The Amazing Dr. Darwin

by Charles Sheffield

  “I think not,” said Darwin. But he swung lightly to the ground from the seat of the dray and began to walk quickly across to the black-shuttered third house. He had seen the repeated looks that Malcolm Maclaren and the woman had cast in that direction.

  “I don’t suppose there is any chance of rooms in here?” he said, not slowing his pace at all. “It will be some inconvenience, sharing a room, and if there were a place in this house, even for one of us—”

  “No, sir!” Maclaren’s voice was high and urgent. “Not in that house, sir. There’s no room there.”

  He came after Darwin, who had reached the half-open door and was peering inside.

  “Ye see, there’s no place for ye.” Maclaren had moved around and blocked the entrance with a thick arm. “I mean, there’s no furniture there, no way that ye could stay there, you or the Colonel.”

  Darwin was looking carefully around the large stone-floored room, with its massive single bed and empty fireplace. He frowned.

  “That is a pity. It has no furnishings, true enough, but the bed is of ample size. Could you perhaps bring some other furniture over from another house, and make it—”

  “No, sir.” Maclaren pushed the door to firmly and began to shepherd Darwin back toward the other house. “Ye see, sir, that’s my brother’s house. He’s been away inland these past two month, an’ the house needs a cleanin’ before he comes back. We expect him in a day or two—but ye see, that house isna’ mine to offer ye. Come on this way, an’ we’ll make you comfortable, I swear it.”

  He went across to the dray, ripped away the canvas with a jerk, grunted, and lifted the box containing Little Bess clear with one colossal heave. The other two men watched in amazement as he braced his legs, then staggered off toward the center house with his burden.

  Pole raised his eyebrows. “I won’t argue the point with him. It took two of us to lift that. But what’s over there that he’s so worried about? Weapons maybe? Did you see guns or claymores?”

  “There was a bed in there—nothing else.” Darwin’s intrigued tone was at odds with his words.

  “You are sure?” Pole had caught the inflection in the other man’s voice. “Nothing mysterious there?”

  “I saw nothing mysterious.” Darwin’s voice was puzzled. He went over to the dray and took one of his bags down from it. His expression was thoughtful, his heavy head hunched forward on his shoulders. “You see, Colonel Pole, that is one of the curiosities of the English language. I saw nothing, and it was mysterious. A room two months empty and neglected, and I saw nothing there—no dust, no cobwebs, no mold. Less than I would expect to see in a house that had been cleaned three days ago. The room was polished.” He rubbed at his chin.

  “But what does that mean?”

  Darwin shrugged. “Aye, that’s the question.” He looked at the dirty grey smoke rising from the house in front of them. “Well, we will find out in due course. Meanwhile, unless my nose is playing me tricks there’s venison cooking inside. A good dish of collops would sit well after our long journey. Come on, Colonel, I feel we have more than earned an adequate dinner.”

  He went in, through a door scarcely wide enough to permit passage of his broad frame. Jacob Pole stared after him and scratched his head.

  “Now what the devil was all that about? Him and his mysterious nothings. That’s like a sawbones, to conceal more than they tell. I’ll still bet there’s weapons in that place, hidden away somewhere. I saw their looks.”

  He picked up a small case and followed into the house’s dark interior, where he could now hear the rattle of plates and cups.

  * * *

  Jacob Pole awoke just before true dawn, at the first cock crow. He climbed out of bed, slipped on his boots, and picked up the greatcoat that lay on the chest of drawers. Despite his misgivings, the bed had been adequately large and reasonably clean. He looked to the other side of it. Darwin lay on his back, a great mound under the covers. He was snoring softly, his mouth open half an inch. Pole picked up his pipe and tobacco and went through to the other room to sit by the embers of the peat fire.

  He had spent a restless night. Ever since dinner his thoughts had been all on the galleon, and he had been unable to get it out of his mind. Hohenheim was after the bullion, that was clear enough. Maclaren had made no secret of the galleon’s presence, but it was also clear from the way that he shrugged the subject away with a move of his great shoulders that he knew nothing of anything valuable aboard it. He had seemed amazed that anyone, still less two parties, should be interested in it at all. The Devil, too, had been casually shrugged off.

  Yes, surely it was there—had been there as long as anyone in the village could remember.

  Its dimensions?

  He had pondered for a while at Darwin’s question. As large as a whale, some said— others said much larger. It lived near the galleon, but it was peaceful enough. It would merely be a man’s fancy to say that the creature guarded anything in the loch.

  The three men had played a curious game of three-way tag for a couple of hours. Pole had wanted to talk only of the galleon, while neither Darwin nor Maclaren seemed particularly interested. Darwin had concentrated his attention on the Devil, but again Maclaren had given only brief and uninformative answers to the questions. He had his own interests. He pushed Darwin to talk of English medicine, of new drugs and surgical procedures, of hopeless cases and miracle cures. He wanted to know if Hohenheim could do all the things that he hinted at—make the blind see, save the living, even raise the dead. When Darwin spoke Maclaren leaned forward unblinking, stroking his full beard and scratching in an irritated way at his breeches’ legs, as though resenting the absence of the kilt.

  Pole shook his head. It had been a long, unsatisfying evening, no doubt about it.

  He picked up a glowing lump of peat, applied it to his pipe, and sucked in his first morning mouthful of smoke. He sighed with satisfaction, and went at once into a violent and lengthy fit of coughing. Eyes streaming, he finally had to stagger across and take a few gulps from the water jug before he could breathe again and stand there wheezing by the window.

  “You missed your true vocation, Colonel,” said a voice behind him. “If you were always available to wake the village, the cockerel would soon be out of work.”

  Darwin stood at the door in his stockinged feet. He was blinking and scratching his paunch with one hand, while the other held his nightcap on his head.

  Pole glared at him and took another swig from the water jug. Then he looked out of the window next to him, stiffened, and snorted.

  “Aye, and it’s just as well that one of us gets up in the morning. Look across there. A light in that house, and that means Hohenheim is up already—and I wager he’ll be on his way to Loch Malkirk while we’re still scratching around here. He’s ahead of us already, and with his powers I wouldn’t put anything past him. We have to get moving ourselves, and over to the loch as soon as we can.”

  “But you heard Hohenheim last night, announcing his intention to be in Inverness. What makes you think that he is still in Malkirk?” Darwin nodded to the grey-haired woman, who had silently appeared to tend the fire and set a black cauldron of water on it. “He is probably not even here.”

  “He is, though.” Pole nodded his head again toward the window. The door of the other house had opened, and two figures were emerging. It was too dark to make out their clothing, but there was no mistaking the tall, thin build, backed by a shorter form that seemed to be a part of the darkness itself.

  “Hohenheim, and his blackamoor.” Pole’s voice held a gloomy satisfaction. “As I feared, and as I told you, we come to seek bullion, and we find we are obliged to compete with a man who can see the future, travel fast as the wind to any place that he chooses, and conjure powerful nostrums from thin air. That makes me feel most uneasy. By the way, did you take the draught that he provided for you?”

  “I did not,” said Darwin curtly. He sat down at the table and pulled a deep dish tow
ard him. “I found one bowl of Malcolm Maclaren’s lemon punch more than enough strange drink for me last night. My stomach still gurgles. Come, Colonel, sit down and curb your impatience. If we are to head for Loch Malkirk, we should not do so until we have food in us. The good woman is already making porridge, and I think there will be more herring and bowls of frothed milk. If we are to embark on rough water, at least let us do so well-bottomed.”

  Pole sat down bad-temperedly, glared at his offending pipe, and pecked halfheartedly at porridge, oatcake, and smoked fish. He watched while Darwin devoured all those along with goat’s whey, a dish of tongue and ham, and a cup of chocolate. But it went rapidly, and in five minutes the plates were clear. Pole rose at once to his feet.

  “One moment more,” said Darwin. He went across to the woman, who had watched him eating with obvious approval. He pointed at a plate of oatcakes. She nodded, and he gave her an English shilling. As he loaded the cakes into a pocket of his coat, Jacob Pole nodded grudgingly.

  “Aye, you’re probably right to hold me there, Doctor. There’ll likely be little hospitality for us at the loch.”

  Darwin raised his eyebrows at the sudden truce, then turned again to the woman. He pointed at the rising sun, then followed its path across the sky with his arm. He halted when he had reached a little past the vertical, and pointed at the cauldron and the haunch of dried beef hanging by the wall. The woman nodded, spoke a harsh-sounding sentence, laughed, and came forward to pat Darwin’s ample stomach admiringly.

  Darwin coughed. He had caught Pole’s gleeful look.

  “Come on. At least dinner is assured when we return.”

  “Aye. And more than that, from the look of it.” Pole’s voice was dry.

  The path to Loch Malkirk was just as Maclaren had described it, running first seaward, then cutting back inland over a steep incline. The ground was still wet and slippery with a heavy dew that hung sparkling points of sunlight over the heather and dwarf juniper. By the time they had travelled fifty yards their boots and lower breeches were soaked. When the loch was visible beyond the brow of the hill, they could see the mist that still hung over the surface of the water.

  Darwin paused at the top of the rise and laid his hand on Pole’s arm. “One second, Colonel, before we head down. We could not find a better place than this to take a general view of how the land lies.”

  “More than that,” said Pole softly. “We’ll have a chance to see what Hohenheim is doing without him knowing it. See, he’s down there, off to the left.” The shape of the loch was like a long wine bottle, with the neck facing to the northwest. An island offshore stood like a cork, to leave narrow straits through which the tides raced in and out. Once in past the neck of the bottle, the water ran deeper and the shore plunged steeply into the loch. Hohenheim and Zumal stood at the head of the narrows, looking to the water.

  Darwin squinted across at the other side, estimating angles and widths. He sucked his lips in over his gums. “What do you think, Colonel?”

  “Eh? Think about what?”

  “The depth, out in the middle there.” Darwin followed Pole’s gaze to where Hohenheim and his servant had moved to a small coble and were preparing to launch it. “Aye, it seems they may be answering my question for me soon enough—that’s a sounding line they’re loading with the paddles. Steep sides and hard rock. It would not surprise me to find that the loch sounds to a thousand feet. There’s depth sufficient to cover a galleon ten times over.”

  “Or hide a devil as big as you choose.” Pole wriggled in irritation, and Darwin patted him on the arm.

  “Hold your water, Colonel. Our friends there will not be raising any treasure ship today. They lack equipment. With luck they will do some of your work for you. Do not overestimate Hohenheim.”

  “You saw that he has great powers.”

  “Did I? I am less sure. Observe, he uses a boat, so at least he cannot walk upon the waters.”

  Their voices had been dropped to whispers, and while they spoke Zumal had pushed the boat off, Hohenheim sitting in the bow. He was in the same motley clothes, quite at ease and holding the sounding line in his lap. At his command Zumal paddled twenty yards offshore, then checked their forward motion. Hohenheim stood up, swung his right arm backward and forward a couple of times, and released the line. Darwin muttered to himself and leaned in concentration.

  “What’s wrong?” Pole had noticed Darwin’s move from the corner of his eye.

  “Nothing. Only a suspicion that Hohenheim…”

  Darwin’s voice trailed off as the weighted line unwound endlessly into the calm waters of the loch. Soon Hohenheim had paid out all that he held, still without touching bottom. He spoke to Zumal, gathered in the line, and sat quietly as the coble moved slowly off toward the mouth of the loch. He tried the line again, and as they moved farther the depth gradually decreased until it was less than twenty feet in the neck at the entrance.

  Hohenheim nodded and said something to his companion. They both had all their attention on the line. It was Jacob Pole, looking back along the length of the inlet, who noticed the swirling ripple spreading across its surface. It showed as a line of crosscurrent, superimposing itself on the pattern of wavelets that was now growing in response to the morning sea breeze. The forward edge of the moving ripple was running steadily toward the coble at the seaward end of the loch. Pole gripped Darwin’s arm hard.

  “See it there. Along the loch.”

  The ripple was still moving. Now its bow was less than fifty yards from where Hohenheim was reeling in his line. As the spreading wave came closer, there seemed to be a hint of lighter grey moving beneath the surface. The wave moved closer to the boat, thirty yards, then twenty. Pole’s grip had unconsciously tightened on Darwin’s arm until his knuckles showed white. At last, where the bed of the loch became sharply shallower, the moving wavefront veered away to the left. Another moment and it was gone. All that remained was a spreading pattern of ripples, lifting the coble gently up and down as the light craft was caught in their swell.

  Hohenheim looked round as he felt the motion of the boat, but there was nothing to be seen. After a moment he turned his attention back to the line.

  Pole released his hold on Darwin. “The Devil,” he said softly. “We’ve seen the Devil.”

  Darwin’s eyes were glittering. “Aye, and it’s a Devil indeed. But what in the name of Linnaeus is it? That’s a real test for your systems taxonomical. It is not a whale, or it would surface and sound for its breathing. It is not a great eel—not unless all our ideas on size are in preposterous error. And it cannot be fish or flesh in any bestiary I can construct.”

  “Be damned with the name we give it.” The shaking in Pole’s hands was more pronounced, from excitement and alarm. “It was big, to make a wave that size—and fast. You scoffed at me when I brought Little Bess, but I was right. We’ll need protection when we’re on the loch. I’ll have to carry it here and set it up to train where we need— forget the muskets, they’ll be no better than a peashooter with that monster.”

  “I am not sure that the cannon will serve any useful purpose. But meanwhile, we have a duty.” Darwin started heavily down the hill toward the loch side.

  “Here, what are you up to?” Pole hesitated, then bent to pick up his pipe and spyglass from the heather as Hohenheim and his servant turned to face the sudden sounds from the hillside.

  “To give fair warning,” called Darwin over his shoulder. Then he was down by the water’s edge, waving at the two in the boat and calling them to look behind them.

  Hohenheim turned, scanned the loch’s calm surface, then spoke quietly to Zumal. The black man paddled the coble in close to the loch side, running it to within a few feet of Darwin.

  “I see no monster,” Hohenheim was saying as Jacob Pole hurried up to them. “Nor did Zumal—and we were near, on water. Not spying in secret from shade of heather.”

  “There is a creature in the loch,” said Darwin flatly. “Big, and possibly dang
erous. I called to you for your own protection.”

  “Ah.” Hohenheim put his finger to his nose and looked at Darwin with dark, suspicious eyes. “Very kind. You did not want to drive us from loch, eh? If so, you need better story—much better.”

  He looked at Darwin slyly. “So we are here for same purpose as each other. You would argue with that? I think not.”

  “If you mean a sunken galleon, for my part I would certainly argue.” As he spoke, Darwin continued to scan the surface of the loch, seeking any sign of a new disturbance there. “I came here for quite different reasons.”

  “But I didn’t,” said Pole. “Aye, I’ll admit it—why not? It drew me here, three hundred miles, that galleon, just as it drew you. How did you hear of it?”

  Hohenheim pulled his tattered cloak around him and stretched to his full height. “I have methods, secret methods. Accept that I heard, and do not question.”

  “All right, if that’s what you want, but I would like to suggest an alliance. What do you say? There’s a ship out yonder, and Dr. Darwin spoke the truth. There is something out in the loch that needs to be watched for. The people of Malkirk set no value on the galleon, but we do. What do you say? Work together, we and you, and we’d have the work done in half the time. Equal shares, you and us.”

  Pole stopped for breath. All his words had rushed out in one burst, while Hohenheim listened, his black eyebrows arched. Now he laughed aloud and shook his head.

  “Never, my good Colonel. Never. If we were equal, then maybe. Maybe I would listen. But we are not equal. I am ahead of you—in everything. In knowledge, skills, tools. Do it, my friend, try and beat me. I have power you lack, eh? Knowledge you lack, eh? Equipment, you ask about? Yesterday I was in Inverness, buying tools for seeing loch. Tonight it comes, tomorrow we use. Here, see for self.”

  He snapped his fingers a few inches from Jacob Pole’s chin. As usual his gesture seemed exaggerated, larger than life, and when he opened his hand he was holding a square of brown paper.