The old tollhouse filled before the day warmed. A veteran named Daro lay on the long table with his left leg broken below the knee. He had kept the boot on during the march, and the swelling had pushed leather tight against his foot.
“Will your palm set the bone?” he asked Qinghe.
“No. The bone has to be placed and held.”
Daro looked at Yan. “You can mend channels, but you can’t set a leg?”
“I can hold the lantern,” Yan said.
“The cart overturned at the first bend,” Daro said. “I caught the axle before it crushed the man underneath. The wheel came down on my leg instead.”
“The man you pulled free?” Yan asked.
“He’s in the next cot. He keeps apologizing.”
