So the linden blooms remained hidden on his person for all his travels, across the world and back, as he saved souls and lost them and became a wandering myth, someone others saw or whispered about but never knew. He neither liked nor disliked his life: he was there for a purpose, andwith Death by his side, he performed it.
Then a day came when he traveled a road he had never been down before. The road led into a dark forest, and in this place, he felt Death more strongly than he ever had before.
“Do you know this forest?” he asked Death.
Death, who was never present in person but always seemed to hover on the edges of the doctor’s vision, replied, “This is my home.”
Luther had never had a home, and had never thought of Death having one, either. He walked on, following a line of iron lampposts along the side of the road, until the trees parted and a village appeared.
“I didn’t know there was a village in this forest,” said the doctor.
Death did not reply, and the doctor realized with a jolt that Death was no longer on the edge of his vision. It was as if Death would not leave the trees.
In all his travels, the doctor had never been anywhere Death would not go. Intrigued, he started down into the village to see if there was anyone he could help.
Three
Greymist Fair had an apothecary and several residents skilled in herbal medicines and basic first aid, but no trained doctors. Nor did any doctors visit regularly with the traveling merchants who came through. Doctor Death, therefore, made an impression as he swept through town. He stopped first at the inn to rent a room, and while there diagnosed one of the kindly old innkeepers with nearsightedness. Then he went to see Lord Greymist in his manor on the hill, and the lord paid him in gold coin to examine all his servants. By the time he had finished his rounds and was returning to the inn for dinner, most of the other villagers had gathered in the inn’s common room, waiting to see him.
He was busy, but for the first time in a very long time, he was not unhappy. None of the villagers were in immediate danger of dying, and so he didn’t see even the vision of Death for the next several days. The air was clear, the village beautiful, andhe felt a strange sense of peace he’d never felt anywhere else.
On his third day in the village, he was eating his breakfast in the inn when a young woman approached him. Her hair was the color of dark wheat, loose around her face, and her eyes were round and gold, cat’s eyes. She regarded him warily, hands clasped in front of her as if she might need to raise them quickly.
“Are you the doctor?” she asked. He nodded because his mouth was full of porridge. “My name is Hilda,” she said. “If you would be willing, I have... a spot I’d like you to look at.” Her face turned tomato red, and she cut her eyes toward the staircase and the front door, though no one had come in. “In return, I could mend any clothing you have, or if you’ll be here for several more days, I could make you something new.”
She was very pretty, he thought, and he disliked that she looked so uncomfortable with what she was asking. He swallowed and said, “Of course. If it requires privacy, I could visit you in your home.”
Hilda nodded quickly. “Yes, thank you. I live in the cottage on the hill just behind the inn. Beneath the linden tree.”
She hurried away, around the staircase and out of the inn, and he stared after her. He hadn’t noticed a linden tree in the village.
After breakfast he had to make his first stop down by GreyLake. The fisherman, Falk, had a bad cough, and his wife was worried it was something worse, but still Death did not appear, and the doctor prescribed fluids and bed rest and as many fruits and vegetables as they could afford to trade for in the village. The whole while he was there, he was thinking of Hilda with her gold cat eyes and her discomfort. Was she in pain? Did she need his help urgently and she hadn’t said so?
He hurried back to the village and went straight to the cottage behind the inn. It was there, on a hill, beneath a large and old linden tree, just as she’d said. He climbed the hill with long strides, but she had pulled the door open before he could reach the top.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, welcoming him inside. The cottage was full of tailor’s tools and a large loom. Hilda sat him down at the squat wooden table and closed the door behind him.
“If it was something urgent, I could have come sooner,” he began.
She shook her head. “No, no, not urgent. I—I mean, it’s not life-threatening, I just—oh, Ican’t stand looking at it anymore!”
She thrust out her hand. He realized then that she hadn’t been holding her hands in front of her for protection; she’d been hiding one hand inside the other. Because there, on the knuckleof her left index finger, was a small, bulbous wart.
“Oh,” he said.
“Iknowit’s only a wart,” she said, looking at the ceiling, “but I work with my hands all day and I see it there constantly and it’s so—it’s so—oh, I just don’t like it!”
The doctor pressed his lips together to hold back his laughter. He normally didn’t find humor in his patients’ distress, but he was relieved it wasn’t anything more serious, and she herself was smiling even as she cringed away from her own hand.
“I am very sorry this has caused you so much upset,” he said, doing his best to keep his expression even, but seeing that sparkle of mirth in her eye and knowing she saw it in his, too, made it difficult. “I think I can help,” he finally said. “Do you have vinegar?”
She brought him vinegar and water. He mixed the two, then had her sit with him at the table and he held her hand while he applied the mixture on the wart and bandaged it.
“Do this every night,” he said, tying off the bandage, “and don’t forget the water. Never put the vinegar on by itself; it’ll burn you. The wart should fall off in about a week or so.”
“Thank you,” she said, relaxing a bit. “I feel very silly. I’m not usually so... excitable. I’m a very calm, dependable person.”
“Is that so?”
