Touch of Fate

Chapter 43: The Saint of West Street

Mike turned back to Tal, feeling mightily pleased with himself, but he could tell that she disapproved a little by her body posture.

[That was probably a little petty of me, but I couldn't help myself] He thought while rubbing the back of his head.

"Anyway, what brings you here today?"

Tal relaxed a bit. "Heading to dungeon. First floor. For training." She said while motioning to her bound armor.

"Do you need someone to go with you?" Mike felt that if he had to delve with another person, he wouldn't mind going with the pact mage.

Tal shook her head. "Just clearing. Monsters reformed."

"I see. Well, be careful." Mike guessed that meant that the monsters in the dungeon respawned after some time, meaning you could theoretically harvest them for mana cores indefinitely.

She nodded and flashed an unseen smile.maybe. "Remember. Owe meal."

"I won't forget. Let me get my bearings around this place and find somewhere good."

Tal nodded again and stepped lightly away in the direction of the guild, the bound armor trailing in her wake.

After she had disappeared from his sight, Mike suddenly remembered he had forgotten to ask about the chants she had used while in the dungeon. He face palmed again.

[Oh well, I'll just ask next time.]

He walked back over to his makeshift stall and took a seat in his newly created chair. Unfortunately, it wasn't particularly comfortable, and even after shaping it to be a bit more ergonomical, he still felt some discomfort. His control over Earth Magic was still a little rough, and he had difficulty with fine details.

[I'm going to have to get a cushion or something if I want to keep doing this in the future.]

As he was preparing to create the small shelter he had envisioned, he noticed that there was a crowd watching him, while muttering quietly to themselves. Mike sensed that the general mood of the crowd was nervous, but there seemed to be some strange energy passing through them.

He observed the surrounding people, and noticed that none of them were willing to meet his gaze. He was just beginning to become discomfited by the whole thing when an old man limped out from group. The man was dressed in simple work clothes, and if Mike had to guess, he must have been close to 60 years old.

While running a hand over his mostly bald scalp, he asked Mike. "Sir Mage, are you really a healer?"

A sudden silence fell, the crowd seemed very interested in Mike's next words.

"Yes, I am." He answered simply.

The man looked shocked and glanced down at the sign. "And this is all you are charging for your services?"

"Yes." Mike said a little hesitantly, he was starting to get a weird vibe from the group.

The man quickly began digging in his pockets and produced a variety of coins and starting counting them. After a few seconds, his face fell. "I don't have enough."

The look of despair on the man's face sparked Mike's sympathy. "Well, how much do you have?"

"Only 3 gold, 5 silvers, and 3 coppers." He said dejectedly.

"I am assuming that you want to cure an illness, is that correct? What ails you?"

"It's not me, Sir Mage. It's my wife. She's come down with the Boneshivers, and we can't afford the rates the temples are charging. I'm not sure if she will last much longer without some help." The unadulterated anguish the man expressed was almost enough to drive Mike to tears himself.

[I feel like I have become a little bit of a softy since coming to this world.]

He had a sense of foreboding, as if his decision in this case might dramatically impact his future. He briefly debated on the issue before finally deciding that, since he was already planning on changing his prices, he might as well charge the old man less. After all, healing an old women shouldn't cause him any problems, right?

"Well, I have some good news for you."

The old man looked up, a spark of hope radiating from his eyes.

"I was just about to change my prices on the advice of a good friend, but I haven't yet gotten around to updating my sign."

With a flick of his wrist he created a bit of water, washing the makeshift sign clean, then redirecting the mud tinted water into the new image he had in mind. He heard muted gasps from the crowd at his display of magical prowess.

The sign now read:

Healing Services for Sale

1 gold to heal any injury

2 gold to cure any illness or poison

"So it looks like you do have enough money now."

By this point the old man was crying. "Bless you sir, you're a saint. A true saint."

Mike once again felt that sense of foreboding.

[I hope this is not going to cause me to gain another strange title. It's already painful enough looking at my [Status].]

"Now, now. I'm just a man getting paid to do a job. Why don't you lead me to the poor woman, and we'll see about what can be done for her."

The old man led Mike through the confusing tangle of Wyrport's streets, taking him into what he assumed to be the Craftsman's district. The sounds of industry and labor filled the air. The scent of leather, steel, and sweat seemed to saturate the very walls of the buildings they passed by.

Mike was enjoying his quasi-tour through a section of town he had not explored yet, but was starting to feel that this was a bit too much work for a single gold piece.

[I'm going to have to establish a No House Call policy in the future, so I'm not traipsing across the city.]

He also noticed that a large number of the people who had gathered around his stall had taken to following him from a distance. He wasn't precisely sure what they wanted, but their high tension was setting him on edge.

After a good half hour of walking, the old man directed Mike into a crowded tenement building and up to a sparsely furnished apartment.

"She's right in here, Sir Mage." He said while pulling the door open. "Mary. I've brought someone who will help you. I've brought a healer."

As Mike entered the room, he saw the old man kneeling painfully next to a simple wooden bed. A pale and emaciated woman was lying there, shivering almost uncontrollably. Sweat stood out on her forehead, and it was clearly from the glazed and unfocused look in her eyes, that she was suffering from a terrible fever.

He stepped over to the other side of the bed, and laid one hand on her forehead. With an effort of will he started channeling mana into the poor woman. A soft white glow suffused the room, and the old man watched with expectant eyes.

Mike felt some resistance to his magic, almost as if the disease was trying to fight the intrusion of his mana, but he was able to swiftly crush it by adding a little more power. After a few seconds, the woman stopped shivering, her face regained some color, and her breathing grew easier, although she remained unconscious.

Once he could no longer direct mana into the woman, a sign that he had done all he could at this time, he lifted his hand. The woman opened her eyes, blinked once and glanced around the room before settling her gaze on her husband.

"Harold? What's going on?"

The old man, Harold as it turned out, burst into tears again. "Oh gods. I thought I was going to lose you, Mary." He looked up at Mike, eyes full of reverence and awe. "Thank you, Sir Mage. You are truly a saint."

While he was glad to be able to do a little bit of good with his abilities, Mike was starting to feel a little bit uncomfortable with the whole situation. He decided it would be best to make a quick getaway before the man did something like swearing to become his follower.

"We've been over this. I'm just a man getting paid to do a job. No more, no less. Speaking of payment, if you would be so kind as to hand me the agreed upon fee, I'll be on my way. I'm sure the two of you have some catching up to do."

"Oh, of course Sir Mage. You are probably very busy. I don't want to hold you up any further." He said while fishing out the requisite coins.

Mike nodded his thanks and headed back out of the building, hoping that he can put some distance between himself and the overly grateful man.

He had managed to exit the building and cross the street, heading back towards the Adventure's Guild when he heard Harold shouting from above.

"Thank you again, Sir Mage! You saved my wife. I will never forget your generosity. You are a true saint!"

[Argh! Why does he keep calling me that? Is he trying to give me a title? I better get out of here quick.]

He waved at the old man, and started heading away again, but was quickly surrounded by a clamoring group of people.

"Sir Mage. I have sister that can't see. Can you help her?"

"Sir Mage! My knees have been bad for years, can you do anything about them?"

"Please, Sir Mage, my son has been coughing for weeks, and I'm worried it might be something serious."

A chorus of voices threatened to overwhelm Mike. [Well, I guess I've done it now. Might as well make the best of it I suppose."

"Alright, that's enough! Form a line, and one at a time, I will listen to your problems."