"This is cough syrup; take a teaspoonful in a cup of hot water. Remember not to drink it undiluted or in excess. For the cold, here are six pills; take one in the morning and one at night. If there's no improvement in three days with the fever and cough, come find me at the Holy Church. Just tell the guard you're looking for Bishop Martin."
Martin handed over a small brown bottle filled with cough syrup, which was actually a solution extracted from the leaves of a plant native to the Southern Continent. It had calming and cough-suppressing effects but was addictive; locals chewed it for stimulation.
The cold medicine was a white powder extracted from willow bark in recent years. The Lukians mixed it with licorice and sugar to form solid pills, which were not cheap. Martin could only give them out one at a time; even his salary as an interim bishop wouldn't cover the cost.
"You're a bishop?" The boy gasped in awe, and Martin corrected him, "An interim bishop. Remember to take your medicine and not catch a cold. Drink more water, and you can add a pinch of salt to it if you like."
Martin instructed them, figuring this family probably couldn't afford expensive supplements. He didn't believe in those anyway; for mild dehydration, warm saltwater seemed more effective.
Watching the siblings walk away, Martin felt a surge of motivation, even though they had forgotten to pay for the medicine. Soon after, a middle-aged man approached the stand, cradling his left arm and offering a copper penny.
"Is it really just this much, sirs?"
Martin accepted the coin and asked, "What happened to you?"
"I hurt myself while working. I think it's dislocated."
"Jacob, your turn."
Jacob stepped forward, examined the man's arm, and with a quick yank and push, reset the dislocated joint.
"Ouch!" The man cried out in pain.
"Don't move, or it'll pop out again. I'll give you some anti-inflammatory ointment. Don't use that arm for heavy work for a few days."
The man, holding the ointment, was about to thank them, but Jacob cut him off, "No need for thanks. Just tell your neighbors that Bishop Martin holds a free clinic every Monday at the Holy Church."
"You two are living saints. I'll spread the word," the man said before leaving.
Throughout the morning, a few more patients came by. As Martin was about to pack up, two panicked young women clutching a stack of flyers ran up to the stand.
"Sister, let's hide behind this banyan tree. Did you two not see anyone chasing us?" The younger, with darker skin, snapped.
"Please, gentlemen, we're being pursued by some ruffians. Could you help us hide for a bit?" The older girl pleaded before pulling her sister behind the tree's trunk. Martin had no chance to refuse.
Shortly after, a group of men in brown police uniforms arrived, led by a portly man in his forties with a nightstick in hand.
The fat man looked around suspiciously and muttered to himself upon seeing Martin's sign, "A free clinic? By a bishop?"
After scrutinizing Martin and Jacob, he asked tentatively, "Is this really a free clinic held by a respected bishop?"
Jacob cut him off, "An interim bishop. Are you doubting our identity? Or do I need to recite a holy covenant for you to believe?"
"No, we're just pursuing two students spreading seditious thoughts. Have you seen them?"
The fat man didn't dare to tangle with the two clergymen. His job didn't include exposing frauds—that was the religious court's domain.
"You mean the two girls with a pile of papers? They ran that way, towards the south gate," Martin lied, pointing in the opposite direction.
"Really, sir?" The fat man doubted but didn't dare to question further.
"If you don't need medical attention, we're closing up. If you doubt our identity, follow us to the Holy Church. Surely, they won't deceive you," Martin's tone grew colder.
The fat man quickly dismissed his suspicions and led his men towards the south gate.
"They're gone; you can come out now," Jacob called out to the girls behind the tree.
The girls emerged, the older one about to express gratitude, but the younger one seemed ready to scold, "Hmph, we thought you were good people, but you're just another bunch of parasites. Let's go, sister; we don't belong with the vermin of this country."
The older girl, Theresa, quickly covered her sister's mouth, "We mustn't repay kindness with ingratitude. I'm Theresa, and this is my sister, Delisa. We're students from the nearby grammar school. Thank you for your help; we must be going now." With that, they hurried off towards the north side of the square.
"Jacob, you must have been too intimidating; you scared them," Martin joked.
"No, Mr. Martin, I think it's because of this that they hold such animosity towards us." Jacob picked up a flyer the girls had dropped.
It was a simple poster depicting a peasant working under the weight of an obese cleric in lavish robes, complete with a holy sigil, and a noblewoman in equally opulent attire. The text read:
"People of Dunland, rise against the twin ogres of theocracy and monarchy. Join the Liberation Party's cause. Speech at the Venus Tavern this Friday."
Martin read it aloud, then his face lit up with anticipation. "Martin, you're not seriously thinking of going, are you?" Jacob asked tentatively.
"Why not? We're allowed to drink wine; after all, it symbolizes the holy blood. How about a drink this weekend?"
"If you're buying, I have to send half my salary back home for my brother's schooling."
"Then it's settled. Just don't snitch to Bishop Eck, or you'll have double the reports to write next week," Martin warned playfully, confident in his young aide's character.
"Please no, I hate writing those things. Let's go. We have more clinic work this afternoon."