Dr. Matthias Corvus's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

Matthias reached the plague ward with the six vials wrapped against his chest. The east ward held forty beds in two long rows. Dried herb bundles hung from the rafters. A supply cart stood at the far wall. The air smelled of sweat and vinegar. He counted the beds again. Six vials. Forty patients. He had planned the math on the walk in and it had not changed. Mercy Sweetwell met him at the door. She wore her hood up and her mask down. She was small and quick, and she carried a cloth bundle that smelled of honey and warm bread. "You came," she said. "How many." "Six full doses. I need to split them." "You said forty." "I know what I said. Guards are circling back. I have one pass through this room." She set the bread bundle on the cart. "Split them how." "Quarter doses. Sickest first. A quarter will slow the fever enough to buy a day. A full dose kills it. A quarter buys time until I brew again." "You tested a quarter?" "No." She looked at him. She did not blink. "Then you guess." "I guess with the formula I know. Or six die well and thirty-four die waiting." She picked up the cart and pushed it to the first bed. "Start here. He won't last the night at full strength." Matthias uncorked the first vial. He measured a quarter into a clean cup with water. He lifted the man's head and poured it slow. The man swallowed. Matthias moved to the next bed. Mercy walked ahead of him, checking pulses, pointing. She did not say the patients' names. She said bed four. Bed seven. Bed twelve. He worked down the row. A quarter for the woman with black fingers. A quarter for the boy whose breath rattled. A quarter for the old man who could not open his eyes. His hands stayed steady. The clay had held the brew clean. The measures held. Halfway down the second row, a bell rang outside. Not the ward bell. The council's summoning bell. Close. Mercy did not look up. "Two more vials. Fifteen beds left." "I know." "Finish. I'll meet the door." She walked past him toward the front. She picked up the bread bundle on her way and set it on an empty stool, as if she meant to come back for it. Matthias dosed the last fifteen in quarters. He emptied the sixth vial into the mouth of a girl who could not have been older than the one who once walked out of his care. He corked the empty glass. He looked back down the ward. Forty patients dosed. None dead yet. Mercy returned. Her hood was pushed back. Her mouth was tight. "Guards at the gate," she said. "They have your name."