“The guardsmen check on us in the mornings. We can come and go as we please throughout the day if we’re not working, but they check to make sure we’re here morning and night. They said they’d kill Ummum if we didn’t show up for one of their checks. I think it’s so Uruku can use us as leverage if Ummum doesn’t work out. But I can take care of Rish tonight, Kammani, if you tell me what to do.”

“We have to do something, Arammu. It smells bad,” Dagan said, his brow furrowed anxiously.

Do no harm.

Rubbing my hands down my cheeks, I blew out a big breath. I was tired. Not only were my nerves keeping me up at night, but Iltani had snored like an old sow in our tent in Wussuru. How Arwia and Simti had gotten any sleep with her in their bedchamber in Manzazu was beyond my comprehension.

“Okay. I’ll clean it as best as I can with what I have. Take out the stitches. But I can’t sew it closed without clean tools and a way to make sure no dirt is left inside. I can wrap it, but even then, it could get deeply infected, because he’s a little boy and bound to mess it all up. So I’ll have to stitch it on the morrow as soon as we find some brew. Somehow.” Either we’d have to get back into the city with a bribe or we’d have to get Shep to bring him to us. I rubbed my eyes wearily. Nothing was easy about this. Nothing at all.

I looked at Shep. “Can you help him keep it clean? Change the bandages if he gets them dirty or wet?”

“I can do my very best.”

“Good. I’ll do it.” A sense of dread welled up inside me, but I moved forward anyway. There was nothing else to do. “May I have your dagger, Dagan?”

He took it from his scabbard and placed it in my palm. “Thank you, my sweet.”

Nanaea looked worriedly from me to him. She leaned over and grabbed a candle and sconce. “I’ll hold this near so you can see.”

I dug in my satchel, holding the little jars up into the glow from Nanaea’s candlelight to read their contents until I found what was left of an arnica hemp blend to ward off pain. I sprinkled some under Rish’s tongue.

Dipping my hands into the hot water, I scrubbed myself and Dagan’s dagger with the soap and plunged Rish’s arm in to wash out all of the visible dirt. He flinched and tried to pull it back out, but I murmured reassurances as I washed him. Once that was finished, I drew his arm closer to me and slipped the knife underneath his stitches, pulling out the filthy threads one by one. He grimaced with each gentle tug. After I dosed him with the tiniest bit of poppy, he fell into a light slumber in Dagan’s arms. When I was certain he was asleep, I dripped myrrh oil over the open wound and tied Shep’s linens around his arm tightly. For now, it would have to do.