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." His voice
was getting weaker.
"You cut your meat with a sword?" Phineas scoffed.
"Who said anything about a sword?" the man named
Denzil said harshly. He propped himself up slightly,
somehow managing to look menacing despite his weak-
ened condition. "Listen, just fix me up and keep your
mouth shut about it."
Phineas looked at him helplessly. "I can't dress a sword
wound. I'm not that good -- I mean, kind -- of doctor.
You'll just have to find a surgeon." He pressed the dirty
rag against the wound again, forcing another convulsion
from the man. "Sorry."
"There is no one else. I wouldn't trust a kender doctor
any farther than I could choke him." Phineas saw the
man's fingers flex on the handrests. "Besides, I'm not in
any shape to move."
"You can make it," Phineas said, sounding more des-
perate than encouraging. "Just hold this to your side and
I'm sure --"
"I have enough strength left to choke an uncooperative
doctor," the man said threateningly. Something in his
small eyes told Phineas that this Denzil would happily
spend his last ounces of strength making good on the
threat.
Phineas poured three-day-old water into a wooden
bowl and ripped some cleaning rags. "I'll do my best, but
this really isn't a convenient time for me. My fee will be
very high."
"I can pay it," the man said coldly.
"Would you mind very much paying in advance?" Phi-
neas asked somewhat timidly, still not at all sure he could
help the man. As he figured it though, if he was, well, un-
successful, Denzil would not be around to choke him,
and if Phineas was successful, everyone would be happy
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