449th year of the emperor, Chester-le-Ford
In twenty three years of practice as a healer, Mr Collins was never involved in such a situation. As a matter of fact, he really wishes he still wasn’t at the moment, but there is no way out now.
The room feels stuffy, hot and quite humid despite the desertic winds sweeping through the rest of the small settlement. The closed windows prevent proper air circulation, and a couple of flies go back and forth between abandoned trays of barely touched food littering the floor and the bed’s occupant, an emaciated woman drenched in sweat. From time to time, she coughs, moans, rambles weakly about imperial assassin ghasts and what not, then falls immobile and silent again.
Mr Collins sits near the gruesome bed, silently staring at the patient. He is well aware that his face, faintly illuminated by a candle, betrays the complex emotional turmoil he is subject to. Whenever he tries to hide his fear and shame, his hands fidget uncontrollably with whatever they find, which currently is a small vial labelled “Mrs Biakko O’Kleefe, MEDICINE, drink one measure diluted in beverage, twice a day.”
Near the door, the young lady seems incredibly calm, almost at ease, sitting gracefully at a small writing desk in a cushioned chair. Never before he’d met someone so driven by ambition that they barely seemed human at all. Oh he’d seen her show other emotions all right. It’s just that normally, people had a transition between emotions, they didn’t go from warm smiles and friendly words to cold, neutral, calculating eyes and… and that proposal… He’d been so shocked when she announced her intentions to him, in such a detached way, like this was just business.
He didn’t have much choice either, the girl has the whole settlement eating out of her hand, he’d have been dead before the morning had he refused. And the promised reward is… well... he'd never dreamed of anything like that.
The patient stirs again.
...hhhhggh... ghast..grlg…
He shudders, then regains his composure, well aware that his face was, once again, showing all his terror, shame and greed. The young lady looks up from the letter she was writing, then meaningfully shakes her head toward the patient.
Mr Collins represses a sigh, grabs the candle holder from the bedside, and reluctantly opens the patient’s left eye. He approaches the candle a bit and looks into the eye. It is glassy, bloodshot and rolls slowly backward. The final result of years of taking his… his "medicine".
She barely even reacts anymore. It won’t be much longer, my lady. Hours at most.
Splendid, Mr Collins. You may go and see that everything is going well in the stables now.
The scratching of her fountain pen on the paper resumes, he has been dismissed. Wearily, he gets up and walks to the door. With shaky hands, he turns the knob and exits.
Deep inside, he knows that this will never be done. Even if he refused payment, even if he moved away, he will live the rest of his life knowing what he did. Once more, he suppresses his thoughts. It is far too late to go back now.
He steps into the night and walks toward the stables.
_________________ Lady Liserett of the House O'Kleefe Countess of Chester-le-Ford, Wysteria Deputy Minister of Hermertian History Appointed Minister of Wysterian Architecture
|