Perhaps Mother was still on her side. Makepeace’s surge of hope was more painful than her fear.
What if she is an enemy? The doctor’s sharp tones cut through her reflections. What can you do about it?
The question shocked Makepeace back into her senses. She needed to plan for the worst, however sick the thought made her. What could be done about a foe already inside someone’s head? It crossed her mind that she had recruited the doctor to deal with just that kind of problem. If he could banish ghosts from James, then perhaps in extremis he could do the same for her.
Makepeace laid out the late doctor’s belongings on the bed, and examined them. With some trepidation, she opened the pouch containing the ‘cranial elevator’. It was an alarming-looking metal device, its long, thin drill attached to a metal crossbar with jointed extensions.
Be careful with that, said the doctor.
‘How does it work?’ she asked.
Do you really have the stomach for such matters? Well, it is rather ingenious. The drill is used to bore into the patient’s skull, and then the bridge section is braced against his head, so that when the screw is turned, the drill-part is slowly withdrawn, raising the dented part of the skull—
‘You need to make a hole in the patient’s head?’ exclaimed
Makepeace. She was thinking of James again now, and was not sure what horrified her more: the thought of drilling holes in him, or the prospect of trying to do so while he was strengthened by angry, powerful ghosts.
Of course. How else would you relieve the pressure on the brain?
‘What if the patient does not . . . like the idea?’
Well, of course you would have a couple of stout fellows hold him down. You might want to put some lint in his ears as well. Some patients dislike the sound of drill grinding bone.
‘Is that the only way?’ Makepeace felt misgivings tingling in the pit of her stomach. She had no ‘stout fellows’ to back her up. ‘Can you not use the device . . . from a distance, somehow?’
From a distance? Of course not! This is a surgical device, not a wand!
‘What did you mean when you said the drill raised the dented part of the skull?’ Makepeace asked slowly. There was a pause, and when the doctor continued, Makepeace thought she detected a slight defensiveness.
I understood that you were acquainted with the details of my earlier case. A soldier was struck a glancing blow to the head by a bullet, at such a distance that it only dented his skull. The pressure on his brain, and build-up of blood inside the skull, caused him to become wild and fanciful, so that he was convinced that he was haunted. Once I raised the dent and dealt with the haemorrhage inside, he returned to his senses . . .
‘You lied to me!’ gasped Makepeace. ‘You promised to save my brother! He has five ghosts inside him! Real ghosts, not blood on the brain! How will your drill help with that?’
Well, how was I to know that you were being so literal?
‘I was offering to house your soul after your death!’ retorted Makepeace. ‘It might have crossed your mind!’
I was hardly at my best! The fever was heavy on me, and I was in the throes of mortal terror!
Remembering the hazy, unfocused face of the doctor before his demise, Makepeace could not deny that he had a point. It might have been a misunderstanding, and even if he had deliberately misled her, could she blame a desperate, dying man for clutching at a chance straw?
She still felt sickened and furious, but mostly with herself. She had fought so hard to avoid having more ghosts poured into her head. In a moment of folly she had taken one on willingly, and all for nothing.
I shall do everything I can, of course, the doctor continued, still sounding a little nervous. If there is a way to help your brother, you have a better chance of finding it with me than without me. I doubt any chirurgeon will ever have a better chance to study this spiritual phenomenon.
‘This changes everything,’ Makepeace said. ‘I need to think.’ Whatever happened, she needed to leave Oxford. If the Fellmottes sent agents to the King’s court, they would hear about the young girl with the cleft in her chin. So where should she go?
She could head west, deeper into Royalist territory and away from the front line, perhaps into the heart of Wales itself. She might escape notice there in some small village, but that would mean abandoning James. The longer he was left full of ghosts, the less likely it was that his own personality would survive. Even though the doctor was unable to banish spirits, she could not give up on saving James.
She could try to cross the lines and flee deep into Parliamentarian territory. The Fellmottes might be less willing to send agents after her there, but it would look bad for her if the rebels ever found out about her short career as a bullion-smuggler.
What kin did she have to call on? Her aunt and uncle presumably still lived in Poplar. But her aunt and uncle had given her away and, besides, London and Oxford were glaring at each other across the map, each one bristling in readiness for the other’s attack. The roads in between would be thick with armies, road-blocks, earthworks and spy-hunters.
Reluctantly Makepeace allowed herself to consider the option she had been trying to avoid. She had one kinsman who belonged to neither the Poplar parish nor the powerful Fellmotte cadre.
Symond.
He had murdered Sir Anthony, but then again Sir Anthony had been a shell full of ghosts. Makepeace despised Symond for abandoning his friends and his regiment, but the two of them had the same secrets and foes. The enemy of her enemy was not her friend, but he might prove a useful ally of convenience.
Most important of all, he had been brought up as a Fellmotte heir. He might well know more about the Fellmotte ghosts than she did. He might even have some idea whether it was possible to flush the ghosts out of James.
It would be a risk. The last Fellmottes to trust Symond had ended up dead or haunted. But not so long ago, Symond and James had been close as twins, and Makepeace could only hope that not all of that affection had been feigned. She would also need to give him some good, solid reasons not to betray her.
‘Doctor,’ she said at last. ‘Do you know a good way of leaving Oxford? I need to travel to Brill, and then onwards into land held by Parliament.’
Why in the world would you want to do that? That whole area is ragged from raids by both sides. And crossing the lines to enter land held by the enemy is an absurd idea! I died recently, and I am in no hurry to enjoy the experience again just yet.
‘There is a man I must find, Dr Quick.’ Makepeace took a deep breath. ‘And it is not safe for us in Oxford. Have you ever heard of the Fellmottes?’
The noble house, with fingers in every pie and gallants in every knightly order? Of course I have!
‘They are more than that! They are hollow, Doctor. They can hold ghosts inside them, just as I am housing you. I am of their blood – I have their gift – and the Fellmottes have plans for me, wicked plans. I have run from them, but they will come after me.’
You juggling little Jezebel! You never told me that! When you came to tempt my soul, you might have mentioned that I would be trapped inside a renegade and runaway, pursued by one of the most powerful families in England!
‘There was scarcely time!’
Well, I am sorry to have been precipitate in my demise! How thoughtless of me to have died so quickly! Why did you run from the Fellmottes, anyway? Did you steal from them? Tell me that you – we – are not with child and fleeing from disgrace?
‘No!’ hissed Makepeace. ‘I was running for my life! They would have filled me full of ghosts – Fellmotte ghosts – until there was no room for my soul. And that would have been the end of me.’
There was a pause.
I cannot tell whether you are telling the truth, the doctor said, sounding intrigued rather than offended. How interesting. I am inside your mind, but not quite inside your thoughts. Nor are you inside mine, I must suppose. We are still somewhat mysterious to each other.
It was true, Makepeace realized. Bear’s mind had no words, but she felt his emotions like vast wind-buffets. She could hear the doctor like a voice in her head, but his thoughts and feelings were fleet and difficult to read, like a glancing moth-flutter against her skin.
Maybe souls learned to read each other over time. The Fellmotte ghosts had had lifetimes to hone their cooperation, so that they could work together fluidly and rapidly. Perhaps they eventually saw each other’s thoughts daylight-plain. Or perhaps they each still had a nugget of secret self that they hid from each other.
The Fellmotte ghosts also seemed to be able to raid and rifle the memories of their living host. Clearly the doctor could not read Makepeace’s memories yet. Perhaps he would, though, in time.
We must forget this plan of travelling to Brill, the doctor muttered. Heading into enemy territory is out of the question. We must find a way to make terms with the Fellmottes. We cannot afford to have enemies that powerful.
‘No!’ hissed Makepeace. ‘There is no talking to them! And that is not your decision to make!’
This is ridiculous, murmured the doctor, and for a moment Makepeace was not sure whether he was addressing her or talking to himself. Listen, young woman. I cannot possibly leave all decisions to you. Like it or not, there are now four souls aboard this fleshly ship, and we are in sore need of a captain. As far as I can see . . . I am the only possible candidate.
‘What?’ exclaimed Makepeace. ‘No! This is my body!’
We are all its denizens now, persisted the doctor. Your age and sex make you unsuited to command, not to mention that you have made fugitives of us all! And our other travelling companions are a half-mad banshee of an intruder, and a bear! I am the only person fit to lead this circus!
‘How dare you!’ Anger rose in Makepeace like a storm. This time it was not Bear’s wrath but her own, and it frightened her. She could feel no limit to it.
That is scarcely a reasoned response – and we must settle this rationally! The doctor also seemed to be losing his temper. You have obviously been blundering at every turn! You did not even know how many ghosts you were hosting! You should be grateful that I am willing to step in!
‘One more word,’ breathed Makepeace, ‘and I will drive you out! I can! I will!’ She did not know for certain that she could, but the words felt true as she said them, with Bear’s growl throbbing in her blood. ‘I ran from the all-powerful Fellmottes – from hearth and home, from everything – because I would not be their puppet. And I have nothing, but I have my own self. And that is mine, Doctor. I shall not be the Fellmottes’ toy, and I will not be yours. Play tyrant with me, and I shall hurl you out of doors, and watch you melt away like smoke in the wind.’
There was another long pause. She could feel the doctor’s emotions shift, but she could not tell what they were, or what the movements meant.
You are very tired, he said slowly. You are worn to a rag, and I had not noticed. We . . . have both had a trying day, and I have chosen a bad time for this conversation.
You are right, I am lost without you. But if you take a moment to think calmly, you will realize that you need me, too. Your mother’s ghost is possibly dangerous, and certainly mad, and roaming around inside your walls. You cannot see her. So you need an ally, one who can do more than growl. An ally who can watch out for her, and tell you what she is doing.
Makepeace bit her lip. Little as she liked to admit it, the doctor had a point.
If you have your heart set upon this plan of yours, he went on, then let us see if we can find a way to survive it. Brill is north-east of here, and only ten miles away as the crow flies, but that distance matters.
Our troops hold a goodly number of garrisoned towns and fortified houses nearby, to guard the roads and bridges around Oxford – Islip, Woodstock, Godstowe, Abingdon and so forth – but if you head east as far as Brill, you are wandering outside the protective circle. There is a great house at Brill that is still in the hands of the King’s men, thank God, but a good deal of the countryside around them is pocked with Parliamentarians.
If you plan to walk there, you will not need to cross any bridges, so we may avoid being stopped and questioned. But it will be perilous travelling cross-country. It seems this is a war fought in paddocks and roadsides. Ambush may be crouched behind any hedgerow or cattle trough.
Makepeace had to concede that all of this was useful information. The doctor was arrogant, but very far from stupid.
‘I will need to plan,’ Makepeace agreed. ‘I will need directions before I leave . . .’ She was starting to realize just how much fatigue was wearing on her nerves.
What a leaden thing you are! murmured the doctor. I believe you are quite sick from weariness. When did you last sleep properly? He sounded rather medical and disapproving.
‘We have been dodging Parliament’s boys across several counties,’ Makepeace retorted. ‘I stole a wink or two when I could.’
Then for God’s sake sleep now, woman! the doctor rapped out, not unkindly. If you do not sleep, then you will sicken, whether you catch the camp fever or not! And then where will we all be? If you are determined to captain this vessel, don’t you at least have a duty to your passengers?
‘I . . .’ Makepeace hesitated.
She barely knew the doctor, and was halfway to deciding that she did not like him, but she could not go without sleep forever. Like it or not, Quick was right. She did need an ally. And she could not recruit his help without admitting her predicament.
‘I . . . have caught myself sleepwalking recently,’ she confessed. ‘I have been . . . afraid to sleep.’
Indeed? Quick seemed to digest the news. Another hand pulling your strings, perhaps? Or maybe a paw?
Makepeace did not answer. He did not press her, but after a few moments she thought she heard a sigh.
I shall stand sentry while you sleep, and wake you if you start to wander, or if either of the others try anything. Whatever I may think of your decision-making, you seem the lesser of three evils.
The thought of deep, uninterrupted sleep was so heady that
Makepeace felt sick. As she lowered her heavy head on to the bed and closed her eyes, the darkness was almost unbearably sweet.
‘Do be careful, Doctor,’ she murmured, as she let herself relax. ‘Bear does not like you. If he thought you were trying to hurt me . . . I’m afraid he might tear you to shreds.’
CHAPTER 24
‘Judith?’
Makepeace opened her eyes with difficulty. They felt sticky. There was a sour taste in her mouth, and her throat was swollen. She wanted to close her eyes again.
A woman’s face hovered over hers, indistinct in the dim room. Was it evening or dawn? For a moment Makepeace could not remember where she was, or what time of day it was likely to be.
‘Judith, what ails you? You’re grey as clay!’
Helen put out a hand towards Makepeace’s forehead, but then pulled it back without touching her. She looked frightened and conflicted.
‘Your brow is slick,’ she murmured. ‘I told you to keep that posy close to your face!’
‘I am not ill!’ Makepeace insisted, and tried to sit up. Her stomach convulsed, and she fell back again. ‘I am just . . . tired.’ She could not have fallen ill so fast, could she? It had been but a few hours since she had sat by Quick’s deathbed.
Helen said nothing, but backed away and dropped into a chair, one hand over her mouth. Her eyes moved to and fro as she made calculations.
‘I am leaving Oxford tonight,’ she said at last. ‘Peg has already left. I must head north towards Banbury – Symond Fellmotte’s favourite tutor lives there, and might have news of him. Besides, there is talk of Parliament’s forces moving against the city. If they start firing their mortars at the walls, I will be trapped here. I had thought to take you with me.’
‘I need to leave as well!’ said Makepeace quickly.
Helen was shaking her head.
‘I cannot take you like this,�
� she said. ‘It would be dangerous enough if we were both well. I cannot carry you, Judith. And it would be perilous to your health.’
Listen to me, said the doctor. She is right. You cannot move now.
You have the camp fever.
‘No!’ hissed Makepeace. ‘I cannot be ill now! I will not be ill!’
You have no choice.
Makepeace was gripped by a terrible fear. Her mind had been under assault before, but now it was her body being attacked from within. She remembered Benjamin Quick’s sickbed, and his soul steaming out of his husk.
‘I am sorry,’ said Helen, apparently with real regret. ‘I will leave you the rest of the medicine, and half my purse – but I cannot stay for you. His Majesty’s orders must come first.’
Do not panic, said the doctor. I am here, and I know the disease. You are younger and stronger than I was. We shall see you through this.
‘Nobody must know that you are ill,’ said Helen, as much to herself as to Makepeace. ‘They are setting up quarantine cabins outside the city in Port Meadow. If your fever is reported, you will be dragged out there, and then I would not give three pips for your chances. I will pay the landlord to hold his tongue and keep you fed. I bet he’d do more than that for a fistful of actual coins.’
She scooped up her belongings, and raised her hood over her head.
‘God protect you,’ she said.
For a moment Makepeace could only think of bitter things to say. But Helen was giving what she could, and owed ‘Judith’ nothing. Makepeace’s gaze fell on the little patches that hid Helen’s pockmarks. She had suffered a hearty tussle with the smallpox, then – a duel with Death. She could not blame Helen for fleeing from a sickroom and a sick city.
‘You too,’ she said.
Makepeace’s eyelids drooped again for what seemed only a moment, but when she raised them again, Helen was gone.
A Skinful of Shadows Page 20
