Dr. Veer Quel's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Veer left the locked ward before dawn. The bolted cabinet held thirty doses, alive only in the cold. He could not carry the cabinet. But he could carry the cold. He walked out of Mercy Ward's tall doors with an empty satchel and one plan. The market building stayed open through the night. Veer moved down the aisles until he found what he needed. A plastic box, thick-walled, meant to keep meat cold on a long trip. He bought it, along with two blocks of ice. He paid and walked back fast, before the sun climbed. In the ward, he opened the metal cabinet. Cold air rolled over his hands. He packed the ice into the box, then set the vials on top, spaced so each one touched the chill. He capped them tight. He shut the lid and pressed his palm to the plastic. It held the cold in. The cure would live outside these walls now. Veer carried the box to a quiet room off the main hall. Four beds stood in a row. Dried herbs hung above them. A cart of supplies waited near the wall. He had sent word to the sick who could still walk. Now they came, one after another, coughing, pale, leaning on doors and strangers. He worked without stopping. He drew a dose from the box and closed the lid at once. He tilted each patient's head and gave the cure slow. Between patients, he checked a vial against the lamp. Still clear. Still whole. The ice held. The cold held. He treated one man, then a woman, then a boy who could barely stand. By midday he had emptied fourteen vials. Fourteen people breathed easier on the four beds and on the floor. No cloud in the mixture. No seizures. He wiped his hands and let himself sit for one breath. He had done it. The cure had left the cabinet and reached the dying. Then a runner came from the front hall. A boy, out of breath. He said the East ward had filled overnight. Forty more, coughing blood, the same strain. And another word followed, quieter. People were talking. A doctor with a magic box was curing the plague. Word had reached the wrong ears. Veer looked at the box on the cart. Sixteen doses left. Forty new patients across the building, and more each hour. The ice was already softening at the edges. He had proven the cure could travel. Now everyone would want it, and he did not have enough. He stood and lifted the box. The cold weighed on his arm. He had won the small fight and started a larger one. He needed more doses, more cold, and more hands, before the whole city came knocking and the ice ran out.