And as soon as they're gone, he chants at the machine, and the crack seals up, and any other nearby damage and wear is reversed. He's at the door to the theater maybe two minutes after everyone's gone in, not much longer than it takes to walk there from the machine: "Archibald? I'm done."

"Well, let's see it then," Archibald commands.

The mechanics stroll back out, and mutter a lot more now that they see a pristine condenser in place, and many of the surroundings fixed up besides.

"It should be a simple matter of recharging now, sir. We'll double-check everything and get to it."

(One of the mechanics pointedly mutters in Raafi's hearing but just out of the manager's, "There goes our emergency callout rates...")

"Don't worry, I won't be here long," he whispers back.

"How long do you expect that to take?" he asks, at a more normal volume.

"Twenty minutes if nothing else is wrong. Matinee's at eleven." He points to the theater's gilded clock - it reads 10:14.

The mechanics get to work.

Raafi stays nearby, though not in the immediate vicinity; he wanders off a bit to look at the nearby architecture. He's back in twenty minutes.

He gets quite a few odd looks, out of local fashion as he is, but nobody says anything. Local architecture is pretty enough, with notable elements being straight lines and tall windows, white stone, red bricks, dark wood, and stained glass. They use some kind of wood that shines like metal in the more expensive structures - it's quite pretty and seems sturdy, too.

The air conditioner is chugging along when he returns, with the lead mechanic closely watching a control panel full of dials and gauges and shouting out adjustments.

The manager comes back out with a heavy lacquered wooden box. "Never seen the like. Unnerving, really. But cool air is blowing and a deal is a deal, fast work is valuable work. Here you are, sir."

"Thank you! Would you happen to know anyone else who could use my help? I also do healing."

"...I could give you a letter of recommendation to St. Cavendish's Hospital if you demonstrate? One of my ticket boys has a sprained wrist from some foolery. I'm not sure how much circumstance a theater manager's letterhead would grant you, mind."

"Directions will be fine, I can show them what I can do once I get there. I can take care of his wrist before I go anyway, of course."

"I'll convey the offer, I suppose. Miracles on tap... I wonder if there's a story in that?"

He opens the box after glancing around, revealing rows and rows of coins. He picks out four especially large palm-sized ones with something deep, red, and translucent somehow embedded in the centers, and hands them over. The number '50' is apparent on their elaborate designs, which seem to depict a palace rising above clouds. He goes back inside to put the box securely away - when he emerges, it's with a neatly written sheet of directions.

"The lad was sent home by one of my supervisors already. I'm sure he'll be fine. And this is the way to the hospital."

Raafi nods, "thank you again," and heads off, following the directions.

The hospital is back on the east side of the cliff, and a bit north. It takes up half of a city block, an architecturally distinct structure with white and blue arches. A statue of (presumably) St. Cavendish holding a curious staff with snakes twisted around it is out front. Faded peeling posters promising a better life in the Reach are crowded out by banners bearing Her Eternal Majesty's face and declaring her protection of all her subjects.

Raafi looks around a bit, checking out the posters and examining the statue to see if there's anything interesting about it - a plaque, maybe? - and then heads inside.

The plaque describes St. Cavendish discovering a cure for Shroomlung.

Inside the hospital is a wide waiting room, as white as the harried staff can keep it, with rows of seats about a quarter full (one or two of whom are visibly hurt) and two reception desks with tired-looking nurses.

He approaches the reception desk. "Excuse me, is there an administrator I can speak to?"

"Regarding what?" Is the blunt response.

"I suppose I should start with whoever handles hiring."

The nurse lets out a small sigh. "...I'd advise against this line of work. It's exhausting and often thankless. Left hall, third door on the left, ask for Mr. Roseberry."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you." And he goes to look for Mr. Roseberry.

This seems to be an administrative wing. He can overhear a snatch of shouting through a closed door on the way.

"-a charitable service, yes, but my own company has employees and bills to pay as well. We cannot keep providing supplies to-"

Mr. Roseberry is a twitchy, thin, bespectacled man, who keeps reaching for his left pocket idly before realizing that whatever he was looking for isn't there. "Yes, hello? I don't recognize you, sir."

"Yes, sir, we haven't met; my name is Raafi. I have - something of an unbelievable claim to make, but I think it'll be to your benefit to hear me out; I'm from a different world, one with magic, including healing magic."

"...Well," he says slowly, "You are correct that it is somewhat unbelievable. I suppose a place yet more distant than the one we came from may exist, and some of the tales of 'miraculous healing' have had merit. I had a spate of curiosity once and traveled to do research. The Elder Continent's light was real, and its healing effects weaker than legend says, but measurable. So, do elaborate, please."

"That sounds much weaker than mine, even a small healing spell of my sort has obvious results. The basic kind, that is, which handles injuries; that's the easiest kind for me to demonstrate, if you'd like to see it. I have to prepare any other kinds of healing spell ahead of time, in the morning, and I have a variety - today I have two castings of a spell that can remove chronic pain, two that can cure contagious diseases, and one that can reverse the effects of conditions that permanently weaken or enfeeble someone - each of those affects one person per spell - and two castings of a spell that allows me to double the recovery speed of fifteen people for a day, if they can be gotten together for me to touch within a few seconds of casting it. I also have three castings of a spell that can briefly improve a healers' skills and two of one that can clean objects in an area."

"We have no shortage of people who could use these things, if they are real. Injuries, pain, diseases we have in abundance. Enfeeblement we might not have a case of at the moment. Ah, regrettably, it would be something of a charity task - our ability to pay is. Limited. We do the best we can. I wear four different hats each day, it feels like."

"Ah. Unfortunately I don't think I can make a habit of casting for you without pay; I was brought here unexpectedly and don't have a steady income myself yet. I might as well cast the healing I've got, though, it doesn't do me any good to hold onto those spells when I'll be getting replacements in the morning anyway."