Summoned by Walker C L

Author:Walker, C L [Walker, C L]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: CL Walker
Published: 2017-03-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

I helped my master up three flights of stairs in a plain brick building and to a battered metal door covered in incomprehensible graffiti. He pushed away from me and tried to stand up straight before knocking.

“You are not to speak once we go inside,” he said while we waited for his doctor to answer. “Do you understand?”

“I’ve told you about the dangers of keeping me silent.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

His confidence had returned and his words had the tone of a man who thought he was in control. He’d come up with a plan and was forging ahead, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Not yet, anyway.

The young man who answered the door didn’t look like the doctor I had seen in my head when I was searching my new knowledge for help with Phil’s gunshot wound. Instead, he looked like the kind of doctor I was familiar with from the past; he wore tattered clothes and had adorned himself with trinkets, feathers and claws, totems and talismans for controlling the spirit world.

“I need help,” Phil said, barging past the surprised little man and entering the apartment. I waited at the door for the man to finish examining me with fearful eyes. When he was done he turned and I followed him inside.

“Are you bleeding?” the man asked. His tone suggested he was simply curious, rather than concerned.

“I’ve been shot,” Phil said as he collapsed on a ratty but comfortable-looking chair. “I need you to fix me, quickly.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor, man,” he replied, even as he hurried to a cabinet against the wall and tore a drawer open. He pulled out a rolled up leather kit and dragged a table and small stool over to Phil.

I took up a position against the door, watching the room for any sign of danger. The trinkets affixed to the doctor were continued throughout his apartment and I spotted several that were more than simple superstition: the skull of a lamb with an ancient symbol carved into its forehead; a spear of a design I recognized from Athens, with dried blood ingrained in the wooden shaft; a stuffed mouse-like creature with enormous feet that I couldn’t identify but that my tattoos responded to.

This was a witch doctor or shaman, re-imagined for this future world. In a different time he would have been a tribal elder or local ruler, but in this city he was relegated to a small room in a rundown building, and he had to deal with people like Phil.

“Who’s the muscle?” the doctor said, shooting a look over his shoulder at me. I smiled and he looked away quickly. “He’s a creepy guy. And what’s with the robe?”

“He isn’t important.” Phil grunted as the doctor pushed something organic – a moss of some kind – into the bullet wound. “Can you be a little more careful, please?”

“You want this done right? Then shut up.”

Judging by the world outside I didn’t think magic was a large part of this civilization, if it was even well known at all.

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