That was really why Oscar had come out here.
Finn might serve as scout on the job, but Oscar was the real scout. If he said no, Finn figured the King would agree.
Not doing the job meant the Client would find a new crew. It meant the jobs they’d been taking—all of them paying much more than they were accustomed to earning with their jobs—would disappear. Another crew would benefit.
His gaze drifted down the street and toward the light in the shop in the distance.
“I told you we can do it. It’s just going to take planning. This isn’t the kind of job you rush into. You do it right, get the information you need, and make sure that you cover all the possibilities. The King ought to know that, regardless of what his Client wants from us.” Oscar motioned for him. “Come on. Let’s get moving. Maybe you and Rock can find some trouble before the night falls.”
Finn headed toward an alley, laughing softly. “Let’s catch up later. Either tonight or in the morning.”
“Don’t be up too late with Rock. Neither of you, but I know you’ll at least listen to me. Can’t have you miss when the King wants us to meet.”
Finn nodded, though he didn’t know if Oscar could see it against the darkness. “I’ll be there.”
Finn wandered through a few alleys before emerging onto a street that would bring him back to the Wenderwolf—or back to the physician he’d seen. He was still on the palace side of the river, and with the curfew, needed to be careful, but there was no sign of Archers.
As Finn made his way along the street, he caught sight of a shadowed figure. When he got close enough, he realized it was the King. He was talking to another man, a heavyset person with a dark cloak hanging over his shoulders.
Could this be the Client?
Finn snuck closer, staying in the darkness of the shadows, trying to move the way Oscar had taught him, and snuck into the entrance of an alley to watch. The King leaned forward and passed something to the man, who quickly stuffed it into his pocket. The King whispered something Finn couldn’t hear before striding off down the road. Finn lingered in the alley, and as the man turned the opposite direction, Finn caught sight of him. He had a ruddy face and prominent jowls but was dressed in an elegant jacket beneath his cloak. Somebody of wealth. Maybe it really was the Client.
When the man disappeared, Finn should have headed toward the Wenderwolf, but something pulled him in the other direction and toward the physician’s shop with a light in the door. Finn slowed, studying the symbol above the door. A thick-walled square set on one point, a curved staff angled through it. The mark of the physician. It had to be chance that he’d come across a physician while scouting with Oscar.
Finn lingered at the door for too long.
A shadowed form moved behind the window before peering out, and the door came open.
Pale white light streamed out from within. A man younger than what Finn would have expected stood in the doorway, a book clutched in one arm.
“Is someone there?”
Finn debated slipping off into the darkness. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to hide. He didn’t need to say anything. He could claim he was passing by…
The physician started to pull the door closed.
“Master…” Finn started, realizing he didn’t even know the physician’s name.
That alone would make his presence stand out. Most who came to the physician would know his name, so his not knowing would draw attention to the fact that he didn’t really belong here.
“Master Porgen,” the physician said, holding the door open. He looked into the dark, cupping a hand over his eyes as he stared. “Come toward me.”
Finn approached. Now that he was here, there wasn’t much of a point in hiding.
“What are you doing here? You don’t look like you need my services.”
His tone had shifted, gotten brusquer. The physician stared at Finn in a way that left him feeling as if he were examined—and discarded.
It was nearly enough to convince him to turn away.
Nearly.
“It’s not for me. My mother. She’s been ill for quite some time, and I wanted to know if you—”
“You have to pay up front. My fee for consultations is three branna.”
Finn’s breath caught, and he didn’t know how to react.
Three?
One branna was more than he had. The silver in his pocket was a start, and if he added it to the collection he’d made over the years—all of which it seemed his sister hadn’t spent—it might get him close.
Were there really people who paid that much?
“I can see from your face that’s more than what you can afford.”
“It’s more than I have on me,” he said hurriedly. “I have the rest. She’s been sick for the last year and now barely awakens. She eats, but only when fed. She sleeps most of the time, and there has been—”
The physician ignored him. “That’s only for the consultation. If someone has been ill for a while as you say your mother has been, there are often tests required. Occasionally, it will necessitate a person travel to Brandelton, where additional testing can be done. Then there are the other physician fees, and travel costs, and… you can imagine it gets quite expensive.”
And he was the thief?
“If you don’t want to help, you could just say it.”
“Did I say I wouldn’t help? I wanted you to have an honest understanding of the costs involved. All told, it will likely run closer to five branna.”
That much money was more than what Finn would be able to make—honestly or otherwise—in years.
Hadn’t Lena looked into what a physician would cost?
She couldn’t think they would be able to help their mother with a cost like that. Even with him taking on ever more dangerous jobs—and breaking into the viscount’s manor was a dangerous job—it would take a long time to make that much money.
“If that is all, I will say goodnight.”
He started to close the door, and Finn stepped toward him.
What am I doing?
He couldn’t assault a physician. He needed him.
“I can pay. Just come with me, and I’m sure you can do something to help her. It’s not far, only in the Olin section—”
The physician’s expression clouded. “You’re better off asking a surgeon for help.” He said it with disdain.
“The surgeon we’ve contacted couldn’t help. Said to get a physician. He even recommended you.”
The physician sniffed. “Indeed? What surgeon would make such a recommendation?”
Finn didn’t know enough about the surgeon his sister had used, only that he’d cost more than she’d been able to afford at the time. Probably more than she’d be able to afford even now. And probably only a fraction of what this physician would cost.
“I can show you to her,” he tried again.
“A surgeon, an apothecary, or the gods know, even a hegen would be more what you can afford.”
Surgeons and apothecaries cost about the same—more than Finn had. The hegen exacted a different cost for their magic, but still would be more than what he wanted to spend. Some claimed the hegen made people steal for them, others claimed they took a part of their soul, and others made even more outlandish claims about the hegen witches and their magic. Finn had avoided them his entire life and had no idea how much of it was true.