“Not just at present,” I said evenly, swabbing a patch of skin with a cloth soaked in brandy.
“That’s a verra nice make of brandy,” he said, peering back over his shoulder, “but I’m more accustomed to apply it at the other end.”
“It’s also the best source of alcohol available. Hold still now, and relax.” I jabbed deftly and pressed the plunger slowly in.
“Ouch!” Ragul rubbed his posterior resentfully.
“It’ll stop stinging in a minute.” I poured an inch of brandy into the cup. “Now you can have a bit to drink—a very little bit.”
He drained the cup without comment, watching me roll up the collection of syringes. Finally he said, “I thought ye stuck pins in ill-wish dolls when ye meant to witch someone; not in the people themselves.”
“It’s not a pin, it’s a hypodermic syringe.”
“I dinn
