By the time Eli reached the clinic, someone had moved its front desk into the street.
A boy sat behind it with a pencil tied to his wrist. He was trying to make three queues out of people who could not understand why there should be three. Two guild hunters wanted their wounded admitted ahead of a woman carrying an unconscious child. The boy kept pointing to the chalk marks Tessa had drawn across the pavement, but one hunter planted his boot directly over the line.
Eli recognized that kind of impatience. He had often been certain a sufficiently urgent purpose ought to move him past everyone else.
He put his hand on the desk rather than the hunter.
“Who’s assessing?”
The boy pointed toward the doorway, visibly relieved to be asked something he could answer.
A nurse came out, saw the child, and called for a bed. The hunters began objecting. Tessa appeared behind her with a basin under one arm.
“Tell her what changed,” she said. “If he needs to be reassessed, she’ll reassess him. Your badge doesn’t breathe for him.”
