Читать книгу The Ouroboros Cycle, Book Two: A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires - G.D. Falksen - Страница 6

Chapter Two

Varanus’s clinic was located at the back of an only slightly derelict courtyard, known locally as Osborne Court, in the periphery between Spitalfields and the notorious Old Nichol. The place was tolerable but impoverished, filled with people who had largely resisted the worst urges of the criminal classes despite their destitute situation. Sadly, their desperate virtue only made them that much more susceptible to the criminal element in their part of the city. Like the rest of the East End, it was home to misery and hopelessness, which was precisely why Varanus had chosen it for her clinic.

At her instruction—and payment—the inhabitants of the surrounding buildings had agreed to hang lanterns from their upper windows each night, and the courtyard was granted some small amount of illumination. It was enough for visitors to manage, though only just. The windows of the clinic were protected with metal shutters, which Ekaterine opened while Varanus unlocked the front door. Everything had to have locks, of course. It was no good maintaining a place of healing when any ruffian could burgle it during the daytime.

The sign over the door read “Doctor Sauvage”, a necessary subterfuge given the nature of the work. Though she had cast off the trappings of mourning six months ago—the prescribed one year after the death of her father—it would not be seemly for Babette Varanus, the Lady Shashavani, to be seen in such a place, even—or perhaps especially—for the purpose of dispensing medical assistance to those in need. So she had invented her own private physician, Hippolyta Sauvage, to conceal her work. Fortunately, none of the people who had met Lady Shashavani would dare set foot in the vicinity of Osborne Court, and so she remained incognito.

Once inside, Varanus and Ekaterine removed their hats and jackets and set about making the place ready in case any patients ventured in. Varanus had no house calls to make, which was good given their earlier delay, but it was not unusual for locals with medical complaints to visit during the first few evening hours. After midnight the visits grew far less common, but in contrast they became much more serious in nature. The only reason someone would venture out in such a place during the small hours of the morning would be the grave illness of a loved one or bodily harm that threatened death, and neither of those was uncommon in the East End.

To call the building a clinic was somewhat charitable, more a reference to its purpose than its capacity. There was little space for patients to convalesce—only two beds in a rather small back room—and besides it was impossible for people to remain during daylight hours, when Varanus and Ekaterine had to attend to their public duties as women of means. But the front room, which had once been a shop, was nevertheless sufficient for its purpose. Serving as a surgery, it held the table that Varanus used for operations, some chairs for sitting, and a comfortable if somewhat worn sofa where patients could sit and rest before returning to their homes.

Varanus checked their stock of supplies in the adjacent storeroom—also under lock and key—while Ekaterine lit a fire in the stove and began heating some water. With the aid of some half dozen oil lamps, the main room of the clinic was decently illuminated. Thanks especially to her improved vision, Varanus could perform the fine work of surgery and suturing under the rough conditions. It was certainly better than anyone in the neighborhood could have expected before her arrival.

Ekaterine unlocked the desk in the main room of the surgery and opened the logbook that she kept, preparing a new entry for the night. Her knowledge of medicine was rudimentary at best, but she proved a meticulous secretary.

They did not wait long for their first patient of the evening. After scarcely half an hour, the bell outside the front door rang. Ekaterine answered it and ushered in a pair of men who were supporting a third of their number between them. The supported man—a laborer named Bates as memory served—looked at her with pain in his expression and hobbled to one of the chairs, where he collapsed. His face was bruised, and blood was staining his shirt and one leg of his trousers. The other men were in a similar state.

“And so it begins,” Ekaterine whispered in Svan, her native tongue.

“It does indeed.”

Varanus crossed to Bates and bid the other men to sit down—on chairs of course, for she saw no reason to risk them bleeding on the sofa.

“Now then, Monsieur Bates,” she said, speaking with a flawless and completely natural Norman accent, “what ever has become of you? Come, come, lift up your shirt.”

Bates did as he was bidden, wincing in pain with the movement. There, on his side, were a series of narrow cuts, scratches, and small punctures. They had bled a fair bit, but by now they were beginning to dry. Still, infection was rather likely.

“And the leg?” Varanus asked.

Bates hesitated. The blood was pooled around the middle of his thigh.

“The leg,” Varanus repeated firmly.

Grunting, Bate unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down to his knees, revealing more bruising and a long gash along the thigh that still seeped blood. The wounds would all need cleaning and binding.

“Well, doctor?” Bates asked.

“You were right to come to me,” Varanus said. “By morning your wounds would have become infected. What have you men been doing, eh?”

The men looked at one another. Varanus’s tone was sharp and accusatory, like a mother scolding her children.

“Shut yer mouth!” one of the men snapped at her.

“’Ey, you shut yours!” Bates’s other companion retorted.

The two men leaned away from Varanus and whispered to one another, though she had no difficulty hearing:

“Why we takin’ ’im to a woman doctor?” the one demanded. “Ain’t natural.”

“’Cos she’s ’ere an’ she’s good,” the other told him. “She ’elped my missus through ’er trouble a while back an’ she ’elped my little Johnny when ’e broke ’is ’ead, so she’s gonna ’elp us, and if you don’t like it, you can clear out.”

Varanus cleared her throat and said, “Gentlemen, though I am flattered at being argued over, Monsieur Bates will need to be attended to, as will the both of you. Now kindly place Monsieur Bates on that table there.” She turned to Ekaterine and said, “Hot water, spirits, and sutures, Catherine.”

Bates’s companions helped him to the table and laid him down. Varanus and Ekaterine carried their supplies to the table and set them down nearby. Varanus began cleaning the various wounds, dictating to Ekaterine the details of the injuries and the steps she would take to take care of them. Ekaterine dutifully recorded everything with a neat hand.

“I will ask again,” Varanus said, as she worked, “what have you men been up to?” When Bates hesitated, she said, “You were stabbed with a broken bottle and cut with a knife, Monsieur Bates. You and your friends have also been hit. With clubs, non? As well as fists?” She took Bates’s hand and sniffed it. “And you have fired a pistol.”

“Look,” Bates said, “it ain’t—”

“It ain’t none ’a your concern!” snapped the hostile man, grabbing Varanus by the shoulder.

Varanus went still for a moment, resisting the urge to break his arm.

“Unhand me, monsieur,” she said coldly, glaring at him.

The man met her eyes confidently. Then his expression fell and he backed away.

“Shut it, Jerry!” Bates shouted at the man. He groaned in pain and waved his hand at Varanus. “Can I ’ave some brandy, doctor? I’m dyin’ ’ere.”

“You are not dying,” Varanus said. “Though I wonder if the same is to be said about the man whom you shot.”

“We was in a fight,” Bates said.

“With a gang?” Varanus asked. “With another gang?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” Bates quickly replied. “We ain’t a gang, an’ neither was the others.”

Varanus began sewing shut the gash on Bates’s leg.

“Who then?” she asked.

“Just some toughs,” Bates said. “Been causing trouble for a mate of mine over by Saint John’s Row. We went to sort ’em out.”

“Trouble?” she asked. “How?”

“They wanted money,” Bates said. “To protect ’is tavern, they said. Ain’t gonna stand for that, are we?”

He sounded sincere.

“Did you win?” Varanus asked.

Bates grinned against the pain and said, “’Course, doctor.”

“Good,” Varanus said with a smile. “I have a strong dislike for bullies.”

* * * *

After attending to Bates and his friends, Varanus sent them on their way with a strong admonition to stay out of further trouble. She doubted very much that they would, but she hoped that they would at least confine their violent activities to sorting out interlopers and ruffians. Once a gang—for in truth, that is what Bates and his companions were fast becoming—it would not be long before they began taking the place of the criminals they had sent packing, or before they were killed in the act of clearing them off. Life had a way of staying short and bloody in the East End, however one carried out one’s affairs.

Things were generally quiet for the remainder of the evening, save for a brief visit from a local woman and her sick child. The child’s cough, while severe, was accompanied by clear lungs and strong breathing. Varanus suspected that the local atmosphere had as much to do with the cough as any sort of illness.

In the stillness of the late night, Varanus occupied herself with the composition of a monograph, as she often did in quiet moments. While she worked, Korbinian sat with her and read aloud from Plutarch. Ekaterine, who could not hear him, reclined on the sofa and read a copy of Gray’s Anatomy that Varanus had bought for her. It pleased Varanus that Ekaterine wished to familiarize herself with the details of their work. Indeed, her eagerness to learn was astounding in itself. Varanus had scarcely seen such a thirst for knowledge before she had joined the Shashavani.

Around midnight the bell rang. Ekaterine stood, but before she could answer, it rang again and someone began pounding on the door. Varanus jumped to her feet in alarm.

Whatever can be the matter? she wondered.

Ekaterine pulled the door open to reveal a young woman—scarcely eighteen, if she was even that old—dressed in worn and dirty clothes. Both she and her dress were covered in blood, which trickled from her nose and mouth and pooled beneath the skin in great bruises across her face.

Varanus recognized the girl as one of her regular patients, a local prostitute named Sally Conner.

“Help—” Sally managed before tumbling forward in a swoon.

Though startled, Ekaterine reached for Sally without hesitation and caught her before the poor girl hit the floor.

“What have we here?” Korbinian inquired, appearing at Varanus’s shoulder. “An unfortunate in need of assistance?”

Varanus ignored him and hurried to Ekaterine’s side. Together they carried Sally to the sofa. Varanus shut the door while Ekaterine revived Sally with some smelling salts. Presently Sally came round, waking with a start. Varanus quickly laid a hand on her chest to calm her, but Sally winced and gasped in pain, and Varanus withdrew her hand.

“Hush,” she said. “You’re safe.”

Sally looked around frantically for a moment before her eyes focused again, and she seemed to recognize Varanus.

“Doctor!” she cried, grabbing Varanus by the arm. “Doctor, you must ’elp me! I don’t know where else to turn!”

“What happened, Sally?” Varanus asked, looking her over. The girl had been beaten, severely by the looks of it. Her face and neck were bruised horribly, and God only knew what other injuries lurked beneath her clothing.

“They’re comin’ for me!” Sally cried, hysterical. “I worked me hardest, but they said it weren’t good enough! But I tried, I did! I tried! Only ’tweren’t enough!”

Varanus and Ekaterine exchanged glances. They both understood what had happened.

“Did you lock the door, liebchen?” Korbinian asked. He turned his head and looked across the room.

Varanus looked toward the door as well. She hadn’t locked it.

A moment later, the door was flung open. A tall man of tremendous girth pushed his way in through the doorway, followed by three others of normal stature. They were dressed in shabby suits and battered hats, though their clothes were far more flash than most men of the streets—toughs with pretensions to respectability perhaps.

Members of a gang.

“There’s the ’ore!” the giant shouted.

“Thought she could run,” said one of the others—a scrawny lad of perhaps fifteen. “But she can’t!”

He and the other two shared a cruel laugh. The giant merely advanced, turning a large club over in his hands.

“’Ere poppet…” he said, looking directly at Sally.

Varanus rose up to her full height—which was not terribly impressive, truth be told—and planted herself directly in the man’s path.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, barking like a terrier standing off against a bear.

The giant paused for a moment and prodded Varanus with his stick.

“Outta the way, miss,” he said. “This don’t concern you.”

Varanus pushed the stick away with a flick of her hand and said, “This is my surgery. Get out.”

The giant twisted his head, his neck giving an audible crack. He bared his teeth and snarled.

“That one’s ours, an’ ain’t none o’ your business,” he said. “Now outta my way!”

He pushed Varanus with a heavy hand, but she stood firm.

“Sally,” Varanus said, “go into the storeroom and lock the door. Open it for no one but me.”

“Yes, doctor,” Sally said, her voice weak and afraid.

With Ekaterine’s help, she got to her feet and hobbled toward the back of the surgery as fast as she could manage. The giant’s three companions made to intercept her, but Ekaterine barred their way. The men laughed a little and started to push past her.

“What has the girl done?” Varanus asked. “What crime could possibly warrant such cruelty?”

“She owes us money,” the giant answered. “Now outta my way.”

He pushed at Varanus again while the other ruffians shoved Ekaterine aside. Varanus exchanged looks with her and nodded. These men were not about to further abuse a woman, certainly not one of Varanus’s patients in her own clinic!

Varanus kicked the giant in the shin, making him stumble. Across the room, Ekaterine grabbed her hat from the table and shoved it, top-first, into one man’s face, crushing the one and disorienting the other. She struck another man in the throat with her fist before grabbing the last man and throwing him into the first, knocking both to the ground. Varanus grinned at her and leapt upon the giant, punching him in the stomach with a rapid barrage of fists. The giant grunted, but the mass of fat and muscle over his stomach withstood the blows better than most. Still, to her satisfaction, Varanus felt a rib break.

The giant drew back his club and swung at Varanus. Varanus ducked beneath the first blow and the one that followed it, but a third struck her on the side of the head and threw her onto the floor. Her vision went black for a moment.

She came to in time to see the giant step over her on his way toward the back room. Varanus shook her head to clear it. She felt something wet trickling across her cheek, and her vision was blind on that side. Blood was probably filling her eye, she reasoned. The giant’s blow must have fractured her skull.

How irritating, she thought as she picked herself up. No matter. It would heal.

Across the room, Ekaterine was busy managing the other three men, which mostly consisted of tripping them up or throwing one into another. They fought hard, inflicting clumsy blows where they could, but Ekaterine bobbed and weaved and deflected with startling grace, and she received but a few hits in reply to her own.

The giant was another matter. Even Varanus, with her inhuman strength, could hardly throw him about like a man of common stature. Still, he did not expect her to attack again, having given her what ought to have been a killing blow. That she could use to her advantage.

Varanus ran after the giant and kicked his ankle, tripping him and sending him to one knee.

“’Ere, what?” he shouted, twisting about. He caught sight of Varanus, and the blood drained away from his face. “’Ow, by God…?”

Varanus did not waste the opportunity. She ran at him and planted her foot firmly atop his knee. Using the man’s bent leg as a step, she leapt up and grabbed him by the head, pulling it downward as she brought her knee up to meet it. She struck the man squarely in the face. The giant fell backward, bleeding from his nose and eyes.

Landing on the balls of her feet, Varanus hurried forward and knelt upon the giant’s chest. She pounded her fists into his face as he tried to rise and kept punching until he finally gave up struggling.

Varanus stood and looked toward Ekaterine in time to see her strike the heads of two of the ruffians against one another. The men fell senseless, soon to die. The last one let out a cry of fright and ran for the door. Swearing loudly, Ekaterine hiked up her skirts and chased after him.

“Well,” Varanus said, looking down at the giant, “it seems you will not be murdering my patient tonight. Too bad for you.”

The giant struggled to rise, grabbing at her with his hands. Varanus swatted him away and placed on foot upon his throat.

“No, no,” she said. “I have won. Be a proper man and accept defeat with dignity. Now then, I have some questions for you.”

“Go ta ’ell,” came the reply.

Varanus applied more pressure with her foot to make a point before easing off enough to allow conversation.

“Ain’t possible…” the giant said. “Should be dead.”

“But I am not, and you must think of the future,” Varanus said. “Surely you have no wish to die.”

“The Boss’ll ’ave you for this.” The giant leered at her.

This caught Varanus’s attention and she asked, “So, you’re not alone, is that it?”

“Rest’a the boys ’ill kill ya for this. Give you a sound thrashin’ an’ cut yer—”

Varanus applied a little more pressure to interrupt the statement.

“No vulgar language in my surgery, thank you,” she said.

Korbinian joined her and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. Looking down at the giant, he said:

“I wonder where this boss fellow is.”

“That’s a very good question,” Varanus said, smiling at Korbinian. She looked down at the giant and asked, “Where is your boss? The rest of your gang? Where are they?”

“Not sayin’ nuthin’.”

Varanus applied a little more pressure. As she did so, Ekaterine walked back in carrying the corpse of the last ruffian. It would seem she had run him to ground and dispatched him.

I hope none of the neighbors saw, Varanus thought.

“A’right! A’right!” cried the giant. “I’ll talk!”

Varanus looked down at him and lifted her foot.

“Who is your boss?” she asked.

“Mister Jones!” the giant answered.

“And where can I find him?”

“The Ol’ Jago Pub down Parrott Street!”

Varanus leaned down and smiled.

“Much obliged,” she said, and pressed down hard with her boot, crushing the giant’s windpipe in a single stomp.

* * * *

With the ruffians all dead, Varanus put her hands on her hips and surveyed the damage. Thankfully, there was very little of it, though one of the chairs would need replacing.

Varanus placed a hand on Ekaterine’s shoulder and said, “Marvelous, if I do say so.”

“These three were nothing,” Ekaterine said, tossing her hair. “The big fellow, though.… That was impressive.”

“Yes,” Varanus said, looking down at the giant’s corpse. “I think I should like to keep him for study.”

Ekaterine sighed and looked at her.

“This is when I hide the bodies, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Well, I have a patient to attend to,” Varanus said. “And, much as it pains me to say so, I fear that I shall have to take her to the London Hospital. I can’t very well treat her with dead bodies strewn about the place, and I dread to think what would happen if any more of the gang were to show up.”

“Yes, we’d have to hide the poor girl in the cupboard again,” Ekaterine said, “and I’m certain she would become cross with us.”

Varanus shook her head and said, “You’re right, of course. Her being cross with us is foremost in my mind.”

Ekaterine motioned to the bodies.

“What would you like me to do with all of them?” she asked. “I mean, we can hardly dump them in the street now can we? Someone might look into it.”

Korbinian appeared behind Varanus and whispered in her ear, “Waste not, want not.”

At his prompting, the idea came to Varanus in a flash.

“Put them in the cellar for now,” she said. “I’ve been itching to do a dissection for months.”

“Grand idea,” Ekaterine agreed.

She took one of the corpses by the arm and hauled it up over her shoulders, carrying it like a man might carry a sack of potatoes. She was strong enough to manage, but only just. It was not nearly as effortless as it would have been for Varanus.

“Shall I…?” Varanus began, reaching out to help her.

Ekaterine released one hand long enough to wave Varanus away.

“Nonsense, I can manage,” she said. “Your patient, remember?”

“Yes, of course,” Varanus said. She turned toward the back of the clinic.

“Oh, a moment,” Ekaterine called. She motioned to the side of Varanus’s face where the giant had struck her. “Best clean up first.”

Varanus touched her temple and felt drying blood. The injury had healed—her flesh was smooth, her skull solid, her vision clear—but the blood remained. She hurried to the washbasin by one of the tables and cleaned her face.

With the signs of violence removed, she went to the back of the clinic and knocked on the door to the storeroom. “Sally!” she called. “It’s Doctor Sauvage. Are you in there?”

There was a lengthy silence before Sally could be heard, speaking faintly:

“Is it safe?”

“Yes, it’s safe now,” Varanus answered. “The men have left.”

“Left?” Sally asked hesitantly. She did not sound convinced. “What’ya mean ‘left’?”

“I mean that they’re no longer here, and you’d best not think on it any further,” Varanus replied.

There was another long pause and finally the door opened. Sally stood inside, among the boxes and barrels, looking wan and sickly. For the first time Varanus saw just how much blood was on her dress. Good God, what had the ruffians done to her? There was no doubt that she would have to go to the hospital. Regardless of skill, Varanus was simply not equipped to deal with injuries this extensive. She only hoped that the poor girl would survive the journey.

“Sally,” Varanus said, “I am going to take you to the hospital. We will go out the back way, just in case the men are lurking around the front.”

Rather, to avoid Sally seeing the corpses lying about on the floor.

“Can you walk?” Varanus asked.

“I-I—” Sally stammered. She was panicked, which came as no surprise under the circumstances. She took a few uncertain steps and nearly collapsed against Varanus. “I think so,” she said, sounding only half convinced.

“Well good,” Varanus said, taking her by the arm and leading her to the back door. “We will see if we can obtain a cab on the way.”

At the door, Sally hesitated, eyeing the dark alley nervously.

“Can’t I stay ’ere, doctor?” she asked.

She half turned back toward the clinic, and Varanus was obliged to take her by the arm and pull her the other way, only just preventing her from seeing Ekaterine carrying one of the bodies to the cellar stairs.

“Normally I would prefer that,” Varanus said, “but under the circumstances, I think the hospital will be far more secure than here. And besides, you require several days of rest, and I am not in a position to provide that.”

Sally slowly nodded. She squared her shoulders, lifted her head as best she could, and stepped out into the street. Varanus followed and took a last look back inside. Ekaterine, still descending the cellar stairs, looked up at her and called in French:

“Hurry back! I’ll be certain to save one for you to manage!”

* * * *

To her great relief, Varanus managed to obtain a cab along Shoreditch High Street, only a few blocks away. It was a fortunate thing too, for Sally was already fading by the time Varanus settled her inside. Varanus let the girl rest against her shoulder as they rode through the East End.

At the hospital, Varanus paid the cabby to wait and helped Sally to the front gate. It was closed, of course, but she shook the bars to summon the watchman. Presently a man arrived carrying a lantern, his eyes heavily lidded with fatigue.

“We’re closed!” he shouted. “Come back in the morning!”

“This woman needs help,” Varanus said. “Let us in at once!”

“We are closed,” the watchman repeated. “Come back in the morning!”

Varanus shook her head. She did not have time to waste.

“Is Doctor Constantine here tonight?” she asked. She knew that he would be. Constantine was as devoted to his medical work as Varanus was to hers.

“Aye,” the watchman said hesitantly.

“Then go to him,” Varanus said, “and tell him that Doctor Sauvage is at the gate with a patient in dire need of aid, requesting his assistance.” When the watchman hesitated, she snapped, “Now!”

The watchman stumbled back a step and hurried away. It took only a few minutes for him to return in the company of a dark-haired man with a short, neat beard. The second man, Doctor Constantine, looked alert and energetic despite the late hour.

“Good evening, Doctor,” he said to Varanus, as the watchman unlocked the gate. “Who is your patient?”

“Her name is Sally,” Varanus said. “She was set upon by ruffians not long ago, and she is in dire need of care.”

“So I see,” Constantine said. He looked into Sally’s eyes and smiled. “No need to fear my dear child. You are safe now.”

The gate opened and together Varanus and Constantine helped Sally into the hospital. Constantine led them through the silent halls to an examining room.

“Sit down and make yourself as comfortable as you can,” Constantine said to Sally. “Doctor Sauvage and I will return in just a moment.”

“Yes, sir,” Sally said, nodding weakly. She flashed a look at Varanus, her eyes asking what she should do.

Varanus nodded at her and said, “We shall only be a moment, Sally.”

She followed Constantine into the hallway. He turned to her, his expression clouded with anger.

“I may not have examined her yet, but I can see what she has endured,” he said. “By God, who has done this to her?”

“Men of the streets,” Varanus answered.

“Something must be done about them,” Constantine said. “This cannot be allowed to happen!”

Varanus shared his sentiment but not his optimism.

“They are gone now,” she said, “and I do not think it would be possible to exact vengeance even if they remained. And Sally is but one example. How many other unfortunates have suffered the same on the streets of your majestic city?” She paused. “Will you save them all?”

“If I could, yes,” Constantine said.

“We are agreed on that point,” Varanus said, “but I fear we cannot. What we can do is attend to that poor girl in there.” She pointed toward the examining room.

Constantine nodded. He took a step toward the doorway, but Varanus caught his arm.

“Doctor,” she said, “I am very grateful that you have agreed to see us tonight. I must ask.…”

“Yes?”

“As you know, my duties prevent me from attending my clinic during the daytime,” Varanus said.

It was a convenient conceit for her to avoid the sunlight. Its touch hurt less than it had fifteen years ago, but it still burned her.

“I know this,” Constantine said. “And I am grateful for it. Your patron’s kind donations have already proven to be a significant benefit to the hospital’s finances this year.”

Well naturally, Varanus thought. Where was she to contribute her not insignificant inheritance if not to medical institutions and places devoted to the advancement of science?

“Sally must have several days at least to recuperate,” she said. “I cannot let her convalesce at my clinic, therefore she must remain here. It will be much safer for her as well.”

“And you wish to know if I can arrange a bed for her,” Constantine finished. He took a deep breath and glanced down the hallway. “Yes,” he said at length, “I will make sure of it. There must be a place somewhere, and your patient is truly in need.”

“Thank you,” Varanus said. “I am most grateful.”

“Not another word about it, Doctor Sauvage,” Constantine said. “You would do the same in my place.” He motioned toward the examining room and continued, “Now then, let us see to the poor girl. As she is your patient, I shall follow your lead.”

Varanus smiled at this and said, “Thank you, Doctor. It relieves me to know that I shall have a competent nurse.”

Constantine cleared his throat.

“Kindly do not tell the fellows,” he said, “or I shall never hear the end of it.”