Hermia returned quickly, and not alone: two very fit young men in khaki tunics bore a stretcher between them, and a woman in a dress of light sky blue without a mantle over it accompanied them. That stretcher was quite a clever design, Kaveri thought, narrow enough to fit through the door of the shop, and their own grasp on the ends of it didn't interfere. It was a shame that, in the interests of keeping Madoc out of sight, they had to stop the two bearers only a stride inside the door. Evander and the other guard, Melanippe, helped the injured Thaleia across the shop and into their care; the woman in blue immediately took over, maintaining pressure herself and assessing the damage with quiet competence.

“There's another team with Phaidra,” Hermia reported to Narcissa. “The Oracle met me at the side door with two stretchers. She says she'll be at the front doors and they will be open, and she's making sure there will be more help there waiting.”

Narcissa nodded, then winced as her position and her own hand over her wound shifted uncomfortably. “Then I'm very grateful to her. Let's go take her up on that. If you or Melanippe could please handle things here, and...” Her gaze flickered to the stretcher bearers and their companion for only an instant. “Perhaps you could tell Iole what happened and ask her to bring me something to wear that isn't covered in blood?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Do you have Thaleia safely? Don't wait on me, get her inside and into proper care immediately. Kaveri, Mirren, you're coming with me, I believe.” She took a deep breath, which was aborted with another small flinch, and visibly drew herself together.

Somehow, by the time they were all outside, Narcissa was entirely composed and impressively regal for a woman who had just survived a demoralizing supernatural attempt on her life, been injured, and was looking at a changed future with very few explanations about what that meant.

The front doors of the hospital were indeed wide open, and there was a flurry of activity.

Standing quietly within it was the tall woman in saffron. Up close, Kaveri could see that the dark blue markings on her arms were tattoos, a snake coiled around each forearm wth the head resting on the back of her hand.

A single gesture and a few murmured words from the woman in saffron made the agitated chaos part to allow the stretcher bearing the injured guard to get through. It vanished through a pair of broad sliding doors to one side of the entrance foyer.

“I would prefer,” Narcissa said sternly to those who converged on her, “that you direct your efforts towards my bodyguards, who are both much more severely injured and therefore in much greater need of your assistance. I certainly do not need a dozen physicians for one superficial wound. This woman,” she gestured to Mirren, who was reasonably steady but Kaveri stayed alert for the moments she wavered, “needs that gastraphete bolt dealt with immediately.” Her gaze went to Kaveri and Mirren. “Through those doors is the ward designed to handle immediate urgent care. We do have tools that will sever that and allow it to be removed with minimal additional damage.” She raised her voice, though it didn't sound like a shout, only louder speech. “Those of you who are interrupting me by apologizing profusely with one breath and with the next asking me questions with difficult or impossible answers, could that perhaps wait until injuries have been dealt with, please? Thank you.”

“That would be a relief,” Kaveri said. “It's too thick to break.”

“Breaking it would leave splinters,” a middle-aged man in a white physician's tunic, strong contrast against his very dark skin, said disapprovingly. “If you'd come with me?”

He and a much younger trio ushered Kaveri and Mirren into the nearby ward. The younger trio were all in white as well, but they had wide borders on hem and sleeves and neck: those of the young woman were a pale grey, and those of the two young men were a deep brown. She'd seen the colours repeated in the crowd on white and green and yellow and blue, tunics and calf-length dresses, with or without stripes of red or yellow, though they were different on khaki-brown clothes. In methodical Enodia, it was highly likely that the base colours and stripes and borders all had specific meanings.

A number of narrow beds lined the far wall, all neatly made, with free-standing screens between them offering some privacy, and each had a hard chair beside it and two well-filled shelves above and a metal pail at the foot of the bed; the activity levels around two beds marked the locations of the two injured guards.

The one female of the group urged Mirren down onto one of the beds. “Do you speak Enodian?” she asked carefully, while her companions hastened onward purposefully.

“Yes,” Kaveri said, perching on the bed on Mirren's good side so she could hold her hand. “We both do, quite well.”

“Good, that helps. I'm Rhodopis, I'm a senior physician student. They'll be back in a moment with the tool we need. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” Mirren said shortly. “Just my hand.”

“Are you feeling light-headed, cold, anything at all out of the ordinary?” Rhodopis laid a hand lightly on Mirren's forehead.

“I didn't lose much blood. I just need this thing removed, please.”

Gently, Rhodopis touched Mirren's fingertips, then turned her hand enough that she could get a better look at the injury.

Kaveri saw her forehead furrow, and she opened her mouth.

“If you please,” the woman in saffron said from the end of the bed, “avoid further questions that are not directly about fulfilling that request. Foreigners have ways other than ours, and may not wish to answer questions that we would consider normal and expected under the circumstances. These foreigners, Aithre tells me, follow ways that forbid outsiders to make contact with their blood.”

Kaveri shot her a wide-eyed startled look, then recovered. “That... that is correct. I will do anything that means touching her blood.”

“But I need to do a proper exam,” Rhodopis protested. “And there's always blood when there's a puncture wound like this.”

“You don't need an exam,” Kaveri said. “Just the bolt, please. I'll take care of the rest.”

The other three returned, the younger men pushing a boxy contraption on small pivoting wheels. The physician carried a shiny steel bowl cupped in one palm.

“Master Ctesios,” the woman in saffron said, inclining her head. “We've been discussing questions and the... sacredness of blood. In the interests of courtesy to foreign guests to whom we owe a great debt, perhaps you and your students could simply remove the bolt, fetch them any materials they require, and let them handle this injury as their own ways dictate? If their customs forbid others to touch their blood, we should respect that.”

“Health is not cultural,” grumbled the physician in charge. “But of course. I would not question the wisdom of our Oracle.”

“Thank you.” The Oracle nodded and walked away, the speed at which she covered ground all out of proportion to the elegant grace with which she moved. Possibly that was to intervene elsewhere, since Kaveri heard Narcissa insisting that her own wound was not severe and that she would prefer to take care of it herself in private with Evander's assistance. One of the protesting voices pointed out that there were female physicians available, but Narcissa stood her ground.

The physician, Ctesios, nodded to the two young men. One unfolded an alarming-looking metal arm that ended in a pair of overlapping curved blades; the other, who looked like he was probably the youngest, flipped out a crank attached to a wheel and began to turn it vigorously.

“The best place to cut it would be near the back of her hand,” Rhodopis said. “Then we can draw it through in the direction it was already moving. Right?”

Ctesios nodded. “Correct. Proceed.”

On the boxy thing, in a niche, was a glass bottle with an interesting top: when Rhodopis pressed on it, pale green liquid came out, enough for her to coat her hands.

Ctesios held out the bowl; rather than taking it, Rhodopis fished a ribbon of fine fabric out of it, held it until it stopped dripping orange-tinted liquid, and then wrapped it tightly around the bolt shaft, just above the bloody stains on the wood.

“This will prevent the wood from splintering,” she explained to Mirren. Her hands were quick and deft, Kaveri noted, and she wrapped it around with care that there were no wrinkles, no bubbles, just a smooth thin layer. “It will dry quickly, but we don't need to wait that long for the next step.” She untied the sling with that same delicacy, and supported Mirren's hand while the young man who had unfolded the arm opened the blades and positioned them, then he adjusted a knob until the blades were just touching on either side, neatly in the centre of the wrapped section.

“If we're to not touch,” Rhodopis said, and she managed to nearly hide the frustration in her voice, “would you please rub the liquid from that bottle,” she indicated the one of pale green liquid, “into your hands thoroughly? There's going to be further bleeding. That will clean your skin and reduce the chances of the wound going bad. Just press down on the top.”

Kaveri saw no good reason to point out that there was no chance at all of that. Instead, she cautiously obeyed, and worked the sharp-scented liquid into her hands. Because she intended to keep offering Mirren a hand to grasp for as long as possible, she gathered more into her palm and helped Mirren work it across her good hand, then closed her hand around Mirren's.

Rhodopis, meanwhile, took a large glass jar with a metal lid from one of the shelves, opened it, and set it in Kaveri's easy reach. Within were rolls of white fabric. Bandages, presumably.

“There may be some vibration,” Rhodopis said, taking hold of the head end of the bolt to steady it. “And that may be uncomfortable. I'm sorry about that. But it will not last for very long. Are you ready?”

Mirren nodded, and Kaveri felt her good hand flex. Pain happened, but they didn't have to like it.

The one who had been turning the crank threw a small brass lever on the top of the box.

Kaveri heard several sounds at once from within the box—metal grinding, a sort of watery sound, a soft hiss—and the blades began to move towards each other. Astonishingly, they crunched right through the wood as smoothly and evenly as teeth through the flesh of a fruit, if a bit more slowly.

Mirren watched in fascination, pain forgotten. Kaveri jerked her attention back to her own job, and pulled enough of the bandages from the jar that she could wrap it around the bolt shaft on either side, containing the leaking blood as much as she could.

The blades slipped past each other, and the rest of the bolt fell neatly into the hand of the young man who had positioned the arm. He dumped it in the pail at the foot of the bed, then used the contents of that glass bottle to coat or clean his hands, whatever that was for.

“That's a remarkable device,” Kaveri said, still keeping pressure around the shaft on both sides. “One of those many miracles I've heard Enodia creates. I'm sure it must save lives.”

“It's all clockwork and hydraulics,” said the young man who had turned the crank. “I'll put it away and clean it.” Clearly, it was heavy for one, but he got it moving regardless.

“Now we only need to get that out of there,” Rhodopis said. “Diocles, hold the lady's arm and hand steady, please.”

The wrapped part of the bolt now looked smooth and glossy as glass, and Rhodopis eased it through with minimal additional pain, to judge by Mirren's breathing and her wincing at bad moments. The head of the bolt was dropped in the pail as well. Kaveri packed further bandages into the openings, in hopes of stopping the bleeding. She saw Rhodopis watching her, expression carefully neutral.

“Thank you,” Kaveri said to the young physician, as Mirren drew in and released a deep sigh of relief. “That was the part I could not do. I will bind it myself.”

“I'll fetch ointment,” Rhodopis said noncommittally. “It helps to slow bleeding, eases pain, and cleans the wound. I think any further attempts at cleaning it will only do further damage. I should bring a proper splint too, there's almost certainly damage to the bones.”

“It went between,” Mirren said. It was a lie, Kaveri knew, the bones had been shattered, but it would make her recovery less striking. “I got lucky. But that ointment sounds wonderful.”

“Honour their request,” Ctesios said, speaking up after supervising in silence. “As the Oracle says, they are foreigners. Anyone is entitled to refuse care. Whatever they will accept, we owe them. We can discuss the situation later, but you've all done very well.” He handed the bowl to Diocles, and walked away. Diocles picked up the pail at the foot of the bed with his free hand and left.

“What happens to the bolt?” Mirren asked.

“It will be burned, without contact,” Rhodopis said. “Any metal is raked out when the furnaces are cool for cleaning and maintenance. Is that acceptable?”

“That's fine. Thank you.”

“I'll be back quickly.”

“I feel bad she's so frustrated,” Mirren murmured, in their own mixed language. “She's trying hard and she's good at what she's doing.”

“Better than another accident,” Kaveri said. “That was much faster and cleaner than I feared.”

“Yes, it was, and it hurt less. I'll have no use of that hand until moonrise, but nothing's going to make it worse. And maybe this ointment really will help.”

Rhodopis returned, and set a glass bottle of pale green liquid, two small green-glass jars sealed with wax, and a small stack of neatly-folded pale fabric on the bed, and a new metal pail on the floor at the foot of the bed, plus another lined with a drawstring fabric bag on the floor next to them.

“You can clean your hands at need with the cleanser, by covering your hands and then wiping it all away with one of the towels,” she said, “although I would recommend then applying more and not wiping it off. The other jars are ointment. Once opened, each will be emptied, cleaned, and refilled, so you're welcome to be generous with it. Soiled laundry in this one, waste in the one at the end of the bed. Waste will be burned, laundry will be dumped in boiling water with strong cleansers.”

“Thank you,” Mirren told her. “We couldn't ask for better help.”

“Ask anyone you see if you need anything more. We're starting to get people coming in who were injured in the panic. You can leave everything on the bed when you finish, the support staff or nurses will take care of it.” Rhodopis hesitated, then said, very quickly, “The Oracle said you saved the princess. Thank you. We need her.” She hastened away without meeting the eyes of either, allowing no time for a reply.

“Why don't you lie down?” Kaveri suggested, moving the jars and towels to the chair. “I can still reach your hand, and you can relax.”

“I should...”

“We aren't going anywhere until the princess is ready to go. 'Rel and Madoc can look after themselves.”

Mirren sighed, but stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes

Maybe the ointment did slow red human blood, but it made no appreciable difference on blood made of moonlight. Still, Mirren said it numbed the pain, so Kaveri made liberal use of ointment and bandages to wrap Mirren's hand in a thick protective layer.

Kaveri deposited the soiled bandages in the pail at the foot of the bed, cleaned up her hands, and dropped the towels in the appropriate pail. Leaving anything around with their blood on it gave her a faint twinge of concern, even though it would take a far greater volume than anyone was going to get even if they had several bleeding cuts and actively manipulated either bandages or towels. To her it looked greengold as Sanur, but she knew that to human eyes it simply looked like normal blood, staining it all crimson, the blood on the bandages slowly drying. The empty ointment jars, the hand cleanser, and the empty jar that had held bandages, she left on the chair.

“You rest,” she told Mirren. “I'm going to see what's going on.”

It wasn't hard to find where Narcissa was: one of the beds had an extra screen drawn across the open end, and Melanippe was standing guard alertly. All around moved hospital staff in a colourful flurry—white tunics or dresses that in some cases had double scarlet stripes, mint-green that in some cases had double yellow stripes, a few in a warm yellow sometimes with double green stripes, many in a light sky blue that sometimes had double stripes of yellow or more rarely of scarlet, any of them with or without grey or brown edging.

Everyone seemed to be busy, but then, there were more beds with people in them now. The remarkable thing was that despite the apparent chaos, everyone seemed to know exactly what they should be doing and their own place, turning it into something more like complex order.

After a moment of observation, she decided that the grey and brown edging marked students, considering Rhodopis and the two young men and how often those individuals deferred to others. Senior and junior, perhaps. The double stripes might mark those who came from the temples of the healing gods. Those in khaki seemed to be acting as runners and cleaning up and doing other menial jobs. She couldn’t quickly identify the differences between white, green, many blue, and occasional yellow, but then, this wasn’t an environment she had any familiarity with.

Hermia strode in the door, and beside her was a woman who came only to her shoulder, in a white dress with green edging and a white and green mantle wrapped over it, the handles of a broad sturdy basket over one arm. Her wavy black hair was neatly braided back at the sides with white and green ribbons with the rest loose; her skin was very dark with a pleasantly warm tone, and modest silver glittered in her ears, around one wrist and her throat, and on several fingers.

She had her lower lip, coloured distinctly red, caught between her teeth, and she was blinking frequently and rapidly—in fact, Kaveri thought, she strongly resembled someone trying very hard not to cry. That would probably devastate the precise black lines elongating her eyes and the glittery green over her eyelids.

Both oriented immediately on Melanippe.

“Milady?” Melanippe said. “Iole is here.”

It was Evander who stepped around the screen, not Narcissa, wiping his hands on a towel. “Come in, Iole. Narcissa's injury is clean and bandaged, but she's certainly going to need your help to get changed. If I'm leaving her safely in your hands, I can go see whether there's any news about Phaidra and Thaleia.”

Iole nodded briskly, though the effect was rather spoiled by an audible sniffle and a catch in her breath. “Of course.”

Evander laid a gentle hand on her shoulder as she passed him. “The physicians are as skilled at their job as you are at yours. We made sure of that. They're getting some of the best care in Enodia right now.”

Iole nodded again, and Kaveri saw her swallow hard. “I know.” It was barely audible. She stepped out of sight behind the screen; Hermia and Melanippe held a brief, quiet discussion, and the two of them positioned themselves at either end of the screen sheltering Narcissa.

Kaveri, curious, followed Evander instead.

The two guards were in neighbouring beds, and there were a lot of very active bodies surrounding each.

Evander paused by one and spoke to a woman in a scarlet-striped white dress with grey borders and a man in sky blue with yellow stripes; Kaveri couldn’t make out the words, but from the way he bit his lower lip, brows drawing in and down, and the brief clenching of his hands, it wasn’t news he liked. He went on to the other, spoke to a different pair, a woman in unmarked blue and a man in white with grey borders, and that was clearly even worse news, since he wrapped both arms around himself, head bowed, and took a long deep breath.

Still, he nodded, said something, and came back towards Narcissa.

He spotted Kaveri immediately, and altered his course to meet her.

“As grateful as I am for Narcissa’s life,” he said quietly, “and even knowing that they chose their path accepting that they could be hurt, I wish...” He trailed off, and shook his head.

“How bad?” Kaveri asked gently.

He shrugged with one shoulder, and beckoned to her to come with him. “Your friend?”

“Resting. She’ll be all right. You have very skilled people working here.”

“If people are to place their health in the hands of our physicians and nurses, they need to be able to trust that they will be cared for properly.” He paused just outside the screen shielding Narcissa from the rest of the room. “Cissa?”

“Come.”

Hermia stepped aside to let them both pass behind the screen.

Now seated in the chair, Narcissa was in a clean and intact dress, a pale rose with decorative bands of intricate deeper rose, and a matching mantle lay waiting on the bed. Her face had been washed, though there was no sign of cosmetics now.

While Kaveri and Mirren had, of course, created their own clothing out of moonlight, and found it an easy task despite the volume since the shaping was minimal, they’d noticed that most clothing was of fabrics that were somewhat coarser or heavier or both, judging by the way they draped—lower-quality linen or even wool. Considering the way Narcissa’s dress draped and flowed, and the lack of bulk comprising the mantle, what she wore was of considerably finer quality along with the expensive vivid dyes and complex patterns.

The petite dark woman stood behind her, deftly fixing the damage to the princess’ previously-neat hair.

“Well?” Narcissa said. Kaveri noticed that both guards had edged back around the ends of the screen so they could hear while still keeping watch.

“Preliminary assessment,” Evander said, “is that Thaleia will survive, since they’ve managed to stop the bleeding. They’re less confident about possible permanent complications, because they can’t determine yet how pervasive the damage is. Phaidra...” He sighed. “She has multiple broken bones and she hit her head rather hard. They’re trying to determine whether she’s bleeding inside anywhere.”

The maid froze, and her breath caught hard in her throat.

“Iole,” Narcissa said. “I know. It’s frightening. None of us want her and Thaleia in this condition. But even if there is internal bleeding, in abdomen or brain, some of the best surgeons in the world are right here, and they will do everything possible. It is still possible that there is no such bleeding and we’ll have only broken bones to contend with. Bad enough, but bones heal. You know I will make sure she gets all possible care, yes?”

“Y-yes,” the maid said, and wiped a tear from one black-lined eye carefully. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset with you. With myself for freezing, perhaps, but not with you. Kaveri? Mirren’s hand?”

“The bolt is out,” Kaveri said. “With very little extra damage, which is impressive. The lady who was at the doors—the Oracle?”

Narcissa nodded. “She’s the High Priest in Phleion of Aithre, the Great Mother’s own handmaiden.”

“She helped us avoid awkward excuses about blood contact.”

“Me as well. I don’t know what Aithre has told her, nor is she likely to answer if asked. I’m simply grateful for the assistance. I imagine they could use this bed and Mirren’s for someone in more urgent need. Iole, if you wish to stay until there is further news, I can do without you for the time being. Tell them anything you need to. I trust you.”

Iole sniffled again. “But I should be...”

“When Phaidra wakes, she’ll want to see you.”

“Yes, milady.” Iole took a deep, shuddering breath, calming herself. “You’re not dressed for a formal appearance anymore, but you’re presentable to be in public, at least.”

“That will do.” Narcissa rose. “We’ll take my soiled clothes, although I’m not sure I want Pherusa washing them. I’m not leaving them here, at least.” She picked up the rosy mantle, and Evander helped her wrap it in place with unexpected deftness while Iole packed everything back into the basket.

“I’ll get Mirren,” Kaveri said.

“Meet us by the doors,” Evander said absently. “Home isn’t far.”