‘Someone…’
In her belly, in the depths of her stomach, something swelled; as cold and spiked as the head of a mace. The pain expanded out of her control. She cried out again – anguish.
The door – she hadn’t even noticed there was one – opened. A man walked across what was now the ceiling without falling off. He sat beside her on the upside down chair. She stared, the ivory white around her irises marbled with bloody cracks.
‘It’s good to see you back with us.’
She could not speak.
‘How are you feeling now?’
Was he blind, she wondered? Could he not see the claws her fingers had become? Could he not see the sweat, icy on her face? Noises in her throat were not words.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the man. She thought he seemed familiar. ‘I’m getting something good for you. Something very special. We’ll get you right. Oh, yes indeed, we’ll fix you.’
She knew him: the doctor. A word formed.
‘Where…’
A soft, strengthless hand patted hers.
‘Well, my dear, someone must think very highly of you. You’re in the Grand Bishop’s personal infirmary. I’m sure he’ll be along to visit you very soon.’
Slowly, the bed slid from the inverse to the vertical and finally to the horizontal. The unclenching mailed fist in her stomach closed again leaving her some space to breathe. The vertigo receded and with it the bloated nausea. She took several deep breaths and then her eyes were able to swivel.
‘What happened?’
‘You collapsed. Among the archives. Kicked up a little dust storm all of your own.’
‘How long have I…’
‘A couple of days now. I wish I could tell you you hadn’t missed much.’
After a few moments she took his inference.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I think I’ll let the Grand Bishop fill you in on that. I know he’ll be along in just a minute.’ The doctor reached down beside the bed and brought up a small glass and a chipped white bowl. ‘First of all, we need to get some healing done. Here, drink this.’
He held out the glass to her but she made no motion to sit up.
‘Let me help you.’
He slipped one hand beneath her head and eased it forward. With the other he tipped the glass towards her lips.
‘’tis it?’
‘Never mind that, just drink it.’
She sipped and gagged.
‘Hold it down! Don’t dare waste it!’ he commanded. ‘That’s precious stuff. Here, have some more.’
‘No.’
‘Do as you’re told. Drink it.’
Sip by sip he had her take the whole glass. The liquid had an evil tint of bronzy yellow mingled with a filthy green hue. It was syrupy in texture.
‘No smell,’ she said. ‘No taste.’
The doctor frowned, took the glass and sniffed it. She saw him turn his head away as though slapped and thought she caught him trying to swallow something back. Turning back to her, he was pale.
‘You can’t smell that?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘It’s a symptom of your sickness, I’m afraid. Not to worry.’ He put the glass down and took up the chipped bowl. With a tainted silver spoon he lifted up some porridgey mass and pushed it home. She chewed, unnecessarily, and then swallowed.
‘Good?’
She managed a facial shrug. He continued to feed her the remedy until the little bowl was empty.
‘Well done. That’ll give you some strength. We’ll have you up and about before too long, I’m quite sure of that.’
The doctor sat back, smiling at his good work.
‘Are you going to tell me what my medicines are?’
He puffed up in his seat.
‘Certainly. These are medicaments of my own devising based on the tenets of the Book of Giving. For your stomach ailment – with a liver involvement, if I’m not very much mistaken, I have prescribed the finest, freshest calf’s bile in a suspension of the very purest veal calf’s urine. For your Shakes, and I’m very sorry to tell you that the Shakes is my official diagnosis, I have dosed you with pulped brain – calf’s again, naturally, as that is the very healthiest there is.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Not to mention the fact that the Grand Bishop himself has insisted on providing your care, therefore putting the very best remedies at our disposal.’ He patted her arm with his limp hand. ‘You rest up, Parson. We’ll get you right. Oh, yes.’
Eighteen
Barney Bernard sat on the hard chair. He was unable to find a comfortable position and shifted every few seconds. A large man stood beside each of his shoulders. He was in the one room he’d never wanted to see, a room most people were glad they’d only ever heard about.
Opposite him sat Rory Magnus. He wanted answers.
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know what happened. You’re the night shift manager. Explain it to me.’
‘Mr. Magnus, I… I can’t explain what I didn’t see.’
‘Then tell me what you did see.’
Bernard tried again to make sense of what little he remembered. He closed his eyes as he spoke.
‘It was after three. I remember the bell tolling. Nothing was amiss. Carter and Lee were at their stations. Then,’ Bernard’s face corrugated with the effort of recollection. ‘Then I heard something behind me and swivelled on the chair to—’
‘Did the others hear it? Did they turn around?’
A sweaty pause.
‘I don’t remember. I can’t—’
‘Never mind, keep going. You heard something and turned.’
‘Yes, it was the sound of the door opening and I remember thinking, ‘Who the hell could that be?’ Then they were in the control room with us. Like they belonged there. Not scared or rushing but calm. Purposeful. I…’ Bernard wasn’t sure he should mention the next part. The thought had crossed his mind at the time that perhaps they were meant to be there. Some kind of surprise inspection sprung by Magnus. Maybe that moment of hesitation might have been enough for the three of them to defend themselves and the facility, at least to have put up some kind of fight. Better not to mention it. ‘…Yes, I stood up to challenge them. Don’t remember what I said or even if I managed to get the words out. That’s it. That’s all there is.’
‘And your staff will corroborate this, will they, Bernard?’
‘I can’t vouch for that, Mr. Magnus. I have no idea if they’ll remember more or less than I do. However, up to that precise moment, I would say yes. I would say they’d concur with my recollection of events.’
Magnus made a few notes with an unsteady hand and sat back in his chair. He ran the fingers of both hands through his ginger mane and then rubbed them over his face as though he might open his eyes to a better reality. Apparently it didn’t work. He sat forward again.
‘Bernard, last night you were responsible for my gas facility and for the supply of electricity to the town. Do you have any understanding of the destruction that has befallen Abyrne during your watch? Because if you do, you don’t seem very worried about it.’
‘Mr. Magnus, I am truly sorry for what happened. In fact, I’m devastated by it. But I’m an engineer not a soldier. I make sure the facility supplies electricity throughout the night and I hand over that responsibility in the morning. I’m not trained in security measures or combat. None of my men are armed. No one has ever threatened the gas facility because everyone in the town depends on it. No one saw this coming. So, while it happened on my night shift, I was never – nor would I ever have been – equipped to deal with the situation.’