Chapter 4: A Shopgirl's Tea

I grabbed my tea kit off the chair and ran in my stockings.

Blanche ran behind me with my shoes in her hand.

The corridor outside the King's bedchamber was packed with courtiers in their morning silks.

Everyone was whispering. Nobody was helping.

Two guards held the double doors.

Through the gap I saw Alistair, still in yesterday's shirt, shouting at someone I couldn't see.

He turned, and saw me.

"Let her through," he said.

The guards looked at each other.

"Now," said the Crown Prince.

The doors opened just wide enough.

The King lay twisted on the bed with his knees drawn up, gray as old linen and slick with sweat.

He was a big man gone thin.

A basin sat beside him on the floor, and what was in it was tinged green.

A physician in a black gown stood over him with a lancet in one hand and a brass bowl in the other.

"He must be bled," the physician said. "Twelve ounces at least."

"He's been bled for a year," Alistair said. "Is he any better?"

"Your Highness doesn't understand the humors."

I walked past them both to the breakfast tray.

The morning cup sat there half drunk.

I didn't need to taste it. I could smell the copper from the doorway.

I picked it up and put it in Alistair's hands.

"Keep that," I said. "Don't let anyone pour it away."

Then I knelt by the bed and opened my kit.

"Who is this?" the physician said.

"Somebody get me a kettle of fresh water," I said. "Not from this room."

Alistair sent a footman running.

The King opened one bloodshot eye and looked at me.

"Are you the new physician?"

"No, Majesty. I'm the tea."

"Good," he said. "I hate the physician."

He curled up again with a groan that went right through me.

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