The cat sat huddled in an orange ball on the floor, his fur all askew. Hearing his name, he gave a pathetic meow.
“Greedy animal,” said Miri severely. “Serves him right for eating my poultice!”
The Doctor gave another pitiful yowl and began to heave, just as Brother Barnaby entered. He looked from the vomiting cat to Stephano, swathed in bandages and stinking to high heaven, to Rodrigo who had tied a handkerchief over his face to block out the smell.
“Which is the patient?” Brother Barnaby asked.
Rodrigo and Stephano pointed to the cat.
Gythe entered the room and, picking up the poor Doctor, she pointed emphatically at Stephano.
“I’m fine, Gythe, really-”
Gythe looked to Brother Barnaby and then gestured again at Stephano, who opened his mouth, caught Miri’s eye, and meekly submitted to the monk’s examination.
“He has no fever. Your poultice is doing its work well, Mistress Miri,” said Brother Barnaby. “I could say a prayer…”
Stephano snorted. “If you’re going to say a prayer, Brother, say it for the black soul of the bastard I killed today.”
Brother Barnaby looked startled. A shadow crossed his face.
“He’s trying to shock you, Brother,” said Rodrigo. “The fight was a fair fight. The man he killed drew a pistol and tried to kill us.”
“I will pray for all of you,” Brother Barnaby said. Seeing Stephano grimace, the monk added with a gentle smile, “It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Stephano submitted to being prayed over with no very good grace. Miri stood close to him, ready to pinch him if he started to say anything untoward. She listened to the monk’s prayer, to him pouring his soul out to God, his voice fervent and passionate, and she stole a glance at her sister. Gythe was watching Brother Barnaby, pouring her soul out to him from her lustrous eyes.
Miri sighed deeply. She was a skilled healer. She could heal almost every kind of ache known to man except the terrible pain of a broken heart. Some men who had taken vows of celibacy might be tempted to break them for love of a woman. Brother Barnaby was not one of them. Her sister was going to be hurt. There was no way to avoid it.
“There, that wasn’t too bad, was it, Captain?” Brother Barnaby said soothingly when the prayer ended.
Stephano grunted and scratched.
“Damn stuff’s starting to itch,” he said.
“Your turn to draw a card,” said Rodrigo. “Would you like to join us, Brother?”
Gythe touched Brother Barnaby’s hand, making a sign to thank him. He gave her a smile and assured her the captain was going to be fine. She seemed about to say something else and Miri was wondering how to get the monk alone to talk to him when Dag provided the excuse.
“Hey, who poisoned my cat?” he yelled from the deck above.
“Go see to the Doctor, Gythe,” said Miri. “Tell Dag the wicked beast ate some of my potion and he will be fine once he gets it out of his system.”
Gythe cast a last, shy look at Brother Barnaby and then ran up the stairs to placate Dag and do what she could for the suffering cat. Stephano and Rodrigo went back to their game of draughts. Miri led the monk into the passageway. She noticed that he seemed downcast, preoccupied. His brow was furrowed, his eyes shadowed. He was about to climb the stairs leading to the deck above when Miri stopped him. She thought she knew what was wrong.
“Brother, I want to apologize for my sister,” said Miri, embarrassed. “I know she is making a nuisance of herself. She means no harm, truly. I will see to it that she does not continue to annoy you-”
She stopped talking because Brother Barnaby was regarding her in astonishment, clearly perplexed by her words.
“Your sister is not a nuisance, Mistress Miri. I was glad to come with her-”
“My sister is in love with you, Brother,” said Miri bluntly.
He stared at her in round-eyed disbelief. His dark-complected face flushed darker in wonder and confusion.
“In love… with me.” He gave a shy smile and shook his head. “You must be mistaken, Mistress. How could Mistress Gythe be in love with me? She is as beautiful as an angel in a painting and I am… I am not well- favored.”
“You found Gythe in the darkness when she was lost and afraid, Brother. You must have looked very beautiful to her then.”
Brother Barnaby considered her words for his expression grew somber. Miri heard the pain in his voice.
“I am honored by your sister’s love,” he said at last. “Honored and undeserving of the honor.”
He raised his eyes to meet hers. Miri saw his faith, heard his commitment, deep and steadfast.
“I am given to God, Mistress Miri.”
Miri, who had been holding out a little sliver of hope, sighed deeply.
“I did not mean to wound you, Brother. I thought you should know. Gythe has never fallen in love with any man before. She is bound to be hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” he said in soft agony.
“No need to apologize, Brother. The good God knows it is not your fault,” said Miri.
They both walked up to the deck. Gythe was holding the miserable Doctor in her arms, petting him and rubbing her cheek against his. Her fair hair ruffled in the breeze and shone in the sun, gleaming like a halo around her head. Like an angel in a painting.
“It would be best if you did not see her again, Brother,” said Miri.
“I understand,” said Brother Barnaby unhappily. “I want to assure you that I truly never meant to be the cause of any harm to her.”
A bad business, Miri thought to herself. The monk has not escaped unscathed. He is hurt, knowing that he has inadvertently hurt her. Gythe saw her sister’s troubled gaze resting on her and looked from Miri to Brother Barnaby. She knew that they had been talking about her. Perhaps she even guessed what they had been saying. She kissed Doctor Ellington on the top of his head, handed him back to Dag, and then, with a defiant expression on her face, walked over to confront them. Brother Barnaby’s confusion increased as she approached.
“Captain de Guichen is doing well, Mistress Miri,” he said, his eyes on the deck. He began to sidle toward the gangplank. “I should take my leave.”
“Of course, Brother,” said Miri, hurrying him along. “Thank you for coming.”
Gythe planted herself in front of them. She gave Miri a reproachful look and, pointing to Brother Barnaby, she began to gesture, making signs with her hand. She placed her fingertips on his mouth and then touched her ears and then touched her forehead. She made the sign for “papa.” She clasped her arms around her, shivered as though in fear. She pointed again at Brother Barnaby.
“What is she saying?” he asked.
“Gythe tells me that you are afraid, Brother. Not for yourself. For Papa Jake. You’re afraid he is in danger.”
Brother Barnaby stared dumbfounded at Gythe. “That is true. I am afraid for Father Jacob. I believe him to be in great danger, but how could she know?”
“Who’s in danger?” Dag asked, coming to join them.
“Papa Jake,” said Miri. “At least, that’s what Gythe says.”
“It is true,” said Brother Barnaby. “Father Jacob received a note summoning him to a mysterious meeting at a dockyard near a street with a strange name-Bitter Taste or something like that-”
“Bitter End Lane,” said Dag, his expression darkening.
“Yes, that’s it. Why?” Brother Barnaby faltered. “What’s wrong?”
“Bitter End Lane is aptly named,” said Dag grimly. “People who go there have a bad habit of meeting a bitter end.”
“Then it is a trap!” Brother Barnaby said in dismay.
“It might be. Is Sir Ander with the priest?”
