Published at 9th of September 2025 12:36 pm

Book 5: Chapter 23 Disguises [Part 2]

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So, if pushing back the Mer was the price, then so be it. Not to mention the potential experience to be earned on the battlefield.

This year, however, Al-Lazar was weaker than ever, partly because of me decimating the Adventurer’s Guild, the Sultana’s Vizier had sourly pointed out. It was probably the reason that he needed every blade, offering obscene amounts of money to any who would defend the city in this most dire of straits.

“Thank you, Larynda,” I said, grateful for her explanation.

I was also grateful to see how much her manners had improved. Once upon a time, she would jab the air with her fork—or whatever utensil she had on hand—talking with a mouth full of half-chewed food. Now she simply nodded, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She shrugged. “I live but to serve, samasa.”

I studied her for a moment. “Any word on Elwin? I recall you two were close… back when I was away.”

Her expression turned solemn. “Nothing. I’m beginning to worry.”

I offered her a small, reassuring smile. “He’s a survivor, that one. He’ll show up eventually. Probably off whoring or drinking somewhere; after everything he’s endured, he deserves a little debauchery.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d think this city would be perfect for those pursuits.”

“Perhaps, but we have no way of finding him right now,” I replied with a weary sigh. “No sense wasting effort on a lost cause. Are you finished eating? Good. We need to address our next issue.”

She frowned, a hand drifting to one of her pointed half-elven ears. “Are you certain I have to do this?”

I met her gaze. “A wise saying goes, ‘The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.’ We’ve discussed this before.” I reached into my coat and pulled out a small, gleaming badge. “For tonight, swap badges with me.”

Her eyes flickered in hesitation. “You know that’s against Guild regulations,” she protested weakly.

I forced a laugh, its hollow echo underscoring my own unease. “Since when have you ever cared for rules, Larynda?”

“Usually,” she muttered, “when breaking them will hurt.”

My tone turned serious. “Trust me, you’ll feel nothing—or I’ll have the Doctor’s head.”

***

It was finally time to get something done that was long overdue.

Medicine in these parts was an odd beast: at rare times it rivaled even my old world, and yet in most cases it wallowed in the mire of gross malpractice and ignorance. But in a realm where healing potions—if not readily accessible to the masses—could at least be bought by those with sufficient coin, wounds knitted themselves in the span of a sigh. The marvel of modern surgery could scarce compare to that Alchemy of flesh and magic.

Even so, for the many who could not purchase the more wondrous elixirs, surgery was done by common folk wielding lesser potions. With the threat of infection all but banished, their methods were at once crude and almost miraculously effective. This evening, Larynda and I sought one such surgeon: Doctor Zahrawi, a man some called a sculptor of the flesh.

His clinic squatted on the outskirts of the Flower Quarter, at the bottom floor of a cramped old building where a solitary, dull crystal street light cast dancing shadows upon peeling walls. Zahrawi himself kept no kin, rarely ventured beyond his door, and had depended on the Bulls of Heaven for protection—so rumor said.

From the idle gossip of Niminia’s whores I had gleaned the rest: he was famed for his discretion, for the cunning of his knife, and an artistry that allowed anyone with enough gold to reforge themselves, delaying time’s ravages or conjuring new beauty from old flaws.

But on this night, we did not come for mere vanity.

I turned to Larynda, her long-lashed eyes watchful above the veil that hid her face. A silent command flickered in my gaze, and I spoke in a low voice meant only for her ears.

“Remember,” I said, “do not speak. I will handle this. If he hears you or glimpses your features…” I let the threat hover unspoken in the stale air.

She nodded, resigned, her eyes glimmering with a quiet fear.

“Good. Let’s be done with this.”

Inside the cramped clinic, a single lantern burned. Shelves overflowed with jars of foul-smelling tinctures, tools of shining steel, and stained rags that looked as though they had seen battlefields. The good Doctor Zahrawi emerged from the gloom like a pale specter of courtesy.

“Ah, a member of the esteemed Guild,” he said, offering me an ingratiating bow. “The hour grows late and I was just about to lock my doors for the evening, but should you—”

I cut him off by tossing a wad of Al-Lazarian notes onto the nearest counter. The currency was worth at least twenty gold, and the good Doctor’s eyes lit like a man glimpsing paradise.

“Well now,” he purred, rubbing his slender hands together. “One mustn’t appear lazy when a valuable patient is in need. Tell me, how might these humble skills serve you?”

Something in his tone reminded me of Vincenzio, a memory that set my jaw slightly on edge. I pulled away Larynda’s veil just enough to reveal her pointed ears.

“Her ears,” I said coldly. “They need to be cut to a human shape.”

Zahrawi sucked in a breath, his hands lifting in faint protest. “An elf? My dear patron, you realize that will reduce her worth. To take the knife to such elegance would be a travesty against my art.” His eyes flicked over Larynda. “And even so, without changes to her bone structure, the transformation will be incomplete. Any man with eyes would be able to see that she is an elf, if that is your design. My art is in revealing hidden beauty, not in—”

“I trust this will assuage any… artistic reservations,” I interrupted, flinging a smaller bundle of notes onto the first. Though my laughter was meant to sound cavalier, a certain edge sharpened the mirth. I would not endure much more haggling; if it came to it, the doctor would not survive the next few minutes.

He cleared his throat. “I see. Well, the procedure itself is straightforward enough. With Leharnum extract, she won’t have to remain conscious. Of course, there are more affordable ways—”

“Give her the extract,” I snapped back in a voice that would brook no dissent. “I have paid you well enough.”

An avaricious smile curved his lips, and he crept toward Larynda with the unctuous eagerness of a merchant who smells profit. “Of course, of course. I will prepare the sedative. Allow me to remove her veil and—”

In one swift motion, I caught his wrist. My glare fixed him to the spot. “You will not look upon her face,” I growled. “Under no condition. I will remain here for the entirety of the procedure. My payment has secured your skill and your discretion. Is that clear?”

A nervous bob of his head was all the answer he could muster, beads of sweat dotting his brow. Fear settled into his eyes then, like a rabbit cornered by a hawk.

He would not betray us, for gold’s sake if nothing else. And, if he valued his life even half so much, he would see this business through quickly.

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