Zanshe had mercy on me: over lunch she told us carefully-anonymized stories of memorable client sessions.

  One had wanted a chance to bring their favourite ongoing serial audiopy to life; Zanshe had arranged appropriate costumes, based on the hints and references in the scripts of the pys thus far, and an appropriate setting, and had used her contacts as a voice actor to contact the actor who did the voice of the client’s favourite character. The reaction of the client to having him there, in costume and character, had been absolutely the perfect touch to make the dinner and evening above and beyond what they’d expected Zanshe to be able to do.

  Another time, she’d been hired by someone from a different settlement who wanted to celebrate an accomplishment that was important to their partner; they’d spent a long time talking about everything the partner liked, foods and atmosphere and people, scent and music and location, clothes and activities and time of day, until they had an enormous list for Zanshe to go through and try to put all together into a single coherent pn. Which she had, but it had been a huge task. She’d had to find the perfect space, in a settlement she wasn’t used to, and the right decorations, down to the right flowers to provide a favourite background scent; she’d contacted their favourite band to see if they could be present, and after a couple of exchanges, they managed to arrange to escape other responsibilities long enough to come. She invited the right people and told them what the dress theme was, offering help if they couldn’t come up with something alone and directing them to a local tailor’s group who understood the project. She’d found local suppliers for the right foods, including desserts and drinks. After considerable research, she’d tracked down an expert pyer of their favourite board game, and invited them as well, which had amused said pyer so much they’d immediately agreed. All in all, it took her an immense amount of work, but it had all gone perfectly, and the client and their partner had both been absolutely thrilled.

  One client had just wanted her to model for a very specific erotic painting, one based on a vivid dream they’d had that had been nagging at them and they hoped this would get it out of their head. Just in case, she’d added negotiations for sexual contact to the pnning, even though the client had insisted that it would be only the painting; when it became clear te in the session that it was having a more-than-aesthetic impact on them, she’d encouraged them to finish whatever had to be done from life and to come join her on the couch. She would not, she said, have accepted that one if the client had refused to discuss it, because it could have led to an awkward situation if that same reaction had occurred without the rules being clear in advance. That one had gone away with the half-finished painting, and weeks ter, it had turned up in her mail, beautifully finished, with gratitude that the hyperspecific fantasy was no longer distracting them and they were now in a happy retionship.

  She only ever took one client at a time, who got all of her energy and attention until that project was done; then she took a break, however long she felt she needed, before the next, and spent the time on her community activity and voice acting and whatever else came up.

  She didn’t mention what she asked people to pay, but it seemed reasonable that clients were covering expenses plus something for her time and skills. The more eborate sessions, therefore, probably cost a lot—but it was also distinctly possible that she was adjusting it depending on what someone might be able to comfortably pay, what they were asking for, and potentially a lot of other factors. No one, after all, was going to compin that she was charging someone else less. Presumably it was enough for it to be a viable source of at least some of her income.

  She’d mentioned being involved in community theatre. Somehow I couldn’t see her demanding star roles; I’d be willing to bet she did minor roles and quietly kept everything running, encouraging the nervous and making sure that props were in the right pce and that the costumes all fit and everyone, onstage and off, was comfortably confident in what they were doing.

  And I’d bet her community adored her.

  No one asked me questions that afternoon. Zanshe wanted to hear more about our adventures so far. Aryennos took over a lot of that, with references to his journal of course, and Heket and Terenei and I added information or thoughts where we could get a word or two in. She was intensely curious about his research into the Moss Queen and Zombie King.

  “I also found some information on healers who have been able to unmake or block or prevent mosslings or zombies,” Aryennos said. “I haven’t actually gotten into that. I was waiting for Serru to come back.”

  “Oh, she can catch up,” Zanshe chuckled. “We’ll have to camp tonight and tomorrow before we reach the ring road, and then a third night before we get to the Quincunx. That’s if all goes well and nothing deys us.”

  “There’s a good shelter near the Quincunx site, right?” I asked. “Somewhere that’ll be fairly comfortable?”

  “Oh, yes, of course there is. Serru and I have used it before when gathering in the area. I’m halfway expecting her to be at it, waiting for us and catching her breath. I will be absolutely astonished if we reach it without meeting up with her, then or before. There won’t be a post office before that unless we take a side road and add some distance, so we’ll just have to trust her find us.”

  “She’s promised to, multiple times,” Terenei said. “We can tell her about historical healers then.”

  Aryennos shrugged. “All right.” He flipped through pages in his book, and found the spot he wanted. “Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of information about any of them individually and no one has ever been able to work out a pattern. It just seems to happen. Assume ‘healer’ means doctors and paramedics in this context, because it’s rare for other degrees of healing.”

  “Okay, pause,” I said. “I haven’t had a lot of contact with local healers of any kind. Do they tend to turn up magic along the lines of mine?”

  “People with basic healing knowledge, no. Doctors and paramedics typically develop a few abilities that reflect what they use the most often in their community or specialty.”

  “Sorry, example, please?”

  “There’s a lizard in the Grassnds and a rodent in the Highnds that both cause a transmissible illness if they bite a person or animal.”

  “They’re not common everywhere in the Highnds,” Zanshe interjected. “Only some areas.”

  “In the areas where they’re common, doctors and paramedics tend to learn a magical version of Panacea, or they learn a way to make people immune for a few days until the local episode has run out or been cured, or barriers that prevent sickness from moving from one to another, or turning water into Panacea briefly, or... well, it’s individual.”

  “Or Antidote for those mushrooms Serru taught us about?”

  “Exactly. There are also other pnts in the Forest, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to recognize them, and in the Shallows there are fish, that look and even taste extremely simir, but one version is healthy and one is toxic.”

  “So healers there learn a magical version of Antidote,” I said. “Or a way to detect the difference.”

  “Or make people resistant if there’s a chance they might have eaten something bad but it hasn’t affected them yet, or whatever works for them. Yes, exactly.”

  “Gotcha. And every now and then, these abilities work on zombies and mosslings.”

  “That’s the odd part. No one has worked out why one healer does and another healer doesn’t.”

  “That,” Terenei said slowly, “might be because there’s been one piece of information missing until now.”

  “What?”

  “Do you have species and province?”

  “Yes. Um... Felid, Highnds. Human, Shallows. Felid, Grassnds. Centaur, Forest. Jotun, Forest...”

  “Is there a single example of anyone being in the province where you’d most commonly expect their species?”

  “Um...” Aryennos scanned down the list, and flipped the page. “How did you know that? Not a single one.”

  “Are any in the Midnds?”

  “No. Not one.”

  “That’s how. That’s it, right there.”