(no subject)
Mathias managed a groan.
“Listen to me,” the voice came as a hiss, close to Mathias’ ear, “I hope for your sake, factotum, that you haven’t chosen your mystery yet.”
It hurt to open his eyes, not only because the sun streamed into the hut to shine on his face, but because the blood had caked over his eyes. Prying open his left eye took the extra effort of reaching up to pull open the lid against the dried fluids.
He tried to ask where he was, managing only enough to be understood after he repeated himself.
“Safe, for now.”
As opposed to being left on the street in the company of thieves. Thieves! Mathias sat bolt upright, “The package!” He managed to get out the words clearly before the room shifted and his throat started chocking up bile. The others in the room didn’t move, but simply sat waiting till he was done.
“Ain’t no package with you. You’re just as you were since,” the voice paused, then clearly decided not to continue at all.
Mathias lay back on the hard stone. Hard stone? He managed to roll over, examining the makeshift shack he lay in. “You haven’t moved me, have you?”
“Nope. Ain’t none of us dumb enough to lay a hand on a factotum of the Guild. We’ve heard the stories of what happens to those stupid enough to attack a Guild member, or their students.”
Mathias nodded, until it brought back the nausea. They’d built the makeshift shack around where he lay, then waited to see if he’d survive. “You could have gotten the Guild yourself.”
Another voice spoke, in another language. Southrans.
“Yeah, I suggested it, but they didn’t want to give you up so easily.”
Mathias blinked, chocking on the laugh, “Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry, you’re free to go, but they’ve been wanting to speak to a factotum for weeks now. They figure you owe them one.”
“For what, leaving me on the cold stone to bleed to death?”
“For chasing off your attackers.”
Mathias paused at that one. True enough, he would owe them for that. And, if they feared the Guild enough to to even touch one in need of aid, they certainly wouldn’t risk lying about such a thing. Now two different conversations were going on, one between Mathias and the young boy, and another among the Southrans.
“What are they saying?”
“He’s gonna die soon.”
“No, tell them I’m gonna be fine.”
“Not you. The dying man. He’s gonna die, again. And soon.”