Part 26 (1/2)
”Ben, I am begging begging you. Get that man on his feet, no matter what it takes!” you. Get that man on his feet, no matter what it takes!”
”I can only do what I'm able.”
”You can do much more,” more,” Bidwell said, his face only a few inches away from the doctor's. ”How much money would you like to be sent to your wife?” Bidwell said, his face only a few inches away from the doctor's. ”How much money would you like to be sent to your wife?”
”What?”
”Your wife. A seamstress in Boston. Surely she is in need of some money? And your ledger at Van Gundy's tavern has become quite heavy, I understand. I shall be glad to erase your debt and arrange that your thirst for rum not be interrupted. Be a good friend to me, Ben, and I shall be a good friend to you.”
”I... can't just-”
”Who is this magistrate to us, us, Ben? A tool, that's all! Only a tool. Brought here for a specific purpose, just as any shovel or axe.” He heard the door opening and glanced around as Mrs. Nettles entered, bringing a drinking cup with the salt in it, followed by a servant girl carrying a pan of steaming water and a clean white cloth. ”Money for your wife and all the rum you please,” Bidwell whispered to the doctor, his eyes fierce. ”All you need do is patch the tool well enough to work.” Ben? A tool, that's all! Only a tool. Brought here for a specific purpose, just as any shovel or axe.” He heard the door opening and glanced around as Mrs. Nettles entered, bringing a drinking cup with the salt in it, followed by a servant girl carrying a pan of steaming water and a clean white cloth. ”Money for your wife and all the rum you please,” Bidwell whispered to the doctor, his eyes fierce. ”All you need do is patch the tool well enough to work.”
s.h.i.+elds had a reply on his lips, but he paused before he spoke it. He blinked slowly, a pulse beating at his temple, and then he said in a wan voice, ”I... must see to my patient.” Bidwell stepped out of his way.
”Hold the pan steady,” s.h.i.+elds directed the servant girl. The water had just come off the fire, and so was near scalding. s.h.i.+elds took the drinking cup and dipped it in, then used the spoon to stir the salt until the mixture was well clouded. His hand hesitated near the blue bottle. His eyes narrowed, but only Bidwell saw it. Then the doctor picked up the bottle and poured most of its contents into the cup. He stirred the mixture again, after which he put the cup to Woodward's mouth.
”Drink,” he said. Woodward accepted the liquid and swallowed. What ensued next, when the hot salt water came into contact with the ravaged flesh and ripe blisters, was not a pretty moment. The pain that ripped through Woodward's throat was blinding in its savagery, and caused him to convulse and cry out in a grotesquely mangled voice that Bidwell feared would wake the citizens before the first rooster's crow. The servant girl fairly jumped back from the bedside, almost spilling the pan's contents, and even stalwart Mrs. Nettles retreated a pace before she could steady her courage.
Tears streamed down the magistrate's cheeks. He shuddered and looked up through his reddened eyes at Dr. s.h.i.+elds.
”I'm sorry,” the doctor said, ”but you'll have to drink again.”
”I can't,” Woodward whispered.
”The salt must do its work. It will be painful, yes, but not as much so. Here, clasp my hand and hold tight. Robert, will you grip his other hand?”
”Me? Why me?”
”If you please,” please,” s.h.i.+elds said, not without some vexation, and Bidwell with great reluctance took the magistrate's other hand. ”Now,” s.h.i.+elds said to the magistrate, ”you must hold the salt water in your throat for as long as possible and allow it to burn the infection. Are you ready?” s.h.i.+elds said, not without some vexation, and Bidwell with great reluctance took the magistrate's other hand. ”Now,” s.h.i.+elds said to the magistrate, ”you must hold the salt water in your throat for as long as possible and allow it to burn the infection. Are you ready?”
Woodward gasped a breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again to the blurred world. Knowing there was no other way, he nodded and stretched open his mouth.
s.h.i.+elds poured some more of the opium-spiked brine onto Woodward's whitened tongue. Again, when the salt touched its nemesis, Woodward groaned and convulsed but he did hold the water in his throat as long as he was humanly able, the sweat s.h.i.+ning slickly upon his face and scalp.
”There, that's very good,” s.h.i.+elds said when Woodward had swallowed. He put aside the cup and soaked the cloth in the hot water, then wrang it out and immediately put it over Woodward's face. The magistrate trembled, but the sensation of the hot cloth against his flesh was of no consequence after what he'd just endured. s.h.i.+elds began to vigorously ma.s.sage Woodward's cheeks through the cloth, to open up the sinus pa.s.sages through a combination of heat and friction. He paused in the ma.s.sage to attack the crusted mucus that blocked the magistrate's nostrils, his fingers still working through the cloth. The heat had softened the obstructions, and s.h.i.+elds was successful in breaking loose most of the clots. He returned to ma.s.saging Woodward's face again, concentrating on the areas on either side of the nose. In another moment he removed the cloth, dowsed it in the pan of hot water and then applied it once more to the magistrate's face, continuing the hard pressure of his fingers on the areas that he knew must be severely inflamed and swollen deep beneath the flesh.
Quite suddenly, his brain still reeling from the pain he'd suffered, Woodward realized he could breathe again through his nostrils. His air pa.s.sages were slowly opening. His throat simply felt dead but that was a far better cry than before. He drew a breath in through his nose and mouth, inhaling steam from the cloth as well.
”An improvement!” s.h.i.+elds said, his fingers tirelessly working. ”I think we're bringing the swelling down.”
”G.o.d be praised!” Bidwell exclaimed.
”G.o.d may be praised,” s.h.i.+elds told him, ”but the magistrate's blood has been fouled by the swamp's evil humours. It's the thickening of the blood that's caused the closure of his throat and sinuses.” He peeled the cloth away from Woodward's face, which now was as pink as a boiled ham, and put it into the pan. ”Your breathing is easier?”
”Yes.” Woodward's voice, however, had been reduced to a whisp and a rattle.
”Very good. You may lay the pan aside and step out of my way,” he told the servant girl, who immediately obeyed. ”Now,” he said to the magistrate, ”you realize this condition will most likely recur. As long as your blood is so thickened to affect the tissues, there's danger of the air pa.s.sages again closing. Therefore...” He paused to remove from his carrying case a small pewter bowl, its interior marked by rings that indicated a measurement of ounces. Also from the case Dr. s.h.i.+elds brought a leather sheath, which he opened to display a number of slim rectangular instruments made from tortoisesh.e.l.l. He chose one of them and unfolded from the tortoisesh.e.l.l grip a thin blade two inches in length.
”I shall have to bleed you,” he said. ”When was the last time you were bled?”
”Many years,” Woodward answered. ”For a touch of fever.”
”A flame, please,” s.h.i.+elds requested. Mrs. Nettles opened a lamp and offered the burning wick. The doctor put the blade of his lancet into the fire. ”I'll make the cuts behind your left ear,” he told Woodward. ”Therefore I shall need you to overhang your head off the bedside. Will you help him, Robert?”
Bidwell summoned the servant girl, and together they got Woodward's body turned on the bed so his head was in the proper position. Then Bidwell retreated to the door, as the sight of blood made his stomach queasy and the jellied eels and oysters he'd consumed for dinner seemed to be locked in combat down below.
”You might wish to bite on this.” s.h.i.+elds put into Woodward's right hand a piece of sa.s.safras root that still held the fragrant bark. Woodward couldn't help but note that it was marked by the grooves of previous teeth. Still, it was better than gnas.h.i.+ng on his tongue. He put the sa.s.safras into his mouth and fixed his teeth upon it.
The blade was ready. s.h.i.+elds stood beside the magistrate's head with the lancet poised at the point he wished to open, just at the base of Woodward's left ear, and the pewter bleeding bowl held beneath it. ”Best to grasp the sheet and keep your fists closed,” he suggested. Then he said quietly, ”Courage, sir,” and his hand designed the first cut.
Woodward stiffened and bit into the sa.s.safras root as the hot lancet pierced his flesh. To the doctor's credit, the first cut was done quickly. As blood began to drip into the bowl, s.h.i.+elds made a second incision and then a third. Now the crimson drops were falling faster, and s.h.i.+elds refolded the lancet's blade back into its tortoisesh.e.l.l grip. ”There,” he told the magistrate. ”The worst is over.” He took the root from Woodward's mouth and put it into his pocket, all the while holding the bleeding bowl directly beneath the three leaking wounds.
All that could be done now was wait. The sound of the blood dripping into the widening pool at the bowl's bottom was terribly loud to Woodward, who closed his eyes and also tried to close his mind. Bidwell, still standing at the door, had watched the procedure with a kind of sickened fascination, though the process of bleeding was certainly nothing novel and he himself had been bled several years ago when he'd been suffering stomach cramps.
s.h.i.+elds used the pressure of his fingers on the area behind Woodward's ear to keep the wounds open. In a few moments s.h.i.+elds said, ”Mrs. Nettles, I shall need a pan of cool water and another cloth, please. Also a cup of rum would do the magistrate well, I think.”
Mrs. Nettles directed the servant girl to get what Dr. s.h.i.+elds had requested. The blood kept falling, drop after drop, into the red pond.
Bidwell cleared his throat. ”Magistrate? Can you hear me?”
”He hears you,” s.h.i.+elds said, ”but let him be. He needs no bothering.”
”I only wish to ask him a question.”
Woodward opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Up there he could see a brown waterstain. ”Go ahead,” he rasped.
”What did he say?” Bidwell asked, coming nearer to the bed.
”He said to ask your question,” the doctor told him, looking down at the bowl to see that almost two ounces of life's fluid had so far been collected.
”Good. My question, sir, is this: what time will you be able to commence the trial today?”
Woodward's eyes found the face of Dr. s.h.i.+elds above him.
”What say you?” Bidwell stood beside the bed, keeping his gaze averted from the dripping blood. ”This afternoon, perhaps?”
Woodward swallowed thickly; the raw pain in his throat was returning with a vengeance. ”I... don't know... if I can-”
”Actually,” Dr. s.h.i.+elds spoke up, ”you might consider returning to your task, sir. Lying abed too long does no soul any good. He glanced toward Bidwell, and Woodward saw the other man's face doubly reflected in the doctor's spectacles. ”We wish to keep your circulation from stagnating. It would also do you good, I think, to put your mind to proper use.”
”Yes!” Bidwell said. ”My sentiments exactly!”
”However,” the doctor amended, ”I would not suggest you sit in that putrid gaol without some protection from the vapors. Robert, do you have a coat that might fit the magistrate?” the doctor amended, ”I would not suggest you sit in that putrid gaol without some protection from the vapors. Robert, do you have a coat that might fit the magistrate?”
”If not, I can find one.”
”All right. I'm going to prepare a liniment for you that should be smeared liberally upon your throat, chest, and back. It will stain your s.h.i.+rt and coat beyond hope, so give them up for lost. I wish you to wear a scarf around your throat after the liniment has been applied.” He looked at Mrs. Nettles. ”The magistrate will require a diet of soup and pap. Nothing solid until I give the word. Understood?”
”Yes sir.”