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"Get towels, get anything to stop the bleeding," shouted Elizabeth. Gretchen ran for the house. Madam ran to Wordless. "Don't move him." She pushed Dad aside, stopping him from shifting Wordless as he tried to see the wound. She took a pulse. "He's still alive, but he's fading fast. The bullet's made an unholy mess. Where is Gretchen?"

Gretchen skidded the emergency stretcher into the door jam. Dad rushed to push it out of the greasy mud. They rolled it up to Wordless, then healer and nurse packed the wound.

"Put him on the stretcher," said Madam. Gretchen and Dad wrapped Wordless in a blanket and lifted him onto the stretcher.

Martha brushed the untouched side of his face. "Don't die."

Reba tsked behind her. Wordless squinted up at Reba for a moment then glanced at Martha, his eyes not blank but filled with deep despair. They rolled up. He shook in a seizure. William rushed the stretcher off to the operating room.

Reba left for bed. Martha spent the night with Dad, hovering around the kitchen coffee pot. A watery winter sun had risen before Madam entered, worn and haggard.

"He's lost a lot of blood. I wired his jaw and cheek. His sinuses are a mess. Fortunately he's a bad shot. The bullet caused minor damage. But I found this." Elizabeth held out a dangling tangle of black strand net. "It's an implant of some kind. Ran the length of his scar. A devil to remove. Stunk of magic. Took all my power and concentration. Just a boy. Who would do such a thing?"

"He knows something someone doesn't want exposed." William shrugged. "Make a tidy profit on a problem. Great business move."

"I should know that." Madam sighed and Dad raised an eyebrow. "No surprise to you, William." She glanced away for a moment, examining the fire.

"Can I see him?" said Martha. "I couldn't sleep so I made up the breakfasts for the few overnight patients. I can deliver them now. It's only a little early."

"He's still unconscious. Just a little while." Madam plodded off down the hall, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Martha tucked the empty serving cart along the wall and ducked into the darkened room. The half hour before she picked up the empty trays should serve for a visit. She pushed aside the heavy brocade curtains and light glowed over the rich wood furniture and parquet floor, settling in a square on the green tea silk coverlet. Quite a difference from his neatly darned cotton sheets and patchwork duvet in the little alcove by the fire. She suspected Wordless would prefer the bed clothes she had mended. Martha choked back a sob.

He looked terrible. All his gold curls shorn again, his head swathed in bandages. His eyes, especially the left, had swollen shut with purple bruises that disappeared under the bandages to reappear as swelling over his neck and upper chest. A tube kept his throat open for the oxygen hissing from a tank beside the bed. An intravenous restored his lost blood. Only the monitors gave out hope, one echoing each steady beat of his heart, the other etching the brain waves of unconsciousness.

Martha sat down beside the bed and grasped Wordless' hand. She rubbed her fingers over his calluses. Had he really spoken? Or was it some half-dream? She should have said that her magic caused it all. Why did she let Madam hurt him? Martha lifted his hand and rubbed it against her tear stained cheek.

Words misted in the air, crystallizing into the colors of an illuminated manuscript as the sun shone through them. The words of the shade of Adonis when Gaia found him in Hell, the dogs of despair gnawing on his entrails.

"Why weep you, my lady, over one such as I?"

Martha reached out in wonder to touch the letters. They flowed round her fingers like jelly to form again just out of reach. Is this what happened when a witch remained untaught without an apprenticeship? She wished she could control this.

Wordless moaned then gagged at the tube. His free hand tried to jerk it out. Martha leaned over and pulled his fingers away.

"It's there to help you," she said.

Slits opened in his eyes. Wordless pulled his hands from her grasp and turned his head away. The dazzling words flew into a huddle in an upper corner of the room. Martha grabbed his hand back and held it tight between her own.

"I won't let Madam or anyone hurt you again. You look at me all you want. I'll take the correction rather than have you in pain, " she said.

Hard black words crackled above her nest of hands."You know not what you say." The words reformed in purple script as the perfume of lavender drifted through the room. "I love you, Martha." His fingers tried a squeeze.

"The words are yours? You made the magic in my room?"

"Yes." He closed his eyes. The words faded. His breathing deepened. He moaned. Words of black glass hovered above his body. "I have to say. Before it stops me." He gagged and gasped. Jagged letters returned. "I didn't mean to hurt you." A thick tear oozed from the slit of his less swollen eye.

"You didn't hurt me."

"What's all this?" said Madam from the door, her eyes boring into Martha.

The words vanished. Martha's stomach clenched, yet she entwined her fingers with his, a small gesture of defiance.

Wordless lifted his free hand then flopped it down on the bed. Thin smokey letters floated from his mouth. "Madam, the words are mine."

"A wizard transpo. An enslaved noble? I don't think so," said Madam. She looked thoughtful. "Maybe some magic is left from the net I took from your head. Yes, that's it."

"As you wish."

"How are you feeling?" Elizabeth jiggled the spidery implant in front of his eyes. "Much better without this, despite your injuries, I think. Who committed this crime against you?"

"There are many crimes." The sharp black words swarmed in front of her face. With a magic gesture, Elizabeth brushed them away.

"I'm sorry I corrected you," she said. "I've learned a hard lesson."

"I've learned many," formed in the air.

"What's your real name?"

"Wordless."

"I don't think so."

"I am the Word then."

"Wordless. I order you to tell me."

"Oh, yes. I am your ten shilling bargain."

The words formed into shining coins that dropped onto the bed. Wordless gave a deep sigh and drifted off asleep.

Martha picked up a shilling and examined it."They're solid gold."

Madam bit her lip."I don't understand. The coins. The words. Great magic. No one around here makes spells like this. Complicated in the smooth simplicity. To even fetch the coins instead of changing the words, they must have come from Botany. Prince level, mage level magic. He's too young. Never apprenticed, he's been here. Even if it was left over from the web I found, he's so injured. A spell takes energy and effort. He shouldn't be making even small magic."

A summons bell rang from one of the patient rooms. Madam straightened. "You keep the coins for him. It's time for picking up the trays. I'm going to give him a healing and remove his tube. I suspect that after a sleep he'd love you to feed him some chicken broth. And tell Madam Ann, our bell ringer, that I say she can go home anytime. She needs to make a follow up appointment with Gretchen."

Martha remained at Wordless' side, trying to digest the events. Another secret magician like herself?

"Go on now," said Madam.

Martha patted Wordless' hand then rose. She left Madam staring down at him with worried frown.