Plague of Tyrants

Chapter 3: Blue Poison

Chapter 3: Blue Poison“Finally named it. I call it the pin.” said Loren.

“Umm, that's a lot bigger that a pin for sewing,” Gordon said, staring at the new tool to help him with his sweetblood illness. “I'm just glad you got it smaller. The ones you made me use before really hurt. You'd better show me again.”

“It still has to go in your arm, or even better, in your stomach. The metal pin is hollow, and the healing oil gets drawn into the glass part here. Then you press this plunger with your thumb, and the liquid shoots under your skin, where it gets absorbed into your blood. It's more complicated than that, but I see your eyes glazing over already. Anyway, it's faster than eating sour cakes, since it goes right into your system.”

“Okay. That sounds awful,” said Gordon staring at the new tool for his illness, “No offence.”

“None taken,” Loren chuckled, “I had an amazing craftsman make it. The pin is as small as he could craft it, and still pierce the skin without snapping in two. And this counter is even better.”

“This little box will help me know how sweet my blood is, whenever I want?” asked Gordon, picking up the small metal box.

“Yes, Corinn helped me with the design before she left the palace.”

“Why did she leave as Firsthealer?”

“She was close with Trunculin,” Loren explained, “After she spoke against him at the trial, she said there were too many memories here at the palace. But, before she left, we finally got the machine to work properly.” He grabbed the small box. It was square and had a hole in the middle, with a set of three numbers on the top, “Here, you poke your finger, put a drop of blood on this area, and the numbers click into place. Depending on the number, you will know if you have to eat something, or if you need healing oil to bring the sweetblood numbers down.”

“Wait, how often will I have to stick my finger for a drop of blood?” asked Gordon.

“To be sure, it should be at least three times a day…”

“Three times a day?” repeated Gordon. “How will I use my fingers?”

Loren assured him, “You will need very little blood. You're young, the tiny wounds will heal in a few hours.”

“Just in time for me to stick myself again. Great.” Gordon looked at the new pin device and sweetblood number machine, saying nothing more, imagining the future.

Loren said, “I know it'll be hard, but this will keep you alive, and much healthier. See here, I'll go over it again.”

A small timing bell sounded. Loren turned to his glass tubes. One had turned blue, the other was a light red from the blood on the poisoned stick. The stick that had killed two men floated in the light red liquid. Gordon stared, always fascinated with Loren's special mixtures. He looked back to the two dead men on the beds, “I wonder why he did it.”

Ellice walked in to the healing rooms. “Loren, what have you discovered? Do you know what poison was used?”

“Actually, I don't,” said Loren, looking confused. He picked up his blue glass tube. “I've been mixing different known ingredients, seeing how they react. I've isolated the poison. But it must come from a plant in the Outlands we don't know about. All we know is that it's blue.”

“That doesn't help much,” said Ellice, “it doesn't help us with the why of the thing.”

“No. And I've never seen this purple blue reaction around the wound. It's a very small hole. I almost wouldn't have noticed it except for the color.” He listened to the men's hearts and put his fingers to their necks. “I can only tell you that they are definitely dead.”

“Hopefully we'll find answers on their ship,” said Ellice, sighing heavily, sitting next to Gordon.

“Mother, why do you think they would come all this way?”

“I have no idea,” Ellice said, brushing Gordon's hair from his forehead. “You need a haircut. You look more like your father every day. Brenddel and Mantuan are on the Outlander's ship by now. It's anchored in the King's Port. We should know something soon.”

“I still can't find… wait, here's the wound on the older man. Hmm, there is no discoloration around his wound. Why stab his own stomach with the poison? The neck would have been faster. Strange.” said Loren.

“He said a few words before he died. Maybe he needed that time to say them,” Gordon offered.

“Maybe. I'll keep looking,” said Loren, “I have a few older books on poisons I can consult. Maybe one will mention this type of blue plant. Let me know what Brenddel and Mantuan find.”

Ellice nodded. “Come on son, let Loren do his work.”

Gordon left the room with his mother, but glanced back, noting the similarity between Loren's new pin tool for him, and the poisoned stick the old man used as a weapon.

A lifetime of sticking myself, a lifetime of bloody fingers, Gordon thought. But he knew his uncle was right. One pin was for death, the other one would keep him alive.