The Skin of the Gods

by Phil Armstrong

  Jackson opened the bedroom door just enough for Dusty to push his way through and charge downstairs to the back servant’s door. Jackson rubbed his sore back and wished he had the comfort provided by his own bed last night. It was early but the live-in staff had started their day with the morning activities in the kitchen. He grabbed a large log and placed it into the fireplace to provide additional warmth. Jackson stumbled downstairs and was greeted by Dusty anxious to get outside. “I’m coming. I’m coming, settle down boy.”

  Jackson opened the servant’s door at the rear of the house. Dusty did not wait for permission; he was gone in a flash. Jackson closed the door immediately keeping the cool morning air out. He leaned against the wall and rubbed his large hand across his face rubbing his weary eyes. He yawned and tried to recall the events of last night. Something was not right; it bothered him. The story relayed to him was not credible but he would talk with his Master today and get the real story. A thud at the door followed by scratching signaled the return of Dusty. Jackson opened the door to see a blur of tri-colored fur race by heading for the kitchen. Jackson closed the door and walked towards the same location. “Good morning all,” said Jackson sounding tired.

  “What happened to you last night?” asked Mary. Mary was the head domestic. She was a cheerful woman, stout in stature. She ran the household with an iron fist and an eye for detail. Mary was respected and liked; she knew what she wanted and she always got it.

  “Listen to me everyone,” said Jackson in a serious tone sitting at the servant’s breakfast table. Mary turned immediately to listen to Jackson’s message. David, the junior breakfast cook, stopped his activities and turned to face Jackson. Molly, the scullery maid, also stopped preparing the scraps for Dusty’s morning meal. The kitchen ground to a halt recognizing the seriousness of the tone Jackson had just used. Dusty was agitated he could not understand why Molly delayed the preparation of his meal. “The Master had a rough night last night. He returned to the house quite late and in bad shape. I’m not sure what happened but it looks like he may have been attacked. He’s badly bruised about the face and neck. I’ve not had a chance to talk with him yet to get more details. He’s still sleeping and recovering in his quarters. I want you all to be quiet today and try not to disturb him.”

  Dusty was growing more agitated and started to climb the counter pushing onto his hind legs looking for his meal. He could smell it and knew it was sitting in his bowl on the counter. Molly grabbed the bowl and stooped quickly to calm the dog by giving him his food. Dusty never seemed to chew his food, it just seemed to enter his mouth and disappear. Today was no exception; within seconds of the bowl touching the floor he lunged forward to devour the scraps of meat and vegetables. They were soon gone and Dusty was licking his chops. With the dog sorted the attention switched back to Jackson.

  Jackson held his head in his hands with his elbows firmly planted on the breakfast table in a tired pose. “Something happened last night, a man brought the Master back to the house. I didn’t recognize him; he seemed to be hiding his face. He was a gentleman wearing fine clothes and spoke with a clear crisp voice. He called himself a friend of the Master but it didn’t feel right. Even Dusty growled at him and Dusty’s a pretty good judge of character, aren’t you boy.” Dusty lay on the floor content with his belly full after his morning meal. He lifted his head and flicked his eyes towards his Master each time his name was mentioned.

  “How badly was the Master injured?” asked Molly in a concerned voice.

  “His face and neck were badly bruised and covered in blood. He seems to have a few bruises on his ribs. They seem painful but I think he’s okay. He was sick last night and the man told me that Master had a lot to drink. What doesn’t make sense is we know the Master doesn’t drink much. It sure looked like he was drunk. He couldn’t stand and he couldn’t really talk. I got him to bed as soon as I could to let him sleep it off. It’s his face that’s bothering me.”

  “Why” asked Mary?

  Jackson shook his head still cradled in his large rough hands. “Mary, remember how I used to look when I lost a street fight?” Mary nodded making a face. “Well that’s how the Master looked last night and this morning. It looks like he’s been on the wrong end of a fight. The gentleman said he fell into a table at the pub. You don’t look like that falling into a table. One of his eyes has completely closed and both sides of his face and neck are bruised. It looks like a fight.”

  “Was he attacked by thieves?” said Mary looking for a plausible explanation.

  “That would make more sense, but his ring, wallet and pocket-watch were all present when the Master returned. His clothing was not torn or damaged. He wasn’t robbed.” Jackson released his head from his hands and sat upright. He shook his head from side to side slowly as if trying to solve the puzzle.

  “Perhaps he took a bet and lost in a fight?” said David offering his possibility.

  “A fine suggestion David but when you know the Master as long as we have you’ll know that he never gets into fights. He never makes wagers either.” Jackson leaned forward away from his chair and stretched out a hand to rub Dusty’s ears. Dusty was appreciative of the affection and responded by licking one of Jackson’s large fingers.

  “I think we’re missing the point,” said Mary. “The Master needs our support and he needs our discretion until he’s ready to tell us what really happened. Until then we should keep our theories to ourselves. We should not gossip with the day staff when they arrive. A big part of being live-in is discretion. We don’t want the day staff leaving after their shift and spreading tales around the city.”

  “Quite right,” said Molly firmly.

  “Yes, quite right indeed,” said Jackson. “Thank you Mary you’re right. Let’s go about our business in the usual manner today and I will keep you informed as to the Master’s progress when the day staff leaves. I’m going to check in on the Master but if you see him today just act normal and don’t mention his injuries. I suspect he’ll remain in his quarters today.”

  “You heard the man, back to work.” Mary nodded to Jackson and the approach was sealed.

  Jackson swung his arms in a motion designed to help him shift his weight into a standing position. He walked out of the kitchen and headed towards his Master’s quarters. As he strode forward his loyal companion followed quickly behind. Dusty never let his Master get too far out of sight. Dusty followed his Master to the room they had spent the night in. He walked over to the rekindled fire and sat on the woolen rug. He curled in a ball resting his snout on his white tipped tail. He positioned his head where he could observe the room and keep an eye on his Master.

  The room had warmed to the crackling fire. It was now in full force. Jackson walked over to the bed quietly and bent over to look at the sleeping frame of his Master. He was breathing heavily. He still had vomit and blood stains around his mouth from last night. His face looked sore and bruised with visible scratches, scrapes and welts. The injuries were extensive and looked worse in the harsh light of the morning sun.

  “Jackson,” said Harold in a low rasping painful voice. Harold tried to lift an arm and repeated his cry for help, “Jackson.”

  “I’m here Sir,” said Jackson stooping over his Master straining to hear his words.

  “Get Doctor Jenkins, its poison.” Harold struggled to form the words. Jackson understood immediately. The strange odor of his vomit, the loss of bodily control; it pointed to something sinister. Harold ran to the door and barked out an order loudly. Dusty did not rise to his feet but he lifted his head at the sudden movement within the room.

  “David! Quickly, come up here now.” David arrived quickly he looked confused and scared. He was given instructions to talk to nobody. He needed to leave immediately and bring Doctor Jenkins to the house. Doctor Jenkins ran his practice from within his home about a five-minute walk away. David had run errands before and knew where to go. “Tell Doctor Jenkins that we suspect the Master was poisoned last night. Te
ll him to come quickly.”

  David fled the Master’s quarters and ran from the house to deliver the message. Jackson went back to his Master’s bedside. “Who did this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who beat you?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember.” It was an effort to push the words out.

  “Please rest. You don’t have to talk right now save your strength.”

  Dusty has rested his chin back upon the woolen rug when he caught movement in the doorframe. He flicked his eyes upwards to survey the scene. “Is the Master okay?” asked Mary standing just outside of the room. She had heard David running from the house and became concerned.

  “Poison Mary, he told me he was poisoned. I’ve sent for Doctor Jenkins, the Master seems to be getting weak.” Jackson was a tall man and fiercely loyal. He flashed his green eyes at Mary and she recognized something about him that she had not seen before. It was the first time she had seen him scared. He was a tough man and useful to have around. The house felt safe with him here. This was different. He could do little to help his Master and he knew it was serious.

  “Do you need anything?” asked Mary concerned.

  “I don’t know? I don’t know what we need?” admitted Jackson looking distraught.

  “Doctor Jenkins will be here soon. He’s a good family friend. He’ll know what to do.” Mary moved her eyes rapidly towards the bed; an unusual noise was coming from the Master. It was a cross between a high-pitched moan and a cough. The Master lunged forward his head leaving his pillows and doubling over his chest. Within seconds they both were approaching his bed. Jackson arrived first and tried to support his Master’s back with his strong arms. He leaned forward and coughed violently again. This time the sound seemed different. It was followed by a large quantity of fluid expelled from his mouth. It hit the bed sheets and the floor. This caused alarm as the fluid was laced with red blood. Dusty had heard the sound and leapt to his feet. He was at the side of the bed sniffing the liquid on the floor. The odor was foul and he back away quickly.

  “I’ll get some things to clean this mess up and change those sheets,” said Mary turning away and leaving the room.

  Jackson looked at the Master bruised and covered in blood. He was beyond concerned; he felt panic. The Master always seemed to be in control with an appropriate response for everything. He was strong and charismatic. Jackson had never seen the Master like this before. He looked frail, sick and vulnerable. The swelling on his face made him look unrecognizable. He coughed again and Jackson’s heart skipped as his Master lunged forward in a spasm. This time it was just a cough and was not accompanied with any blood.

  Jackson knew this was serious; they needed the Doctor and a quick intervention. “Where’s that damn boy?” thought Jackson getting more concerned with each passing second. Dusty’s head jerked towards the door. Jackson caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and spun to look at the doorway. The small figure of Doctor Jenkins was entering the room carrying a large black leather bag.

  Doctor Jenkins was a short man a little over five feet tall. He may have been short in stature but he was intelligent with a memory that could not be challenged. He graduated from his medical school with grades unparalleled in their history. He was ahead of his time and known for being a brilliant Doctor. His eyes widened when he saw the scene before him. “Jackson, raise him now. Prop him up with those pillows immediately.” He dipped two fingers into the bloody discharge and smelled them looking for answers.

  Jackson propped him up and let the Master lay back into the pillows with a groan. Jackson looked at the doctor wiping his fingers and studying his Master’s face. “What happened to his face?” inquired the Doctor. He leaned forward and opened the Master’s mouth positioning his tongue and ensuring he did not choke on his own vomit.

  “A gentleman returned him early this morning, he told me that he got drunk and fell into a table at the pub. I didn’t recognize the gentleman. I hadn’t seen him before.”

  “Well that’s not right. It looks like he was beaten. How do you know he was poisoned?” The Doctor threw the sheets on the floor and examined his body.

  “He was talking for a while this morning and managed to whisper the word poison to me.”

  “He has some bruising on his ribs but his neck and face took the brunt of the beating. Get me some warm water, some towels to clean him up and some clean sheets. Bring as many warm blankets as you can, now.”

  Jackson looked at his Master quickly and left the room to find Mary. As Jackson disappeared through the door he was followed closely by Dusty, his loyal Beagle. Jackson entered the kitchen; he was out of breath and had been running to convey the instructions quickly. A brief conversation occurred with Mary and she loaded Jackson’s arms with clean sheets and towels. He returned to his Master’s quarters to find an unusual sight. The bed was stripped and his Master was lying face down on the floor with the doctor examining his back. Mary followed Jackson into the room and set down a large bowl of boiled water. Mary made the bed with fresh linens. Jackson marveled at how quickly Mary operated. The Master was returned to his bed with Jackson’s strong frame providing the leverage. The Doctor was distracted and worked on something off to the side. He had four uncorked glass bottles lined up on the top of the wooden dresser. Most contained murky liquids, one had clear contents, like a spring creek. He was mixing a concoction as Mary tucked in the clean sheets and warm blankets around the Master’s motionless body.

  The Doctor leaned over the Master and poured the medicine into his mouth. The Master let out a hollow sound and sank deeply into the comfort of the pillows. His breathing was steady but heavy. His chest rose and sank in an exaggerated manner. The sound of his exhales had a slight gurgle attached to it indicating all was not well. The Doctor examined the sides of his neck and opened his mouth. It seemed to annoy the Master who pulled away more from reflex than conscious decision.

  “Now listen to me carefully and follow all of my instructions. He has a fever and needs to be kept warm. He will start to sweat and then have shivers. I don’t care what he tells you, he needs to remain in bed and under those blankets. He’s very sick. I mean really sick, do you understand? I agree with his assessment. Someone has poisoned him but I don’t know what was used. He’ll need plenty of rest and plenty of water. Someone needs to be with him at all times. If he coughs up blood again you must come and get me immediately. I can’t do any more for him now. It’s up to him. He’s very weak but he’ll need to fight this. He’s fighting for his life. If he wakes up try to keep him still and try to give him as much water as you can. Boil it first to make sure it’s as clean as possible. I have to be honest with you, it’s not looking good. He’s a good friend and I’ve done all I can, I just hope it’s enough. Try to find out who did this? That’s all he’s allowed to talk about. I have a practice to run and people waiting for me but I’ll be back later tonight to check in on him. For now he needs rest but send for me immediately if you need me. Any changes in his condition or any coughed up blood I want to know.”

  “Thank you Doctor,” said Jackson watching the Doctor loading his glass bottles into his leather bag. “We’ll watch him and make sure he gets that rest.”

  Mary escorted the Doctor out while Dusty repositioned himself on the woolen rug. David arrived to take away the soiled bed sheets still heaped on the floor next to the bed. David could not resist peeking at his Master’s face as he went about his errands. Jackson took the first shift loading the fire with logs to keep the room warm. David relieved Jackson and remained in the room for hours. Although it was boring, it was easier than his daily duties. When Jackson finally returned Dusty walked to the side of the bed and licked the fingers of his Master’s outstretched hand.

  As Jackson settled into the armchair, his Master’s eyes flicked open. He turned his head slightly and tried to talk. “Come over here Jackson.”

  Jackson moved from the armchair and bent over his Master’s bed. “Tell
me who did this to you?”

  “Look at the bed’s headboard. Can you see the Rose? You need to turn it.” The Master tried to point upwards at the Rose but did not possess the strength to lift his arm.

  “What? What are you trying to do?” said Jackson puzzled. “Hush now you have to save your strength Doctor’s orders.”