Jacob as though checking whether the sentence had been constructed correctly.

"The entire arm returned from above the elbow?" Joe asked.

"You are certain it was complete?"

"Yes, and none of us expected it." Jacob slid the notes across.

"That is why this stops being something you price from the ingredients." Joe read Carl's report twice. When he looked up, his expression had gone very still.

"I need healer examinations before and after anything further," he said.

"I am also not distributing more bottles casually."

"That is why I came back." Jacob rested a hand beside the empty case.

"A fixed price now would be a guess, and giving it away publicly would put a line outside this restaurant before breakfast." Joe looked toward the dark windows.

"What are you suggesting, if we are not setting a price?"

"Three bottles, three named recipients, eligibility confirmed beforehand, no resale, no promised result, and no promise of another supply." Jacob closed the empty case between them.

"A private auction gives you information without pretending you already understand what you made." Joe considered Carl's report, then the case.

"You can arrange that without turning it into a spectacle?" Jacob nodded and gathered the empty bottles together.

"I can arrange it, and I know where to begin."