'This involves Fount Royal, I presume? And your infirmary?'
'It involves... what it involves.' Shields glanced quickly into Matthew's eyes and then away again. 'You do have a fetish for questions, don't you?'
If this remark was designed to seal Matthew's mouth and turn aside his curiosity, it had the opposite effect. 'Only for questions that go unanswered.'
'Touche, ' the doctor said, and he pressed the sixth blister cup firmly onto Woodward's back. Again the magistrate trembled with pain but was steadfastly silent. 'All right, then: I left Boston because my practise was failing there. The city has a glut of doctors, as well as lawyers and ministers. There must be a dozen physicians alone, not to mention the herbalists and faith-healers! So I decided that for a space of time I would leave Boston— and my wife, whose sewing enterprise is actually doing quite well— and offer my services elsewhere.'
'Fount Royal is a long distance from Boston, ' Matthew said.
'Oh, I didn't come directly here. I lived for a month in New York, spent a summer in Philadelphia, and lived in other smaller places. I always seemed to be heading southward.' He began peeling off his deerskin gloves. 'You may put the candles down now.'
Matthew returned the double candlestick to the table. He had seen—though he certainly didn't let his eyes linger on the sight, or his imagination linger on what the sensation must be— that the flesh gripped by the first two cups had become hideous, blood-swollen ebony blisters. The others were following the gruesome pattern.
'We shall let the blood rise for a time.' Dr. Shields put the gloves into his bag. 'This procedure breaks up the stagnant pools within his body, you see.'
Matthew saw nothing but grotesque swellings. He dared not dwell on what pressures were inflicted within the magistrate's suffering bones. To keep his mind from wandering in that painful direction, he asked, 'Do you plan on staying in Fount Royal very much longer?'
'No, I don't think so. Bidwell pays me a fee, and he has certainly built a fine infirmary for my use, but... I do miss my wife. And Boston, too. So as soon as the town is progressing again, the population healthy and growing, I shall seek to find a replacement for myself.'
'And what then would be the accomplishment you crave, sir?'
Dr. Shields cocked his head to one side, a hint of a smile on his mouth but his owlish eyes stony. 'You're a regular goat amid a briar patch, aren't you?'
'I pride myself on being persistent, if that's your meaning.'
'No, that is not my meaning, but I'll answer that rather meddlesome question in spite of my reluctance to add pine knots to your fire. My accomplishment—my hoped-for accomplishment, that is—would be twofold: one, to aid in the construction of a settlement that would grow into a city; and two, to have my name forevermore on the title of Fount Royal's infirmary. I plan on remaining here long enough to see both those things come to pass.' He reached out and gently grasped the first blister cup between thumb and forefinger, checking its suction. 'The influence of Rachel Howarth, ' he said, 'was an unfortunate interruption in the forward motion of Fount Royal. But as soon as her ashes are buried—or scattered or whatever Bidwell's going to do with them—we shall put an end to our calamities. As the weather has turned for the better, the swamp vapors have been banished. Soon we shall see an increase in the population, both by people coming in from elsewhere and by healthy babies being born. Within a year, I think Fount Royal will be back to where it was before this ugly incident ever happened. I shall do my best to aid that growth, leave my mark and name for posterity, and return to Boston and my wife. And, of course, the comfort and culture of the city.'
'Admirable aims, ' Matthew said. 'I expect having your name on the mast of an infirmary would help your standing in Boston, as well.'
'It would. A letter from Bidwell stating that fact and his appreciation for my services could secure me a place in a medical partnership that ordinarily I might be denied.'
Matthew was about to ask if Bidwell knew what the doctor intended when there was a knock at the door. Shields said, 'Who is it, please?'
'Nicholas, ' came the reply. 'I wanted to look in on the magistrate.'
Instantly Matthew sensed a change in Dr. Shields's demeanor. It was nothing radical, but remarkable nevertheless. The doctor's face seemed to tighten; indeed, his entire body went taut as if an unseen hand had gripped him around the back of his neck. When Shields answered, even his voice had sharpened. 'The magistrate is indisposed at the moment.'
'Oh... well, then. I'll return later.'
'Wait!' Woodward had removed the sassafras root from his mouth, and was whispering in Matthew's direction. 'Ask Mr. Paine to come in, please.'
Matthew went to the door and stopped Paine before he reached the stairs. When Paine entered the room, Matthew watched the doctor's face and saw that Shields refused to even cast a glance at his fellow citizen.
'How is he?' Paine inquired, standing at the door.
'As I said, indisposed, ' Shields replied, with a distinct chill. 'You can see for yourself.'
Paine flinched a little at the sight of the six glass cups and the ebony blisters they had drawn, but he came around to Matthew's side of the bed for a view of the magistrate's face. 'Good evening, ' he said, with as much of a smile as he could summon. 'I see... Dr. Shields is taking care of you. How are you feeling?'
'I have felt... much superior, ' Woodward said.
'I'm sure.' Paine's smile faltered. 'I wanted to tell you... that I approve heartily of your decree, sir. Also that your efforts—and the efforts of your clerk, of course—have been nothing short of commendable.'
'My thanks, ' Woodward replied, his eyes heavy-lidded.
'Might I get you anything?'
'You might leave, ' Shields said. 'You're taxing him.'
'Oh. I'm sorry. I don't wish to do any harm.'
'No harm.' Woodward gasped for a breath, a green crust around his nostrils. 'I appreciate... your taking... time and effort... to come and see me.'
'I also wanted to tell you, sir, that the stake has been cut. I understand Mr. Bidwell hasn't yet decided where the execution shall take place, but the likelihood is in one of the unused fields on Industry Street.'
'Yes.' Woodward swallowed thickly. 'That would do.'
Shields grasped the first blister cup and popped it free. Woodward winced and bit his lower lip. 'I think you should depart now, ' the doctor said to Paine. 'Unless you'd like to give a hand in this procedure?'
'Uh... yes, I'd best be going.' Paine, for all his manly experiences, appeared to Matthew to be a little green around the gills. 'Magistrate, I'll look in on you at a later time.' He glanced at Matthew with a pained expression of commiseration and took a step toward the door.
'Mr. Paine?' Woodward whispered. 'Please... may I ask you something?'
'Yes, surely.' Paine returned to the bedside and stood close, leaning toward the magistrate, the better to hear him clearly.
Shields removed the second blister cup. Again Woodward winced, and now his eyes were wet. He said, 'We share... a commonality.'
'We do, sir?'
'Your wife. Died of fits, I understand. I wanted you to know... my son... perished of fits... suffered by the plague. Was your wife... also plague-stricken?'
Dr. Shields's hand had seized the third blister cup, but had not yet removed it.
Nicholas Paine stared into Woodward's face. Matthew saw a pulse beating at Paine's temple. 'I fear you're mistaken, sir, ' Paine said, in a strangely hollow voice. 'I have never been married.'
'Dr. Shields told me, ' Woodward went on, with an effort. 'I know... such things are difficult to speak of. Believe me, I do know.'
'Dr. Shields, ' Paine repeated, 'told you.'
'Yes. That she suffered fits until she died. And that... possibly it was the plague.'
Shields removed the third cup and placed it almost noiselessly into his bag.
Paine licked his lower lip. 'I'm sorry, ' he said, 'but I fear Dr. Shields is just as mistaken as—' He chose that instant to look into the doctor's face, and Matthew was a witness to what next occurred.
Something passed between Paine and Shields. It was something intangible, yet absolutely horrific. For the briefest of seconds Matthew saw the doctor's eyes blaze with a hatred that defied all reason and logic, and Paine
