“You do, do you? Impossible! What’s wrong with me, then? What am I suffering from?”
“Kidney stones, generally speaking. But at this moment you have colic. Sit up. Lift your shirt and turn away. Does it hurt? Here?”
“Ooouuuch! Fuck me!”
“There’s no doubt it’s renal colic,” Reynevan announced, “which you are well aware of as it’s certainly not the first time and the symptoms are typical: acute pains shooting downwards, nausea, pressure on the bladder—”
“Stop talking and start treating me, you damned quack.”
“You’ve unexpectedly found yourself in quite good company.” Reynevan smiled. “Jan Huss suffered from severe stones and very acute attacks of renal colic while in prison in Constance.”
“Ah.” Flutek covered himself with the eiderdown and gave a pained smile. “Undoubtedly a sign of saintliness… On the other hand, I’m not surprised Huss didn’t recant… He preferred the stake to the pain… Christ, Reynevan, do something, I beg you…”
“I’ll give you something to relieve the pain in a moment, but the stones must be removed. A barber-surgeon is necessary. Or ideally a specialist lithotomist. I know one in Prague—”
“I don’t want one!” bellowed the spy, either from pain or fury. “There was one here! Do you know what he wanted to do? Cut open my arse! Understand? Cut open my arse!”
“Not your arse—your crotch. You have to be cut open to reach the stones. Long forceps are inserted through the cut to access the bladder—”
“Stop!” bellowed Flutek, paling. “Not another word! That’s not why I brought you here, why I sent relays of horses after you… Cure me, Reynevan. With magic. I know you can.”
“You must be delirious. Witchcraft is a peccatum mortalium… The Fourth Article of Prague orders the death penalty for sorcerers. For now, I’ll prepare you a potion to relieve the pain. And nepenthes, an intoxicating medicine for later. You’ll take it when the lithotomist arrives. You’ll barely feel it when he makes the incision, and you’ll endure the forceps going in. Just be sure to grip a wooden peg or leather belt in your teeth—”
“Reynevan.” Flutek went as white as a sheet. “Please. I’ll cover you with gold—”
“Aha, of course you will. For a moment, because sorcerers sent to the stake have their gold confiscated. You must have forgotten that I worked for you, Neplach. I’ve seen a lot. And learned a lot. Besides, it’s vain talk. I can’t remove the stone using magic because, firstly, an operation like that is risky, and secondly, I’m not a sorcerer and don’t know any spells—”
“You do,” Flutek interrupted coldly. “I know very well that you do. Heal me and I’ll forget that I know.”
“Blackmail, is it?”
“No. Minor cronyism. I’ll be indebted to you. As part of paying off the debt, I’ll erase certain matters from my memory, and if you’re ever in need, I’ll be able to repay you. The Devil take me if—”
“He’s taking you anyway.” It was Reynevan’s turn to interrupt. “We’ll carry out the operation at midnight. Without any witnesses, just you and me. I’ll need boiling water, a silver jug or goblet, a bowl of hot coals, a copper cauldron, honey, birch and willow bark, some fresh hazel rods, something made of amber—”
“They’ll supply it all for you,” Flutek assured him, biting his lips in pain. “Whatever you want. Summon servants, issue orders. Whatever you need will be supplied. I’ve heard that for necromancy, human blood or organs are occasionally necessary… Brains, livers… Don’t hesitate to ask for them. If needs be… we can eviscerate somebody.”
“I’d like to believe,” Reynevan said as he opened a casket of amulets, a present from Telesma, “that you’ve gone insane, Neplach. That the pain has muddled your mind. Tell me that what you’re saying is insanity. Say it, please.”
“Reynevan?”
“What?”
“I really won’t forget this. I’ll be indebted to you. I promise, I’ll grant your every wish.”
“Every one? Splendid.”
Reynevan had every reason to be proud. First of all, he was proud of his foresight, for badgering Dr. Fraundinst so long that the latter had—despite his initial reluctance—revealed to him his professional secrets and taught him several medical spells. He was also proud of the fact that he had knuckled down over the translations of Geber’s Kitab Sirr al-Asrar and Rhazes’s Al-Hawi, that he’d studied Regimen sanitatis and De morborum cognitione et curatione thoroughly, and that he’d paid close attention to the illnesses of the kidneys and bladder, especially regarding the magical aspects of therapy. He was also proud of the fact that he had aroused sufficient affection in Telesma for him to give Reynevan over a dozen very practical amulets as a farewell gift. But Reynevan was naturally proudest of the result. And the result of the magical operation surpassed all expectations. The stone in Flutek’s kidney, treated with a spell and the action of an amulet, disintegrated. A simple relaxing spell usually applied during labour cleared the ureter, while powerful diuretic spells and herbs completed the job. Woken up from the deep anaesthesia brought on by the nepenthes, Neplach expelled the remains of the stones with bucketsful of urine. There was, admittedly, a brief crisis—at a certain moment, Flutek began to pee blood and before Reynevan could explain that it was a perfectly normal symptom after the operation, the spy roared, fulminated and hurled insults at the physician, which included expressions such as “verfluchter Hurensohn” and “fucking meshugenah wizard.” Neplach stared at his member squirting blood, called for soldiers and threatened the physician with being burned at the stake, impaled and flogged, in that order. He finally grew weary and fell asleep, exhausted. He slept for more than half a day.
It kept on raining. Reynevan was bored. He dropped in on the lectures of the elderly man who had once been a spy for Charles IV. He visited the men writing letters from Heaven and the Apocalypse and was forced to listen to a few. He looked into the barn where the Stentorians practised, a special intelligence service department consisting of bruisers with loud—or Stentorian—voices. The Stentorians were trained for psychological warfare: they were tasked to undermine the morale of the defenders of besieged castles and towns. They practised far from the main camp because when they trained, their voices were deafening.
“Surrender! Lay down your arms! Otherwise! You! Will all! Perish!
“Louder!” yelled their instructor, directing them with hand gestures. “All at once and louder! One-two! One-two!”
“Your! Daughters! Will be! Dishonoured! Your! Children! Will be! Slaughtered! We will! Impale! Them! On spears!”
“Brother Bielawa.” One of Flutek’s adjutants tugged him by the sleeve. “Brother Neplach asks to see you.”
“We will! Flay! You! Alive!” yelled the Stentorians. “We will! Cut! Off! Your balls!”
Bohuchval Neplach was now feeling splendid, nothing was bothering him, and so he was back to his nasty and arrogant old self. He listened to what Reynevan had to tell him. The expression he wore while listening didn’t augur particularly well.