The Amazing Dr. Darwin

by Charles Sheffield

  His thoughts were interrupted by a low, fluting whistle, sounding through the fog. It seemed to come from his left, and a good distance below him. The mist made distance and direction difficult to judge. He held his breath and stood motionless, listening intently. After a few seconds it came again, a breathy call that the fog swallowed up without an echo.

  Leaving the path, he moved down and to the left, stumbling over the sodden tussocks of grass and clumps of heather, and peering ahead into the darkness. Twice, he almost fell, and finally he stopped again. It was no good, he could not negotiate the side of Cross Fell in the darkness and mist. Exploration would have to wait until conditions were better, despite his desperate anxiety. The only thing to do now was to return to the house. He would rest there as best he could, and be fit for another ascent, with assistance, when weather and light permitted it. Whatever had happened to Anna, it would not help her if he were to suffer injury now, up on the fell. He began a cautious descent.

  At last he saw the light in the upper bedroom of the house shining faintly through the mist below him. Down at ground level, on the left side of the house, he fancied that he could see a group of dim lights, moving in the kitchen garden. That was surprising. He halted, and peered again through the darkness. While he watched, another low whistle behind him was answered, close to the house. The lights grew dimmer.

  He was gripped by a sudden, unreasoning fear. Heedless of possible falls, he began to plunge full-tilt down the hillside.

  The house and garden seemed quiet and normal, the grounds empty. He made his way into the kitchen garden, where he had seen the moving lights. It too seemed deserted, but along the wall of the house he could dimly see three oblong mounds. He walked over to them, and was suddenly close enough to see them clearly. He gasped. Side by side, bound firmly to rough stretchers of wood and leather, lay the bodies of Darwin, Pole and Anna, all well wrapped in sheepskins. Anna’s cold forehead was heavily bandaged, with a strip torn from her linen blouse. Thaxton dropped to his knee and put his ear to her chest, full of foreboding.

  Before he could hear the heartbeat, he heard Darwin’s voice behind him.

  “We’re here, are we?” it said. “About time, too. I must have dropped off to sleep again. Now, Richard, give me a hand to undo myself, will you. I’m better off than Anna and Jacob, but we’re all as sick as dogs. Myself, I don’t seem to have the strength of a gnat.”

  * * *

  “What a sight. Reminds me of the field hospital after a Pathan skirmish.” Jacob Pole looked round him with gloomy satisfaction. The study at Heartsease had been converted into a temporary sickroom, and Darwin, Anna Thaxton and Pole himself were all sitting in armchairs by the fire, swaddled in blankets.

  Richard Thaxton stood facing them, leaning on the mantelpiece. “So what happened to Jimmy?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” said Darwin. He had broken one of his own rules, and was drinking a mug of hot mulled wine. “He started out with us, leading the way down while the rest of them carried the stretchers. Then I fell asleep, and I don’t know what happened to him. I suspect you’ll find him over in Milburn, wherever he usually lives there. He did his job, getting us back here, so he’s earned a rest.”

  “He’s earned more than a rest,” said Thaxton. “I don’t know how he did it. I was up on the fell myself in that fog, and you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.”

  “He knows the fell from top to bottom, Jimmy does,” said Anna. “He was almost raised there.” She was looking pale, with a livid bruise and a long gash marring her smooth forehead. She shivered. “Richard, you’ve no idea what it was like, following him through the dark in that tunnel, then suddenly coming across the fiends. It was like a scene out of hell—the smoke, and the shapes. I felt sure they had killed the Colonel and Dr. Darwin.”

  “They hardly needed to,” said Pole wryly. “We came damned close to doing that for ourselves. Erasmus nearly drowned, and I caught the worst fever that I’ve had since the time that I was in Madagascar, looking for star sapphires. Never found one. I had to settle for a handful of garnets and a dose of dysentery. Story of my life, that. Good thing that Erasmus could give me the medicine, up on the fell.”

  “And that was no thanks to me,” said Darwin. “The fiends saved you, not me. They seem to have their own substitute for cinchona. I’ll have to try that when we get back home.”

  “Aye,” said Pole. “And we’ll have to stop calling them fiends. Though they aren’t human, and look a bit on the fiendish side—if appearances bother you. Anyway, they did right by me.”

  Richard Thaxton dropped another log on the fire, and pushed a second tray of meat pasties and mince pies closer to Darwin. “But at least there are fiends on Cross Fell,” he remarked. “Anna was right and I was wrong. It was a hard way to prove it, though, with the three of you all sick. What I find hardest to believe is that they’ve been there in the mines for fifteen hundred years or more, and we’ve not known it. Think, our history means nothing to them. The Norman Conquest, the Spanish Armada—they mean no more to them than last year’s rebellion in the American Colonies. It all passed them by.”

  Darwin swallowed a mouthful of pie and shook his head. “You’re both wrong.”

  “Wrong? About what?” asked Thaxton.

  “Jacob is wrong when he says they are not human, and you are wrong when you say they’ve been up in the mines for fifteen hundred years.”

  There was an immediate outcry from the other three. “Of course they’re not human,” said Pole.

  Darwin sighed, and regretfully put down the rest of his pie, back on the dish. “All right, if you want evidence, I suppose I’ll have to give it to you. First, and in my opinion the weakest proof, consider their anatomy. It’s different from ours, but only in detail—in small ways. There are many fewer differences between us and the fiends than there are between us and, say, a monkey or a great ape. More like the difference between us and a Moor, or a Chinee.

  “That’s the first point. The second one is more subtle. The flea.”

  “You’d better have some proof more substantial than that, Erasmus,” said Pole. “You can’t build a very big case around a flea.”

  “You can, if you are a doctor. I found a flea on one of the young females—you saw her yourself, Jacob.”

  “If she’s the one you were hoping to roger, Erasmus, I certainly did. But I didn’t see any flea. Of course, I didn’t have the privilege of getting as close as you apparently did.”

  “All the same, although you didn’t see it, I found a flea on her—our old friend, Pulex irritans, if I’m a reliable judge. Now, you scholars of diabolism and the world of demons. When did you ever hear of any demon that had fleas—and the same sort of fleas that plague us?”

  The other three looked at each other, while Darwin took advantage of the brief silence to poke around one of his back teeth for a piece of gristle that had lodged there.

  “All right,” said Anna at last. “A fiend had a flea. It’s still poor evidence that fiends are human. Dogs have fleas, too. Are you suggesting they should be called human? There’s more to humanity than fleas.”

  “There is,” agreed Darwin. “In fact, there’s one final test for humanity, the only one I know that never fails.”

  The room was silent for a moment. “You mean, possession of an immortal soul?” asked Richard Thaxton at last, in a hushed voice.

  Jacob Pole winced, and looked at Darwin in alarm.

  “I won’t get off on the issue of religious beliefs,” said Darwin calmly. “The proof that I have in mind is much more tangible, and much more easily tested. It is this: a being is human if and only if it can mate with a known human, and produce offspring. Now, having seen the fiends, isn’t it obvious to you, Jacob, and to you, Anna, that Jimmy was sired by one of them? One of them impregnated daft Molly Metcalf, up on the fell.”

  Anna Thaxton and Jacob Pole looked at each other. Jacob nodded, and Anna bit her lip. “He’s quite right, Richard,
” she said. “Now I think about it, Jimmy looks just like a cross of a human with a fiend. Not only that, he knows his way perfectly through all the tunnels, and seems quite comfortable there.”

  “So, my first point is made,” said Darwin. “The fiends are basically human, though they are a variation on our usual human form—more different, perhaps, than a Chinaman, but not much more so.”

  “But how could they exist?” asked Thaxton. “Unless they were created as one of the original races of man?”

  “I don’t know if there really were any ‘original races of man.’ To my mind, all animal forms develop and change, as their needs change. There is a continuous succession of small changes, produced I know not how—perhaps by the changes to their surroundings. The beasts we finally see are the result of this long succession—and that includes Man.”

  Darwin sat back and picked up his pie for a second attack. Pole, who had heard much the same thing several times before, seemed unmoved, but Anna and Richard were clearly uncomfortable with Darwin’s statements.

  “You realize,” said Thaxton cautiously, “that your statements are at variance with all the teachings of the Church—and with the words of the Bible?”

  “I do,” said Darwin indistinctly, through a mouth crammed full of pie. He held out his mug for a refill of the spiced wine.

  “But what of your other assertion, Erasmus?” said Pole. “If the fiends were not on Cross Fell for the past fifteen hundred years, then where the devil were they? And what were they doing?”

  Darwin sighed. He was torn between his love of food and his fondness for exposition. “You didn’t listen to me properly, Jacob. I never said they weren’t about Cross Fell. I said they weren’t living in the mine tunnels for fifteen hundred years.”

  “Then where were they?” asked Anna.

  “Why, living on the surface—mainly, I suspect, in the woods. Their murals showed many forest scenes. Perhaps they were in Milburn Forest, southeast of Cross Fell. Think, now, there have been legends of wood-folk in England as long as history has records. Puck, Robin Goodfellow, the dryads—the stories have many forms, and they are very widespread.”

  “But if they lived in the woods,” said Anna, “why would they move to the mine tunnels? And when did they do it?”

  “When? I don’t know exactly,” said Darwin. “But I would imagine that it was when we began to clear the forests of England, just a few hundred years ago. We began to destroy their homes.”

  “Wouldn’t they have resisted, if that were true?” asked Pole.

  “If they were really fiends, they might—or if they were like us. But I believe that they are a very peaceful people. You saw how gentle they were with us, how they cared for us when we were sick—even though we must have frightened them at least as much as they disturbed us. We were the aggressors. We drove them to live in the disused mines.”

  “Surely they do not propose to live there forever?” asked Anna. “Should they not be helped, and brought forth to live normally?”

  Darwin shook his head. “Beware the missionary spirit, my dear. They want to be allowed to live their own lives. In any case, I do not believe they would survive if they tried to mingle with us. They are already a losing race, dwindling in numbers.”

  “How do you know?” asked Pole.

  Darwin shrugged. “Partly guesswork, I must admit. But if they could not compete with us before, they will inevitably lose again in the battle for living space. I told you on the fell, Jacob, in all of Nature the weaker dwindle in number, and the strong flourish. There is some kind of selection of the strongest, that goes on all the time.”

  “But that cannot be so,” said Thaxton. “There has not been enough time since the world began, for the process you describe to significantly alter the balance of the natural proportions of animals. According to Bishop Ussher, this world began only four thousand and four years before the birth of Our Lord.”

  Darwin sighed. “Aye, I’m familiar with the bishop’s theory. But if he’d ever lifted his head for a moment, and looked at Nature, he’d have realized that he was talking through his episcopal hat. Why, man, you have only to go and look at the waterfall at High Force, not thirty miles from here, and you will realize that it must have taken tens of thousands of years, at the very least, to carve its course through the rock. The earth we live on is old—despite the good bishop’s pronouncement.”

  Anna struggled to her feet and went over to look out of the window. It was still foggy and bleak, and the fell was barely visible through the mist. “So they are humans, out there,” she said. “I hope, then, that they have some happiness in life, living in the cold and the dark.”

  “I think they do,” said Darwin. “They were dancing when first we saw them, and they did not appear unhappy. And they do come out, at night, when the fell is shrouded in mist—to steal a few sheep of yours, I’m afraid. They always return before first light. They fear the aggressive instincts of the rest of us, in the world outside.”

  “What should we do about them?” asked Anna.

  “Leave them alone, to live their own lives,” replied Darwin. “I already made that promise to the red fiend, when we began to exchange medical information. He wanted an assurance from us that we would not trouble them, and I gave it. In return, he gave me a treasure-house of botanical facts about the plants that grow on the high fells—if I can but remember it here, until I have opportunity to write it down.” He tapped his head.

  Anna returned from the window. She sat down again and sighed. “They deserve their peace,” she said. “From now on, if there are lights and cries on the fell at night, I will have the sense to ignore them. If they want peace, they will have it.”

  * * *

  “So, Erasmus, I’ve been away again chasing another false scent. Damn it, I wish that Thomas of Appleby were alive and here, so I could choke him. All that nonsense about the Treasure of Odirex—and we found nothing.”

  Pole and Darwin were sitting in the coach, warmly wrapped against the cold. Outside, a light snow was falling as they wound their way slowly down the Tees valley, heading east for the coastal plains that would take them south again to Lichfield. It was three days before Christmas, and Anna Thaxton had packed them an enormous hamper of food and drink to sustain them on their journey. Darwin had opened it, and was happily exploring the contents.

  “I could have told you from the beginning,” he said, “that the treasure would have to be something special to please Odirex. Ask yourself, what sort of treasure would please the King of Hate? Why was he called the King of Hate?”

  “Damned if I know. All I care about is that there was nothing there. If there ever was a treasure, it must have been rifled years ago.”

  Darwin paused, a chicken in one hand and a Christmas pudding in the other. He looked from one to the other, unable to make up his mind.

  “You’re wrong, Jacob,” he said. “The treasure was there. You saw it for yourself, and I had even closer contact with it. Don’t you see, the fiends themselves are the Treasure of Odirex. Or rather, it is what they bear with them that is the Treasure.”

  “Bear with them? Sheepskins?”

  “Not something you could see, Jacob. Disease. The fiends are carriers of plague. That’s what Odirex discovered, when he discovered them. Don’t ask me how he escaped the effects himself. That’s what he used to drive away the Romans. If you look back in history, you’ll find there was a big outbreak of plague in Europe, back about the year four hundred and thirty—soon after the Romans left Britain. People have assumed that it was bubonic plague, just like in the Black Death in the fourteenth century, or the Great Plague here a hundred years ago. Now, I am sure that it was not the same.”

  “Wait a minute, Erasmus. If the fiends carry plague, why aren’t all the folk near Cross Fell dead?”

  “Because we have been building up immunity, by exposure, for many hundreds of years. It is the process of selection again. People who can resist the plague can survive, the others d
ie. I was struck down myself, but thanks to our improved natural resistance, and thanks also to the potion that the red fiend made me drink, all I had was a very bad day. If I’d been exposed for the first time, as the Romans were, I’d be dead by now.”

  “And why do you assert that it was not bubonic plague? Would you not be immune to that?”

  “I don’t know. But I became sick only a few hours after first exposure to the fiends— that is much too quick for bubonic plague.”

  “Aye,” said Pole. “It is, and I knew that for myself if I thought about it. So Odirex used his ‘treasure’ against the Romans. Can you imagine the effect on them?”

  “You didn’t see me,” said Darwin, “and I only had the merest touch of the disease. Odirex could appear with the fiends, contaminate the Roman equipment—touching it might be enough, unless personal contact were necessary. That wouldn’t be too difficult to arrange, either. Then, within twelve hours, the agony and deaths would begin. Do you wonder that they called him Odii Rex, the King of Hate? Or that they so feared his treasure that they fled this part of the country completely? But by then it was too late. They took the disease with them, back into Europe.”

  Pole looked out at the snow, now beginning to settle on the side of the road. He shivered. “So the fiends really are fiends, after all. They may not intend to do it, but they have killed, just as much as if they were straight from Hell.”