actually drew back as if from a threatening physical presence. Matthew also realized that he'd witnessed very little direct communication between Dr. Shields and Paine. It dawned on Matthew that it was the doctor who preferred to keep his distance from Paine, yet the feeling had been so well disguised that Paine might not even have been aware of a void between them.
However, now an ugly animosity was clearly revealed if only for that fleeting second. Paine perhaps recognized it for the first time, and his mouth opened as if he might exclaim or protest against it. Yet in the next heartbeat Paine's face froze as tightly as the doctor's and whatever he might have said remained unborn.
Shields held the dark bond between them for only a second or two longer, and then he very calmly returned his attention to his patient. He removed the fourth blister cup, and into the bag it went.
Matthew looked questioningly at Paine, but the other man had blanched and would not meet his gaze. Matthew realized a piece of information had been delivered from Dr. Shields to Paine in that brief hateful glare, and whatever it was had almost buckled Paine's knees.
'My wife, ' Paine's voice was choked with emotion. 'My wife.'
'My son... died, ' Woodward said, oblivious to the drama. 'Fits. From the plague. Pardon my asking you... but I wished you to know... you were not alone in your grief.'
'Grief, ' Paine repeated. Shadows lay in his eye sockets, and his face appeared to have become more gaunt and aged by five years in as many seconds. 'Yes, ' he said quietly. 'Grief.'
Dr. Shields pulled the fifth blister cup free, none too gently, and Woodward winced.
'I should... tell you about my wife, ' Paine offered, his face turned toward the window. 'She did perish from fits. But not caused by the plague. No.' He shook his head. 'Hunger was the killer. Hunger... and crushing despair. We were very young, you see. Very poor. We had a baby girl who was sick, as well. And I was sick in the mind... and very desperate.'
No one spoke. Even the magistrate, in his cloudy realm on the edge of delirium, realized Paine had dropped his mask of sturdy self-control and was revealing heart's blood and fractured bones.
'I think I understand this, ' Paine said, though that strange remark itself was a puzzle to Matthew. 'I am... quite overcome... but I must tell you... all of you... that I never intended... the result of what happened. As I said, I was young... I was brash, and I was frightened. My wife and my child needed food and medicine. I had nothing... but an ability I had learned from hunting cruel and violent men.' He was silent for a time, during which Dr. Shields stared intently at the sixth blister cup but made no attempt at removing it.
'I did not fire the first shot, ' Paine went on, his voice tired and heavy. 'I was first struck myself. In the leg. But you must know that already. Something I had been taught by the older men... during my career at sea... was that once a weapon— pistol or rapier—was aimed at you, you fired or slashed back with grievous intent. That was our creed, and it served to keep us— most of us—among the living. It was a natural reaction, learned by watching other men die wallowing in their own blood. That was why I could not—could not—spare Quentin Summers in our duel. How can a man be taught the ways of a wolf and then live among sheep? Especially... when there is hunger and need involved... and the specter of death knocking at the door.'
Matthew's curiosity had ignited from a flame to a bonfire and he yearned to ask Paine exactly what he was talking about, but something of the moment seemed almost sacred in its self-revelation, in its picture of a proud man giving up his pride to the overwhelming desire for confession and—perhaps—sanctuary from past misdeeds. Therefore he felt it small of himself to speak and break this spell of soul-broaching.
Paine walked to the window and looked out over the lantern-spangled town. On Industry Street, two fires some distance apart marked the camps of Exodus Jerusalem and the newly arrived maskers. Through the warm night wafted the faint sound of laughter and the trilling of a recorder from Van Gundy's tavern. 'My compliments, ' Paine said, his face still averted. 'I presume my wound left a trail. Is that what you followed?'
Dr. Shields at last freed the ebony flesh under the sixth blister cup. He put the implement into his bag, followed by the sassafras root. Then, slowly and methodically, he began to close the bag by its buttons and loops.
'Are you not going to answer me?' Paine asked. 'Or is this a torture by silence?'
'I think, ' the doctor said with grit in his voice, 'that the time has come for you to depart.'
'Depart? What game are you playing at?'
'No game. I assure you... no game.' Shields pressed a finger to one of the six horrid black swellings that protruded from Woodward's back. 'Ah, yes. Quite firm now. We have drawn the stagnant blood upward from the organs, you see?' He glanced at Matthew, then away. 'This procedure has a cleansing effect, and we should see some improvement in the magistrate's condition by morning.'
'And if not?' Matthew had to ask.
'If not... then there is the next step.'
'Which is?'
'Again applying the cups, ' Shields said, 'and then bleeding the blisters.' Matthew instantly regretted his inquiry. The thought of those swellings being burst by a lancet was almost too much to consider.
Shields lowered the magistrate's gown. 'You should endeavor to sleep on your stomach tonight, Isaac. I know your position is less than comfortable, but I'm afraid it's necessary.'
'I shall endure it, ' Woodward rasped, drifting even now toward sleep again.
'Good. I'll have Mrs. Nettles send a servant with a cold compress for your fever. In the morning we shall —'
'Shields, what do you want of me?' Paine interrupted, this time daring to face the other man. Moisture glistened on Paine's forehead and cheeks.
The doctor lifted his eyebrows. 'I've already told you, sir. I wish you to depart.'
'Are you going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life?'
Shields did not answer, but stared fixedly through his spectacle lenses at his antagonist. So damning was this wordless accusation that Paine was forced at length to drop his gaze to the floorboards. Then, abruptly, Paine turned toward the door and slinked out in the manner of the wolf he had proclaimed himself to be—yet, however, a wolf whose tail had been shorn off by an unexpected blade.
In the wake of Paine's departure, Dr. Shields let free a breath he'd been hoarding. 'Well, ' he said, and behind the lenses his magnified eyes appeared stunned by the rapid turn of events. He blinked slowly several times, as if clearing his mind as well as his vision. 'What was I saying? Oh... in the morning we shall administer a colonic and apply fresh plasters. Then we shall proceed as necessary.' He took a handkerchief from inside his jacket and mopped his brow. 'Is it hot in here to you?'
'No, sir, ' Matthew said. 'The temperature seems very regular.' He now saw his opportunity. 'May I ask what your exchange with Mr. Paine concerned?'
'I will have Mrs. Nettles look in on the magistrate from time to time tonight, ' the doctor said. 'You might keep yourself aware, also. I will be ready to come if any emergency presents itself.' He placed a reassuring hand on Woodward's shoulder. 'I'm going to leave now, Isaac, just rest and be of good spirits. Tomorrow we might have you up and walking for some exercise.' From the magistrate there was no reply, because he had already fallen asleep.
'Good night, ' Shields said to Matthew and, taking his bag with him, he left the bedchamber.
Matthew was after him like a shot. 'One moment, sir!' he called in the hallway, but to be such a small- framed man Dr. Shields suddenly had the stride of a racehorse. Just before the doctor reached the stairs, Matthew said, 'If you refuse to tell me, I shall find out on my own.'
This statement caused an immediate reaction. Dr. Shields halted in his tracks, spun around with furious speed, and advanced on Matthew as if to strike the clerk a blow. By the Mars-orange glow of the hallway's lantern, Shields's face was a hellish, sweating rictus with bared and clenched teeth, his eyes drawn into narrow slits that made him appear a stranger to the man Matthew had seen only seconds before. To compound this transformation, Shields gripped the front of Matthew's shirt with one hand and forced his back solidly and painfully into the wall.
'You listen!' Shields hissed. His hand tightened, twisting the fabric it clenched. 'You do not—I repeat, do not-—have the right to interfere in my business. What transpired between Paine and myself tonight will remain just that: between him and me. No one else. Certainly not you. Do you understand me, boy?' Shields gave Matthew a violent shake to underscore his vehemence. 'Answer!'
In spite of the fact that he towered over the doctor, Matthew was stricken with fright. 'Yes, sir, ' Matthew
