Free Glasswrights' Journeyman by Mindy L Klasky

heal.”
    â€œI know that!” Hal caught the tremor in his voice and forced his voice to a lower register. “I know that they must heal, that they may not work, that they must have fresh food and clear water. I know all that. I’m doing the best I can, my lord.”
    â€œNone of us doubts that.” Puladarati eyed him steadily. “None of us doubts that at all.”
    Hal retreated into reciting known facts. “Mair is overseeing the workmen as they build the Touched hospital. They’re putting it up fast, backing it against the curtain wall of the old castle so that they don’t have to build as much. She says that the Touched will heal better in long dormitories, anyway, rather than individual rooms.”
    She had said more than that. Mair had sniffed at his suggestion that the sick could be nursed in his palace. She had said that too many had fallen ill – men, women, and children. Besides, the roaming Touched would never be comfortable in fine halls, in well-appointed chambers. They would grow restless, and their minds would not heal with their bodies. The firelung might continue to rage through their ranks; they might become a reservoir of illness that would spill over into the other castes, into all the rest of Moren. Mair had disdained Hal’s wealth and royal presumption.
    â€œIt’s easier to tend to them that way.” Puladarati shrugged. “No reason to keep them separate from each other, if they’ve already fallen ill.”
    At first, Mair’s arguments had made no sense – invalids should have rest, peace, quiet. They should not be awakened by the desperate coughing of other firelung victims, by the screaming nightmares of mothers who had lost their children, of orphans who faced their desperate illness alone.
    Then, he had watched the Touched girl, watched the easy way that she traveled down the rows of stark cots. She talked to one woman there, told a ribald tale to a man. Children who were well enough followed behind, ranging among the patients as if they were searching for hidden wealth. Everywhere that Mair passed, everywhere that the children roamed, the patients rested easier. They relaxed against their stained sheets, and they breathed more easily, comforted by familiarity.
    Hal had to trust that Mair would make it right. She would see that the people who had given the most to save Moren were not destroyed in the city’s rebuilding.
    Hal understood that much about the Touched, but he could not think of a way to tell his former regent what he had learned. The man was a noble; he’d lived all his life in his birth caste. Puladarati wasn’t about to start changing his ideas about the Touched now – he wasn’t going to forget about roving hordes of children who needed to be turned out of the city streets on a regular basis. Puladarati was a great man, a strong general and a devoted friend, but the foundations of such men could rarely be shifted.
    Hal reached out to clap the man on his velvet-clad shoulder. “Aye, no reason at all. They’ll be grateful for the company. As will our fellow councilors, when we begin our meeting on time.”
    â€œOne moment, my lord,” Puladarati said. The old man ran his three-fingered hand through his hair, squinting as he avoided Hal’s gaze. “I’ve brought with me –”
    Before Puladarati could continue, a bell began to toll, announcing the new hour and the supposed start to the council meeting. Hal looked up at the page who stood on the threshold of the council chamber. The boy smiled eagerly at him.
    â€œLater, my lord,” Hal said. “We’ll have time enough to talk after our business here is done.” Before Puladarati could protest, Hal nodded to the boy. The page looked from Hal to the regent and back again, and then he thrust open the heavy oak panels.
    As Hal stepped over the threshold, his advisors scrambled to their feet, pushing back