with a clumsy handcart loaded with bread. Today was market day, and everyone else’s life would go on.
Ruso dropped in to see Thessalus on the way back from the funeral, and discovered him hunched over his breakfast. Gambax seemed to have taken a more conventional approach to delivery this time, and the crockery was intact. Ruso stole a sip of the wine. Thessalus, drizzling oil onto a hunk of bread with an unsteady hand, did not seem to notice him. The wine tasted the same as last night: army vinegar laced with something that shouldn’t be there.
Ruso hoped Gambax knew what he was doing with the dosage. He said, “I’m on the way to the infirmary. Any advice?”
“Lock the door,” said Thessalus, drizzling the oil in a circle. “Keep them out. You can’t do anything for them.”
“Thanks,” said Ruso. “I’ll bear that in mind. I came to tell you: There’s good news. Metellus has arrested a native for the murder of Felix. Whatever you dreamed up, Thessalus, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Just concentrate on getting well. I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can.”
To his surprise, when Thessalus looked up from the bread his eyes were glistening with tears. “I told you this would happen,” he said. “They will find someone else to blame. Now I have killed two men.”
This was not the reaction Ruso had expected to his good news. Wishing he had kept quiet until later, he knelt beside Thessalus and handed him a cloth. “Courage, brother.”
“Don’t touch me! Don’t come near me!”
Ruso backed away. “Sorry. Would you like anything to read? Something else to eat?”
“I want to sleep with no dreams.”
“We will make you well,” Ruso promised, although he was not entirely sure how.
32
The twin Gods guarding the infirmary door (which now read: “Days to Governor’s Visit III”) had been busy overnight. Miracles had been performed. The four malingerers had all enjoyed sudden cures and been discharged back to their units, and Gambax had actually managed to complete a rota before heading off to some administrative meeting or other at headquarters.
The newly vacated ward was descended upon by orderlies bearing scrubbing brushes and buckets and bedding in a manner that suggested intention if not efficiency. Ruso put his head around the door frame and declared their efforts to be splendid.
Only slightly less miraculously, the splinted leg still had no inflammation. The man with the shoulder wound was still pessimistic, and the morning sick parade offered the usual coughs and stomach complaints, bad backs, sore eyes, and dodgy knees. All seemed genuine. Ruso chose not to ask if any of their owners was under the command of Audax.
He sent a junior officer with a wrecked knee hobbling out, moved his chair into the treatment room, and was reading The Varieties and Uses of the Poppy when Albanus came to tell him that Gambax had returned. Ruso put his scroll aside and braced himself for a difficult interview.
“You wanted to see me, sir.” Gambax’s expression as he appeared in the doorway of the treatment room suggested the summons was very inconvenient.
“Shut the door, Gambax.”
The man glanced back into the corridor as if hoping to find an excuse to go somewhere else, then dropped the latch.
“Will this take long, sir? I’ve got a list of-”
“That depends on how long you take to tell me the truth.”
Alarm showed in Gambax’s eyes, but only for a moment.
“When I asked you what was wrong with Doctor Thessalus, you told me you thought he was just in need of a rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anything you’d like to add to that?”
“No, sir.”
“No ailments that you’re aware of?”
“No, sir.”
“How long have you been giving him poppy tears?”
A blink was the only betrayal of emotion. “About three months, sir, off and on.”
“But you don’t think there’s anything wrong with him?”
“I was obeying orders. He asked me for them.”
“And you didn’t think to wonder whether this was a good idea?”
There was pause before, “I respect the doctor’s judgment, sir.”
“I see. What would you think of an orderly who shouted at a patient and threw a meal tray at him?”
Gambax’s throat moved as he swallowed. “I didn’t throw it at him, sir. I threw it on the floor.”
“Why?”
“I was trying to help him, sir.”
“What?”
“I was trying to shock him back into sanity.”
“By telling him to stop messing about and threatening not to bring his happy juice anymore?”
“It probably wasn’t a good idea, sir.”
“Cutting down his supply would have been a good idea months ago. You’re supposed to be both pharmacist and record keeper here. You’ve kept doling out powerful medicine to a man you know isn’t sick-or wasn’t when you started-and not even bothered to keep a note of it.”
When the man did not reply, he prompted, “Haven’t you?”
“He said it helped him sleep, sir.”
“At breakfast?”
Ruso sighed. The Varieties and Uses had warned against using poppy tears in the eyes, and everyone knew that too much would be fatal. But the author was only one of several authorities who recommended poppy as a miracle cure for all kinds of ailments. Many remedies included it in small doses. He often prescribed it himself to relieve pain, and it would certainly help the patient sleep. However, for a healthy man to be taking regular and heavy doses of poppy over a period of three months was surely abnormal, and Gambax must have known that. The deputy had deliberately lied to him.
In other circumstances, Ruso would have relieved him of duty. But as the sole pharmacist, Gambax was a necessary evil. And the last thing Ruso wanted was to suggest to a man in charge of dangerous medicines that he had nothing to lose.
“While the staff are sorting out the wards,” said Ruso, “I want that mess around the pharmacy table tidied up. I want everything properly and clearly labeled. I want a complete, up-to-date record of everything you’ve got there, and I want you to make a list of what gets dispensed every day. I’ll be inspecting the area and checking the records on a regular basis. In the meantime you’re not to go near Thessalus without me present. If I hear that you’ve so much as looked at barrack block two, I’ll have you charged with insubordination. Is that clear?’
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now go and get on with it.”
When he had gone Ruso stared at the cloak hanging on the back of the closed door. I respect the doctor’s judgment, indeed! Of course he did. As long as Thessalus was happily doped up and dependent on Gambax for his supply, the staff had been left to manage the infirmary in whatever way suited them best. And what had suited most of them was to sit in the office with the door barred, drinking beer.
I was trying to help him, sir. Gods above.
Still, he had Gambax on the run at last. He was making progress with the prefect’s order to sort out the medical service. Even if he was beginning to sound worryingly enthusiastic about the sort of administrative procedures he could never usually be bothered to follow himself.
