Chapter Nine

  1.

  As she stepped out of Ija’s residence, Verna felt a huge sensory overload hitherto suppressed by the fog of chaos. For all her knowledge and skills, Verna was not sure if she was doing well by her subjects. After all, they were not prone to behaving like the subjects of an experiment.

  The sunny courtyard, with its smells of the town, the aromas from the mansion’s kitchen, and detergent from the launderer’s, all provided a sense of homeliness even if its chief occupant was a snob. Verna was eager to walk on the town roads and find out what kind of woman Ija truly was. But before that, she took a moment to begin creating a list of all she would need to help her people.

  At the gate, she turned to the chief-adversary guard and said, “Tell Atri to meet me at the field to the mansion’s right as soon as his meal is finished, and tell him to bring nourishments for my subjects.”

  The disconsolate man nodded glumly.

  “And clean up your uniform and do be more attentive. You are the shell of this town, remember?” Verna gave him with a small smile.

  This time, the guard’s agreement was firmer, and she could see a straightening of his posture.

  Satisfied, she nodded to Jhorka, and the two made their way to the rest of the party. The sun was slowly sinking toward the horizon, but the mugginess of the forest was worse since there were few trees to negate the heat.

  Once they reached the field, Verna stood to one side while Jhorka told them about what had happened inside Ija’s wasteful mansion. Then, while the more energetic children began a game of warfare, the adults waited along the only shaded wall available, some dozing, but many with grimaces of pain.

  Atri soon showed up without Ija. To Verna’s inquiry, he attempted to come up with a suitable excuse, then gave up the attempt. “She, uh, went for her afternoon nap, and told me to handle this situation at my discretion.”

  “In other words, she would rather not be bothered with this,” said Verna. “I couldn’t hope for more. Is there a better location where my people could be sheltered?”

  “Not altogether, Your Highness. There are inns, but none so big. The mansion and its grounds are an option, but given the frequent movement of people, it might hinder your efforts to care for them.” He thought for a while then added, “But I can have a shelter and temporary outhouses set up here till something more permanent could be arranged, if that would be agreeable to you and your people.”

  “It is. Please give the orders to the concerned folk, then come back to discuss other arrangements. Please also have a fire built at night, for a lot of these people are sick and can’t bear the cold.”

  “Your Highness, apart from food and shelter, what more do you wish of me — Lady Ija, that is? Given that this is a fully compact town that hardly suffices itself, we can’t bear the strain —”

  Verna was feeling her impatience rise again. “Follow,” she snapped, and without waiting for his response, moved toward the crowd. She pointed out every child below ten that had the scales fall off due to infection, then the many children suffering from fever and sores, and finally to Nem who was delirious with a nightmare at the moment. “See them? They, and many of the people here, are suffering. They need to be taken care of.”

  “I will do my best, Princess. Maybe you would care for the hospitality of the Mansion to refresh yourself and rest a bit? They need you on your feet if they are to recover,” said Atri, sounding mildly condescending.

  “Wismeik’s shit, Atri!” swore Verna. “Find them space in the hospital so that they can get the care they need, or I will ensure that the Gods’ thrice-thrown wrath lands precisely at your doorstep!”

  “Well, have it your way, but the hospitals are overflowing with an outbreak, Princess!” snapped Atri, all coolness evaporating from him. “The hospital can barely support the sick at the moment; our drains are running red from those who die hacking up bloody gobbets from who knows where! What do you expect me to do with a hundred new patients?”

  “Treat them,” said Verna, her voice deadly calm. “If one life is lost from this group, I will make your life a living hell. And that of your mistress. Now, instead of slowing me down, explain what is going on here properly, and what is being done about it.”

  “You speak as if medicine is magic, My Lady,” Atri said stiffly. “My own father died from the wasting sickness and I could do nothing but watch.”

  Verna tapped her feet, so he continued.

  “There are two hospitals in the town. One is run by the government. It is, at present, overstuffed with our diseased. This disease has been showing up every year recently, and staying for three or four months. I wrote to the capital, but there was no response. Many are languishing in their homes. Some kind of hersin powder is making the rounds, but I personally doubt it does any good. Some of the merhumans are desperate for anything.”

  “You said two. What about the other hospital?” asked Verna.

  “It is Lady Ija’s private hospital.”

  “And why can’t it privately treat your patients and mine?” She could hardly contain the sarcasm.

  “Your Highness...”

  “Jhorka, Atri, organize the shelter and food for these people here. I will talk to the doctors in these hospitals and decide the best course of action, given Atri seems to have run out of words. Last thing — tell me about this powder being peddled.”

  “It causes bizarre hallucinations and a state of stuporous joy, Your Highness. As the government, I cannot comment upon it without showing you proper proof — which I will, first thing tomorrow,” he added hastily as Verna glared, “but personally, I think it is being smuggled in from Emre. Nobody taking it survives, but people can still kill over it. Lady Ija preferred that I first solve the imminent crisis before looking into this peddling, but given the disease is so rampant and recurrent...” he shrugged his shoulders.

  Verna gave him a disgusted glare, nodded to Jhorka, and left the field, just as some merhuman labourers lugged in a few wagons of poles, sheets and boards to begin the construction of the housing.

  “Princess! Verna!” called a familiar voice, and Mehan, Nem’s mother, hurried up to her. “If you are going to the hospital, I will come with you.”

  “What about Nem?” asked Verna. This woman was sharp, thoughtful, and bold, but Verna was still unsure that she could deal with the hospital's beastliness when her own child’s life was at stake.

  “He is in good hands, Princess, and we all feel it would be good if you had someone to help you if needed,” said Mehan.

  “Do you think I will forget you?” asked Verna with a sad smile.

  “Not for my part. I trust you as much as I can trust anyone,” reassured the woman.

  So Verna gave her assent and the two women walked through the town while the sun set. Business in the shops was picking up rather rapidly, and they saw more people, mostly families, out on the streets, sampling the many varieties of food and purchasing the necessities for the day after.

  It was a strange contrast. Verna saw that at their core, people chose to have fun, even if it was a contrast between a luxurious plate of panyar or a harried search for the cheapest flatbread. It was also in the cut of the clothes, both in the bearing of responsibility and the shedding of it, or in the shared joys, hatred, love and grief that seemed to hang over the citizens.

  They soon reached the government-run hospital, a functionally minimal building that once had white walls, but now only brick and mortar. There was a mechanical air of scarcity and procedure about the place, as attendants rushed from place to place, sometimes with crudely made stretchers careening forward. Verna paused when she saw a human girl of about eighteen years, who had bleeding lesions on her face, near the nails on her fingers and toes, and many bloody spots on her oversized tunic. As the patient passed her, Verna also noted red streaks on the back of her head. Suddenly, the girl hunched her shoulders, coughed, and fresh beads of blood appeared on her lesions like ugly gemstones.

  “It seems like something one catches from another,” observed Nem’s mother.

  “Seems so,” said Verna. “We can’t put our sick here. We’ll need to have the doctors come.”

  Inside, Verna noticed that nearly all rooms were brimming with patients, with clerks and nurses operating from space that must, under normal circumstance, be reserved for walking. The heavy smell of blood hung in the air, overpowering the acridity of the triangular seaweed believed by some recent studies to calm the nerves. Vaguely wishing they could agree upon facts that might be life and death, and wondering if bitterness could really soothe the minds of agitated patients, Verna hailed an orderly headed in their direction.

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  “Yes?” the woman was unwilling to wait.

  “There are some patients recently shifted to Mertown, and they need someone to come help them,” Verna said. “Make the necessary arrangements. Consider it an order from the government.”

  “Who are you? And how do you presume to create favour for your own subjects when so many are already suffering? Please lady, go to Lady Ija’s hospital. We’ve barely the time” said the orderly, already turning away.

  “Patients are patients, sister,” Verna tried to be straightforward. “Please. They need help.”

  “Ma’am, I sympathize, but I really can’t help you,” said the orderly, a slight lessening in the sharpness of her tone.

  “Then, please let me meet the doctor, preferably now,” said Verna.

  The woman, huffing about entitled nobles, stormed off. Returning soon, she gestured for them to take a corridor to their left.

  Verna did so, and it was dimmer than the entranceway, with plain walls and doors at equidistant points. Agonized cries in querulous voices could be heard from behind the doors. Out of mild curiosity, she peeked into a slightly open door and winced immediately at how close the three gaunt men had been placed in a very small space.

  The corridor soon came to an end, and the women came face to face with a harried-looking man in a doctor’s uniform, with something in a bag in his hand. “Who needs treatment?” asked the doctor.

  “About a hundred patients,” said Verna. “They were subjected to severe duress and open elements. Her ten-year-old son,” indicating Nem’s mother, “has been delirious, feverish, and unconscious for a while now, and we also lost his grandmother recently. I understand you have an outbreak here, but please allocate some resources for them. Many of them will die otherwise.”

  “Lady, first, I want you to understand that I personally have nothing against merhumans. In fact, I have seen only human characteristics in them, that is to say, they could be hungry or bloated, sick or healthy like anyone else. As a doctor, I only seek to improve a patient’s condition. But you need to understand how dire the situation is here. We barely have the space to hold human soldiers, then their children and family members. We cannot even admit merhuman guards, let alone the general populace.”

  “What about the private hospital of Lady Ija?” asked Verna.

  “It's a nicely painted building, lady. My staff and I are the only people here with a clue about medicine.” He looked anguished.

  “I am Verna Woodman, doctor. Who are you?”

  “Solis Rethi. I have heard of you.”

  “I will hold you to your words, Doctor Rethi. I will be back soon, and we are going to do everything we can to save patients.”

  “Please do, but make sure you are cleaner before you touch any of my patients.”

  Bidding farewell to the doctor, Verna came back to the lobby, where she found the queue of patients waiting longer, if that was possible. A nurse told him the location of the private hospital: “It's right across the street; you can’t miss it. Are you new here or something?”

  2.

  The first thing Verna noticed was how silent the new hospital was. There were many attendants and nurses wearing meticulous uniforms, but barely any patients. “They are not in business, so let’s go give them some,” she growled to Mehat.

  The staff at the registry desk tried to stop her, but since all they did was to call out, Verna simply bulled into the opulent corridor. The hospital walls were a hideous replica of the mansion’s architecture. Veins of minerals and precious gems created a disturbing lightshow on the orange walls. Stacks of medical stocks and bizarre artefacts of art conspired to create a purgatorial feeling, but it was far too clean for a city under an epidemic.

  “Doctor!” Verna stopped a woman walking away from them. “Take me to the doctor!”

  “The hospital is on the other side of the street,” the baffled woman returned.

  “I know where I am, Lady. Please take me to your doctor.” Just how many more conversations were necessary for her to get somewhere?

  Beaten but not quite broken, the woman beckoned them to follow. She took them to a well-appointed suite where a corpulent merhuman was devouring cookies from a fine tray. He broke out into flustered coughs at the sight of the dishevelled women, beating his chest to get the food down.

  “Why... why...” he huffed at his staff, “Why... here?”

  “I am Princess Verna Woodman, sir,” said Verna sternly. He was just starting to sip water and broke into another violent fit of coughs. “Why are there two hospitals in the town, but only one of them doing their job?”

  “Ma’am.” Tears rolled out of the doctor’s eyes. “We aren’t really doctors. Merhuman magic can slowly heal the body, but that is something humans could also do, if slower. Most of what is happening now needs medical attention, because there is only so much magic could fix.”

  “Have you tried merging the two?” asked Mehat suddenly. Both Verna and the doctor stared at her. “If the human medicines could battle invisible demons —”

  “Pathogens,” interrupted the doctor.

  “Pathogens, whatever,” rejoined Mehat. “If they could be controlled like that, then our magic should heal up the bleeding cracks on the skin.”

  “It would keep the pathogens inside, Lady, and then what good is the treatment?” asked the doctor, taking the suggestion quite seriously. “Besides, healing their symptoms would drain their body’s reserves, further weakening their resistance.”

  “Unless the resistance itself is the problem, as in a surprising number of diseases,” realized Verna.

  “You seem to be quite knowledgeable in the medical sciences, Your Highness.”

  “And so are you, doctor. Have you tried collaborating with the human doctors?”

  “I have difficulty handling magical implements, Lady Verna. I have never been trained in surgery. Yes, I do take an interest in human medicine, but Solis sees me as a hack — and honestly, I don’t blame him.”

  “We will see about that. Come, follow me, and keep up,” Verna said, looking at his overwhelming mass.

  3.

  Half an hour later, they were back in the government hospital’s bowels, grimly surrounding a soldier at death’s door. Atri looked bored, merhuman doctor green, and Dr. Solis red with anger.

  “Do you want to die, huh? Do you want to die?” Dr. Solis raged at the unconscious soldier. “These idiots will kill you. First the unwashed princess and now the fatso —”

  “I am sorry, Solis —” began the merhuman doctor.

  “You shut up, Brictha, you gullible hippopotamus! She will get you onto the gallows when your intervention results in his death!” Dr. Solis lamented.

  “What did I not do for you?” he gestured at the snoring soldier, “And yet, I am gone for five minutes, and you are some guinea pig in a harebrained scheme. Do these people even understand the basics of medicine? Palliative care weakens resistance, and weakened resistance kills.”

  “He was already dying,” Verna said tersely.

  “It might be working!” exclaimed Dr. Brictha. “Look! I can feel his sleep deepen, but his breathing is normal!”

  Dr. Solis was stumped. “It’s just a coincidence, hippo,” he grumbled.

  And yet, it was very clear in another half an hour that the soldier was, in fact, stabilising. Dr. Solis was pacing panickily inside the room while Dr. Brictha marvelled at their patient.

  “Congratulations, doctor,” Verna smiled at him.

  “Governor, please make note of my orders,” she said to Atri. “The hospitals will merge their staff. They will work in pairs of human and merhuman. Look for merhuman healers to balance the staff. Use this hospital for the epidemic, and the other one for everything else. There will be no discrimination between human and merhuman patients. Prioritize patients based on their condition.”

  “Princess,” said Dr. Brictha, “even if we invite merhuman patients to the hospital, many of them would be suspicious and reluctant.”

  “Results speak in medicine, doctor. I am behind you, have no worries.”

  “Princess,” said Atri, “non-discrimination is a step too far. You don’t want patients setting the hospital on fire.”

  “I know what you mean, governor,” said Verna. “But between an epidemic and a refugee crisis, we cannot spare resources on sustaining unnecessary separations.” Dr. Solis bristled at this, but said nothing. “Have Jhorka lead the medical response to my people, and make sure they get the care they need.”

  Having set all of this in motion, Verna slipped out of the room, first finding a chamber to bathe and change her clothes into clean ones, then beginning a long survey of the hospital’s occupants.

  4.

  Two hours later, when things were attaining some form of order, Jhorka met her in the lobby, telling her there was an angry crowd assembled outside. “They think you are taking their folks away, Verna. A few of them are saying they’ll be sent to Suva. I am sorry — they really don’t know better.”

  Verna was aghast. “I will go speak with them,” she said.

  “You really shouldn’t.”

  “What about the villagers? Are they alright?”

  “Yes, they are all settled in. I’ve told them to lie low for the moment. We need to be careful.”

  Verna accompanied Jhorka outside, where they were joined by Mehat.

  The crowd was hysterical with rage. A few rotten missiles followed as soon as they were spotted, but splattered against the hospital’s walls instead. Verna was startled by the hateful eyes of a woman in the front row, roused to the point of recklessness.

  “Verna, I will handle this, if it is alright,” said Mehat, and she numbly nodded.

  “YOU SCUM!” the comely woman suddenly blared, domineering the crowd into silence. “Do you know what a pathogen is? Huh, pathogen?”

  A man raised his hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Could you repeat that?” the man clutched his right ear.

  “It’s called a PATHOGEN, you dumbwits! The princess of the entire Empire has come down here to fight this PATHOGEN, and you lot can't think of anything but accuse her of kidnapping? What would kidnapping you hungry, addicted lot even do, huh?”

  Jhorka was looking at Mehat in open amazement, and quite a lot of pride.

  “Can you fight a war? Write a book? Sail a ship? You are the rotten tomatoes —”

  “Mehat, enough,” Jhorka put a hand on her shoulder.

  “No!” Mehat wailed. “How dare they? Do they even know what they have done?”

  The semi-deaf man raised his hand again.

  “Yes?” asked Jhorka.

  “Can I see my wife? She’s not right in the head these days. Told me to kill with a hatchet.”

  “She asked you to fill the bucket, man,” said his neighbour.

  “Yes,” said Jhorka. “But not tonight. Please give us some time. Please trust me.”

  “Why would they treat us now?” someone else asked incredulously.

  “Because the princess told them to!” proclaimed Mehat.

  “Because the standards of the medical guild already tell doctors to treat patients equally,” Verna whispered. “Not that it is ever obeyed.”

  Leaving the outside world to Jhorka and Mehat, she found Nem, and before he could say anything, stumbled near his mattress and fell into golden unconsciousness.

  She was in a trance for some time, and Nem’s words floated down like feathers to her — “I tried to make her sleep properly, but she is too heavy for me.”

  “I will take care of her, baby,” Mehat’s voice followed. She felt Nem reach out, take her hand in his, and finally let go.

  5.

  While Verna was thus occupied, Ija was woken up by the rustling of the desk at the foot of her bed. Predawn chill infiltrated the room through the window, but Ija had to leave her warm covers to look at the desk. Her telemorph glowed green, indicating an official broadcast. She touched her hand to its bottom, and immediately, a message appeared on the screen. URGENT: TOWNS BE ADVISED: HIGH STATUS FUGITIVE IN EAST SUVA. FEMALE MAGE 5’5”. DARK HAIR AND EYES. PROACTIVE AND IMPULSIVE. HAND OVER UNHARMED — SUVA.

  The desk was engulfed back into the darkness, but Ija’s smile ate the rest of her sleep away, and she rushed to the toilet to begin preparing.