Dresden 11 - funkplanet

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html I shut the door behind me and brought my wards back up. Then I waved a hand at my apartment in general, focused my will, and muttered,“Flickum bicus.” A dozen candles spaced around the room flickered to life as I pronounced the simple spell, and I knelt beside the unconscious Morgan, examining him for injuries. He had half a dozen nasty cuts, oozing and ugly and probably painful, but not life-threatening. The flesh on his ribs, beneath his left arm, was blistered and burned, and his plain white shirt had been scorched away. He also had a deep wound in one leg that was clumsily wrapped in what looked like a kitchen apron. I didn’t dare unwrap the thing. It could start the bleeding again, and my medical skills are nothing I’d want to bet a life on. Even Morgan’s life. He needed a doctor. Unfortunately, if the Wardens of the White Council were pursuing him, they probably knew he was wounded. They would, therefore, be watching hospitals. If I took him to one of the local emergency rooms, the Council would know about it within hours. So I called a friend. Waldo Butters studied Morgan’s injuries in silence for a few moments, while I hovered. He was a wiry little guy, and his black hair stood up helter-skelter, like the fur of a frightened cat. He wore green hospital scrubs and sneakers, and his hands were swift and nimble. He had dark and very intelligent eyes behind black wire-rimmed spectacles, and looked like he hadn’t slept in two weeks. “I’m not a doctor,” Butters said. We’d done this dance several times. “You are the Mighty Butters,” I said. “You can do anything.” “I’m a medical examiner. I cut up corpses.” “If it helps, think of this as a preventative autopsy.” Butters gave me an even look and said, “Can’t take him to the hospital, huh?” “Yeah.” Butters shook his head. “Isn’t this the guy who tried to kill you that one Halloween?” “And a few other times before that,” I said. He opened a medical kit and started rummaging through it. “I was never really clear on why.” I shrugged. “When I was a kid, I killed a man with magic. I was captured by the Wardens and tried by the White Council.” “I guess you got off.” Page 4
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html I shook my head. “But they figured that since I was just trying to survive the guy killing me with magic, maybe I deserved a break. Suspended sentence, sort of. Morgan was my probation officer.” “Probation?” Butters asked. “If I screwed up again, he was supposed to chop my head off. He followed me around looking for a good excuse to do it.” Butters blinked up at me, surprised. “I spent the first several years of my adult life looking over my shoulder, worrying about this guy. Getting hounded and harassed by him. I had nightmares for a while, and he was in them.” Truth be told, Istill had nightmares occasionally, about being pursued by an implacable killer in a grey cloak, holding a wicked cold sword. Butters began to wet the bandages over the leg wound. “And you’re helping him?” I shrugged. “He thought I was a dangerous animal and needed to be put down. He really believed it, and acted accordingly.” Butters gave me a quick glance. “And you’rehelping him?” “He was wrong,” I said. “That doesn’t make him a villain. It just makes him an asshole. It isn’t reason enough to kill him.” “Reconciled, eh?” “Not especially.” Butters lifted his eyebrows. “Then why’d he come toyou for help?” “Last place anyone would look for him be my guess.” “Jesus Christ,” Butters muttered. He’d gotten the improvised bandage off, and found a wound maybe three inches long, but deep, its edges puckered like a little mouth. Blood began drooling from it. “It’s like a knife wound, but bigger.” “That’s probably because it was done with something like a knife, but bigger.” “A sword?” Butters said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “The Council’s old school,” I said. “Really, really,really old school.” Butters shook his head. “Wash your hands the way I just did. Do it thorough—takes two or three minutes. Then get a pair of gloves on and get back here. I need an extra pair of hands.” I swallowed. “Uh. Butters, I don’t know if I’m the right guy to—” “Oh bite me, wizard boy,” Butters said, his tone annoyed. “You haven’t got a moral leg to stand on. If it’s okay that I’m not a doctor, it’s okay that you aren’t a nurse. So wash your freaking hands and help Page 5
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Dresden 11 - funkplanet

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