Icy fingers wrung out Lenoir’s guts, but he shook the feeling off. He knew what had to be done. “Are you strong enough to walk?” he asked.
Kody tried for a smile. “It’s only a couple of bruises. I’ve had worse.”
“Then get up. I’m taking you to the Camp.”
This time, the invading forces of God Himself would not be enough to get in his way.
* * *
Lenoir ducked through the tent flap and paused to let his vision adjust. In the gloom, he could almost feel the golden eyes upon him.
“You should be wearing a mask, Inspector,” a deep voice chided.
“I was in a hurry.”
“Do you bring news of the city?” Merden stepped into the glow of a candle. “We could see the flames from here.”
Lenoir winced. He had been so preoccupied when the chief described the extent of the damage that he had not even processed the full implications. “Your shop . . .”
Merden sighed. “I feared as much.”
Though he had more pressing concerns, Lenoir could not help but ask, “Will you be all right?” The question seemed to take on a double meaning. Now that he could see Merden clearly, it was obvious that the soothsayer was not well. He had lost weight. In two short days (Dear God, has it only been two days?) Merden had gone from lean to thin, and it seemed to Lenoir that the light in his eyes had dulled somewhat.
“It is a loss, certainly, but I do not keep the truly rare items in the shop. I do not dare risk them falling into the wrong hands. The rest of my stock is of modest value, strictly speaking, and not so very difficult to replace. As for the shop itself”—he gave a weary shrug—“the insurance should almost cover it.”
“You are insured? Your business must do very well indeed.”
“My arts are rare,” the soothsayer said, in the second tremendous understatement of the day.
“Indeed they are, and I would call upon them now.” Lenoir gestured behind him. “Sergeant Kody is outside. I told him to wait while I checked your disposition.”
While I checked whether you were busy practicing khekra, was what he meant.
Merden straightened, suddenly alert. “Bring him inside.”
In the honeyed light of the candles, the sweat on Kody’s brow stood out like a string of amber beads. His skin, pale where it was not bruised, swollen and streaked with ash, made him look half a corpse.
“You are late, Sergeant,” Merden said.
Kody just nodded. He had spoken hardly a word since they quit Barrow Street.
“The bruising is from a blow to the head,” Lenoir explained. “He was kicked yesterday afternoon.”
Merden took Kody’s face in his hands, tilted it to the light. He wrapped his fingers around the sergeant’s wrist to take a pulse. Then he knelt and pushed up Kody’s trouser leg. Lenoir sucked in his breath. Tiny blotches of red and purple smattered the sergeant’s ankle, as if someone had dropped a jar of raspberry jam near his foot. Kody stared at it dully, as if he had known it was there, or at least expected it to be.
“The strain of running has caused his blood vessels to burst,” Merden said, “and it is too thin to clot properly. Soon, it will take no impact at all for the lesions to form. We must begin immediately.”
“Wait,” said Lenoir.
Merden’s eyebrows flew up. Kody just looked at him with that same dull expression.
“I have a theory,” Lenoir said, “and if I’m right, the ritual may not be necessary.” He produced the brown medicine bottle, handed it to Merden. “What do you make of this?”
Merden took it. “THIRMAN’S MIRACLE TONIC,” he read with a frown. “What is it?”
“I bought it off a salesman on Kingsway. He had quite an enthusiastic clientele. He claims it can cure the plague.”
“Does he?” Merden uncorked the bottle and took a sniff. “Interesting.” He held the bottle to the candlelight, swirling it gently. “It smells similar to the remedy I am using, the one Oded taught me.” Merden angled the bottle, his golden eyes narrowed. “It separates in a similar manner as well.” He glanced up. “Does it work?”
“Something tells me it will.”
“We must test it.”
“Agreed.” Lenoir’s gaze slid to Kody.
The sergeant, for his part, eyed the bottle. “If it works, I wouldn’t have to do the ritual?”
Merden shook his head. “Impossible to say until we try it. And consider—if it does not work, the delay may cost you your life.”
“You do not have to be the test subject, Sergeant,” Lenoir said, “but I wanted to give you the choice. I knew you would dread having to undergo the ritual. No offense,” he added, glancing at Merden.
“None taken. It is quite unpleasant. I can readily understand why Sergeant Kody would wish to avoid it. But that does not mean it would be wise to do so.”
“I’m doing all right,” Kody said. “Those bruises on my leg can’t be more than a couple of hours old. I still have time.”
“You have done this well because you are a big man, Sergeant, and exceptionally fit. Your system held out longer than most. On top of that, my medicine helped to mask your symptoms. But you would be a fool to test the limits of your good fortune. The appearance of lesions means you have a day at the most.”
“Two hours,” Kody said. “That’s how long the other tonic takes to show results, right? That’s not so much time to wait. Besides, it has to be tested on someone. Might as well be me.”
Lenoir could not help but admire Kody’s courage. He knew what it was like to face certain death. He had not done so with half as much grit.
Merden sighed. He considered the bottle again. “It is certainly your decision, Sergeant. But it is a great risk.”
Kody’s mouth twitched uncertainly. “You say it smells like the other stuff?”
The soothsayer nodded. “On the face of it, I would say its basic ingredient is the same, or at least a cousin.”
“What ingredient is that?” Lenoir asked.
“I do not know the name in Braelish. In Adali, it is known as dwar.”
“Dwar.” Lenoir frowned. “Doesn’t that mean circle?”
“I am impressed, Inspector. I did not realize you spoke Adali.”
“I can count the number of words on my fingers.”
“More than most Humenori.” Merden swirled the bottle, watched it separate and settle. “It does indeed mean circle, after the pattern it grows in. It looks a little like clover, in fact. We use it in many medicines, especially for traumatic injuries. It thickens the blood.”
“What about Braelish medicine—would Lideman use it?”
Merden considered. “I cannot say for certain, but I would be surprised.”
“But it’s part of the recipe Oded gave you?”
“It is the main ingredient. We have been using it to treat uncomplicated cases. For most, it seems to be working.” He sighed and glanced at Kody. “For most.”
Kody looked stricken. “If it’s practically the same stuff, does that mean this potion won’t work on me either?”
“It is possible. For that reason, to be sure whether it works at all, we will need a second test subject.”
We. The soothsayer had used the word several times. “Who is we, Merden?” Lenoir asked.
“I managed to find someone open-minded enough to assist me. I believe you both know Sister Rhea?”
“The nun from the clinic?” Kody asked.
“The same. She has taken over treatment of the uncomplicated cases, those who sought help straightaway. That gives me time to focus on the complicated ones.”
Lenoir glanced around the tent uneasily. Now that he actually looked, he could make out the cot, the sickle of candles, the crystals . . . all of it. “So you have been spending the last two days . . .”
“Exorcis
ing demons.” He might have said “playing Crowns,” so matter-of-fact was his tone.
Lenoir shuddered. “How many have you treated?”
Merden sighed and looked away, and Lenoir was reminded forcibly of Oded. “Perhaps fifty or so have received the tonic, not including Sergeant Kody. Of those, we have lost only one. As for the complicated cases, I have treated just under a dozen. It is”—he passed a hand over his eyes—“not sustainable. And yet, it is not enough. Not nearly.”
“Sixty may not seem such a great number, but they are all of them someone’s father, or sister, or grandmother.”
“Or son,” said Kody quietly.
Merden nodded, but he did not look comforted. “I am grateful for Sister Rhea. Without her help, we would not have been able to save even that modest number. If Oded had survived . . .” He did not finish the thought; there was no point.
“At least he was able to teach you what he knew,” said Lenoir.
“Indeed, though I have adapted his technique somewhat.” Some of the light came back into Merden’s eyes as he explained. “Oded’s treatment consumes too much time and energy. Isolating the soul is still necessary in the most severe cases, but if the patient is strong enough, and the treatment rapid enough, that step can be circumvented.”
Lenoir had no idea what to say to that.
“Also, I have ceased the restorative spell entirely. It is too draining, and delays my recuperation for the next patient. Instead . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I am wasting precious time.” He handed the bottle back to Lenoir. “Take this to Sister Rhea. She will treat Sergeant Kody. As for the other test subject, tell Sister Rhea to administer it to the young woman I sent over a few minutes ago. She has not yet received treatment, so she will make a suitable test subject. If the bleeding does not slow within two hours, then the potion does not work.” He turned to Kody. “In which case, Sergeant, I will hear no more protests.” He pointed at the cot, in case there was any mistaking his meaning.
Kody nodded resignedly and ducked out of the tent.
“Good-bye, my friend,” Lenoir said. “And thank you.”
“You do not need to thank me. We all use our gifts as we are able. My gift is for khekra. Yours is for thinking. Now go and think.” Merden withdrew to the back of the tent, the shadows swallowing him whole. “And, Inspector—put on a mask.”
CHAPTER 25
They found Sister Rhea stooped over a cot, helping an old man to drink. He made a face as he gulped it down, the nun cooing encouragingly with every swallow. “Inspector,” she said when she noticed Lenoir. “This is a surprise.” Then she saw Kody, and her eyes widened. “Sergeant, you look awful! Are you quite well?”
Kody smiled ruefully. “Not quite, no.”
“The sergeant requires urgent treatment, Sister,” Lenoir said. He held up the bottle. “Merden has asked us to test a new remedy.”
“Oh?” She wiped her hands on her apron and came over. Taking the bottle, she eyed it warily. “Isn’t that awfully risky, when we know we have something that works?”
Lenoir glanced over the cots, row upon row of them jammed into the space. Every bed was accounted for, and their occupants did not look much better than Kody. “Are you sure it works? It has only been two days. . . .”
“Yes, but the bleeding stops within hours, and their strength begins to return soon after that. It’s a slow process, but the trend is unmistakable.”
“That is good news. And the plant it uses—what is it called?”
“Hogsfoot.” She smiled. “A modest name for a miracle, isn’t it? Who would have thought that something so simple could be so important? We overlook God’s gifts all too often. Or at least, we Braelish do. The Adali look more closely, it seems.”
“Merden believes this new tonic is based on the same ingredient, or similar.”
“Then why are we testing it? If it’s the same, there is no need, and if it isn’t . . .” She shook her head. “It really does seem risky. Are you sure this is what you want, Sergeant?”
Lenoir could tell from Kody’s expression that he was not, in fact, sure. How could he be? He was gambling with his life. Such was his dread of khekra, however, that he did not hesitate. “Thanks for asking, but I just want to get it over with. If it doesn’t work . . . we can always go back to Plan A, right?” He tried for a confident smile. He failed.
“Please, Sister,” Lenoir added, “it’s important. And there is more. Merden asked us to test a second patient as well, just to be sure.” Rhea started to object, but Lenoir cut her off. “Just for two hours, Sister. He said that if the bleeding does not slow within that time, you are to put the patient on the old treatment.”
“Did he say which patient?”
“Yes. The last one he sent here, a young woman.”
Sister Rhea sighed. “Very well. I can’t say I approve, but Merden is a miracle worker, and he’s got us this far.” She turned and waved at one of her volunteers, a figure at the far end of the tent.
The man came over, and when he stepped into the light, Lenoir recognized him as Drem, the man he and Kody had spoken with a week ago. The interview had been a brief one, owing in part to the fact that Drem had been so weak that he was scarcely able to carry on a conversation. And now . . . “You have recovered?” Lenoir asked, hoping he did not sound quite as surprised as he felt. Surprised, and relieved. Here was physical proof that survival was possible. Kody very much needed that proof right now. So did Lenoir.
“Not so strong as I was.” Drem shrugged his thin shoulders. “But strong enough to help out.”
“You are a brave man, to expose yourself again after what happened.”
Sister Rhea smiled. “He is a brave man, though he’s in no danger now, except perhaps from exhaustion. Once a patient has been exposed to the disease, he is immune.”
“How can you be sure?” Kody asked. He was speaking to Rhea, but his eyes were on Drem, as if fixating on the hope he represented.
“That’s usually the case with illnesses like these,” said Rhea. “Either they kill you, or they cure you forever.”
“No doubt, but even so . . .” If it were Lenoir, he would not be willing to bet his life on it.
As for Drem, he just shrugged again. “I choose to have faith. If it weren’t for Sister Rhea, I would have died. It’s my turn to give something back.”
Lenoir could hardly believe he was talking to the same man. Drem still looked thin and washed out, but his posture was straight, his eyes bright and alert. He had obviously rounded the corner.
“So long as he doesn’t push himself too hard, he’ll make a full recovery,” Rhea said. “And he gives the patients hope. In him, they see the possibility of a cure.” She put a hand on Drem’s shoulder and offered him the bottle. “Take this, please, and mix two doses.” Drem nodded and headed off for the vestibule.
“Thank you, Sister,” Lenoir said. He turned to Kody, put a hand on his shoulder. The sergeant blinked in surprise and looked down at it, as though some unidentifiable creature had just alighted there. Lenoir had never made such a gesture before, and it felt strange—false, somehow—to do it now. But it also felt necessary. “I will be back to check on you in a few hours,” he said.
In the meantime, he had a physician to see.
* * *
“Hogsfoot?” Lideman sat back in his chair, his brow stitched up skeptically. “Is that what’s in it?”
“Apparently so,” said Lenoir.
“Remarkable.” Lideman shook his head. “You have to give the Adali credit. They do find healing properties in the oddest of places.”
“I take that to mean conventional medicine does not make use of this plant?”
“Hogsfoot? I should say not. If I’ve heard of the plant at all, it’s only because my wife is constantly complaining about its presence in her garden. Did your witchdo
ctor say how it works?” He raised a hand in a staying gesture. “On second thought, never mind. I’m sure it’s to do with some supernatural creature or another.”
So much for giving the Adali credit. “It thickens the blood, apparently.”
Lideman grunted. “That makes sense.”
“Merden will be pleased you think so,” Lenoir said dryly.
The physician at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “It’s not that I doubt his talents, Inspector, or that of his predecessor. The tonic Oded gave me does appear to be working. But you must understand—”
“So you have been administering the tonic Oded gave you?”
“Yes, although we have only enough for two patients, according to the schedule Oded prescribed.”
Lenoir frowned. “And you have not asked for more?”
“I wanted to make sure it was effective. . . .”
“That was two days ago. I’m told the effect is visible within two hours.”
“Some improvement, yes, but hardly definitive—”
Lenoir shot to his feet. “I suggest you ask Sister Rhea to provide you with more,” he said coldly. “Her volunteers have been preparing it night and day since Merden gave them the recipe.”
“But she couldn’t have been sure it would work. . . .” He spread his hands feebly, as if to say, You see my dilemma.
“She took a leap of faith. Apparently, she considered it preferable to satisfying some sanctimonious code of ethics.”
Lenoir left the physician sputtering behind him. He had not even told Lideman that Kody was infected. He did not want that pompous ass anywhere near the sergeant, he decided.
He returned to Merden’s tent, but this time, he did not go inside. Instead, he approached the familiar figure standing watch a few feet away. “Sergeant Innes.”
The big man turned, and Lenoir could not help taking a step back at the sight of him. Innes looked like an ogre at the best of times, but with his new miasma mask, he was the stuff of nightmares. The wooden face looked just human enough to be unnerving, with a grotesque knob at the nose and mouth where the straw filter was contained. The glass eyes were as dark and fathomless as those of a beast. Perhaps that was no bad thing; a frightening appearance could only help the sergeant do his job.
Master of Plagues: A Nicolas Lenoir Novel Page 25
