Chapter 9: 9: The Courier's Tale, Part II

“... and lifted it to reveal…” said Mercie with a theatrical pause, eyes wide, an expectant grin on her face. “Can you guess?”

“I’m assuming the flask,” said Wren flatly.

“Well, yes,” said Mercie, with a huff of disappointment, “but you could at least pretend to be invested in the mystery.”

“It’s not much of a mystery,” Wren pointed out. “You said this was a story about the flask.”

“Oh.” Mercie gave a self-reproachful sort of tut. “It’s all about how it’s framed, I suppose. But yes, it’s the flask. Forgive me for trying to make some intrigue, hm?”

With a pointed but quite obviously insincere glare, she took a deep breath and continued.

~~~

“What is it?” asked Endras.

“Well,” said Colroann, “as you can see, it’s a flask of the sort people drink from. A slightly ostentatious one, perhaps, with the carvings and the coloured glass stopper, but nothing particularly special.” He raised a hand and beckoned Endras closer; the doctor took a few steps towards him, an uneasy sensation beginning to burble in his stomach. “Except,” said Colroann in a lower voice, giving Endras a meaningful look, “for where it comes from and what it can do.”

Endras swallowed. “And what would that be?”

“I hear from a very reliable source,” Colroann said, “that this is the last relic of the Acorton dungeon. Or - well, not the last, of course. Others survive. But this may well be the final item to have been recovered.”

Endras stared at the flask on Colroann’s bedside table. “Is it… is it safe? To have here, I mean?”

The old man picked it up, hefting its weight in his palm. “It can’t hurt you just from being near it, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, of course - I mean - I…” Endras sighed. “I don’t know what I mean.”

“It’s understandable,” Colroann allowed. “Everyone knows the story of the city destroyed by its own dungeon, turned into a ruinous wasteland. But few know the details of what happened or what it means. Myself included, of course. I’m not a dungeoneer - I’ve never been inside any dungeon, let alone Acorton’s, nor have I been to the ruins where the city used to be - and neither am I an expert, generally, in the items looted and traded from dungeoneering exploits.”

“But they say,” Endras almost whispered, “that the more powerful and dangerous the dungeon, the more potent the things that come out of it. And Acorton…”

Colroann nodded. “Quite. So you’re right to be a little apprehensive about this.”

He held out the flask to the doctor. Endras did not take it.

“What I understand about this item,” Colroann continued, still holding the flask out with no acknowledgement that he was either planning to withdraw it or expecting Endras to do anything with it, “is that it has one of two effects. If a pure-hearted individual drinks from it…” He paused, tilting the flask in his hand. “Well, what I hear - and I trust my source - is that they will be healed of all ailments and diseases.”

Endras’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure he believed it, but the tone of Colroann’s voice, the look on his face, the manner in which Endras had been brought to him… all those things told him that Colroann believed it, and that was enough to inspire a quiet awe of the possibility.

The older man gave a small smile, perhaps sensing he had captured Endras’s full attention, and tilted the flask in the other direction. “If, on the other hand, a person not pure of heart should take a drink… they shall die. Immediately, irrevocably, hopelessly.”

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Doctor Cartiston’s mind raced. Could it be true? Well, yes, of course it could be true. As magical effects went, this one was… unusual in two ways, the unconditional and complete healing power and the pure-heartedness distinction (which seemed a terribly difficult calculation), but it was far from impossible, especially if Acorton was the true source of the item.

“So what I would like from you, good doctor,” Colroann said heavily, “is to witness me as I take a drink.”

“No,” said Endras. The word came out unconsciously, reflexively, and within the barest fraction of an instant after Colroann had finished speaking.

One brow rose on the older man’s forehead. “So definitively?”

The doctor exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. I don’t - I need to think.”

A soft chuckle bobbed Colroann’s shoulders, quickly followed by a hacking cough that lasted for twenty or thirty seconds. “You didn’t seem to need to think when you said no quicker than a swampfox’ll skin a frog.”

Endras nodded, allowing himself a quiet chuckle of his own. “I apologise. That was too hasty.” Then he took a breath, considering his explanation, sorting it through in his own mind before he could articulate it. “I swore to help people,” he said. “I cannot sit and watch someone knowingly take the action that could well lead to their death.”

“Doctor,” said Colroann, a note of sad kindness in his voice, “I am going to die. That is certain. Nobody can heal me. The only thing that could possibly keep me alive would be a miracle - and this here, this is a chance at a miracle.” He swallowed heavily. “If I do not drink, I die. Very soon, and in terrible pain. If I do drink, perhaps I die, but quicker and more mercifully than I otherwise will. Or perhaps I don’t. That might be a small chance, but it is my only chance. I cannot decide not to take it.”

Endras stared at the floor for several moments, deep lines forming between his brows.

“Doctor,” said Colroann again. “Listen. I asked for you because I heard you were a man of good character. Your reluctance to allow me to take this risk confirms it, in my eyes. I understand that you cannot support a patient in deciding to harm themselves. I respect that; I am glad to see it in you. But I see this as taking the only step that might prevent the harm already certain to come to me.”

Several more moments passed.

“I still don’t entirely understand,” Endras admitted finally. “What do you want me to do?”

Colroann gave it a moment’s consideration before responding. “I want a physician here so that if I have heard wrong - if drinking from this flask neither heals me nor puts an end to me, but causes me to suffer even greater pain - then I have someone here who can try to help in whatever way seems best. So that, if I am healed, there will be a witness who understands what they see and can confirm it for posterity, and perhaps who can then investigate how it was achieved and use that knowledge for the betterment of others. And so that, if I die, it can be properly recorded.”

Endras sat in silence, nodding slowly to himself as his mind turned in dizzying circles. His fingertips rubbed together, unconsciously trying to fidget away the sheen of sweat that had begun to form on his skin.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I will do what you have asked.”

Colroann’s face split into a relieved smile. “Good. Very good.”

“Tell me first,” Endras blurted, suddenly feeling as if he needed to learn impossibly many things in an impossibly short span of time, “what do you think will happen?”

The older man stared at him. Then he blinked and glanced off thoughtfully. “What I think will happen,” he repeated. “I believe, I think, that what I have heard about this flask is true. That it does what I have just described.”

“I didn’t quite mean that.”

A dry snort of amusement escaped Colroann’s nostrils. “No, I know you didn’t. Am I pure of heart? That’s the question.”

Endras waited for him to answer it.

“I don’t know,” said Colroann eventually. “And even if I thought I did, based on my understanding of what a pure heart ought to look like, who’s to say this… this mundane-looking thing here would base its decision on the same criteria?”

“But if you had to hazard a guess,” Endras said flatly.

“If I had to hazard a guess.” Colroann stared at the ceiling for a long while. Then he sighed. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“But you’re going to drink anyway.”

“Yes.”

All the questions went out of Doctor Cartiston’s head. This thing in which he had been brought here to participate was going to happen, whether he assisted or not. Whether he wanted it to or not. So that no longer mattered. All that was important was that he do his job as best he could: that he help Colroann oesh Ustlin in the most effective, respectful, and dignified manner any physician could hope to provide.

“Very well,” said Endras.

“Thank you,” said Colroann with the utmost seriousness. “The rest of your payment, incidentally, is in that drawer.”

Then, before Endras could react, the dying man plucked the stopper from the flask, thrust it to his lips, and swung it right upside down -