Crow Boy

by Philip Caveney

  ‘Grandfather, what is it? Make it go away!’

  ‘Wheesht, child,’ growled The Doctor, stepping up beside the bed. ‘Let’s have no fuss. I’m here to help you.’ He lifted his stick and pushed her head first to one side and then to the other. Tom could see no sign of any buboes on her slender neck. Now The Doctor set down the stick and, moving closer, he pulled aside the bed covers and, with his gloved hands, clumsily unlaced the front of her gown, pulling the fabric aside. Under one arm there was a telltale red swelling.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. He nodded, stepped back from the bed and turned to look at Douglas. He indicated a window. ‘Prepare the irons,’ he said.

  Douglas carried the slumbering brazier across the room and, setting it down, opened the window. He began to blow on the coals, coaxing the heat to rise again. The coals reddened instantly. He unslung the heavy leather pouch from his brawny shoulder, set it down on the carpet and unrolled it to reveal the collection of ugly metal implements within.

  Lord Kelvin looked down at them uneasily. ‘What are they for?’ he murmured, lifting a handkerchief to his face.

  ‘They are the prescribed treatment for the plague,’ said The Doctor. ‘You see this swelling under her arm? It is necessary to slice it open and drain it. I will then insert a red hot poker into the wound in order to cauterise it.’

  Tom couldn’t see The Doctor’s expression, but for some reason he imagined the man was smiling beneath the leather mask as he said these words.

  It didn’t seem possible that Lord Kelvin’s powdered face could look any paler but suddenly, it did. Over on the bed, Annie started to cry.

  The Doctor gestured to Douglas, who selected an iron and rammed it into the glowing coals. ‘The treatment is robust,’ continued The Doctor. ‘And the child seems rather delicate. You may want to consider having a priest present before we continue. Just in case . . .’

  Now tears brimmed in Lord Kelvin’s eyes and made two tracks through the white powder on his face. He dabbed at them with his lace handkerchief.

  ‘It seems so brutal,’ he gasped. ‘If only there were some other way . . .’

  There was a long silence . . . and then The Doctor said, ‘Do you know, there just might be.’

  Lord Kelvin stared at him, sensing hope. ‘Speak, man! Anything would be preferable to the barbaric method you’re suggesting.’ He waved a hand impatiently. ‘Could you not remove the mask? It’s hard to converse, when . . .’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘The mask must stay on,’ he said. ‘Too much risk of infection if I remove it.’ He came closer to Lord Kelvin, as though to confide a secret. ‘Are you familiar with the work of the eminent English physician, Doctor Wikepedia?’ he asked.

  Tom would have laughed if the situation weren’t so tense.

  Lord Kelvin shook his head. ‘I must confess, I’m not,’ he said.

  ‘He’s made some truly amazing discoveries. It’s hard to believe, but he has created a pill that can cure the plague. Incredible but true! My young assistant, Tom, has worked with the man. Indeed, when he arrived here from Manchester, he brought with him a sample of those very pills, which he was kind enough to give to me. I have already used them to successfully cure other cases, right here in Edinburgh.’

  Tom noticed he didn’t mention that it was just the one case.

  ‘Then let us try that!’ cried Lord Kelvin. ‘Pills, you say? That’s the extent of the treatment?’

  ‘It is not as straightforward as you might suppose,’ said The Doctor. ‘I have but one course of the pills left. Indeed, I have this very day written to Doctor Wikepedia, asking for more but, with the situation across the border, the Civil War and everything, well, it could be some time before I am in possession of them. Two or three weeks, perhaps a month.’ He gestured towards the little girl in the big bed. ‘I fear Annie cannot afford to wait that long.’

  In that moment Tom realised just how evil a person The Doctor was. He was callously preparing his victim to demand money. Tom felt like running across the room and attacking him with every ounce of strength in his body. But he could only watch, aghast, as the hideous game unfolded.

  ‘Then . . . I do not understand,’ said Lord Kelvin. ‘Why not let Annie have the pills that are already in your possession?’

  ‘Would that I could, my Lord, but . . . this is difficult for me. You see, I have another patient, a Lady who has also contracted the contagion. Her husband is a man of means, like yourself . . . forgive me, I am not at liberty to reveal his name, but he would be well known to you. He begged me to save the life of his beloved wife and, when I told him that I had but the one dose left and that it really should go to the most deserving case, he assured me that he was willing to pay a considerable sum of money to secure it.’

  ‘How much money?’ asked Lord Kelvin, without hesitation. ‘Whatever it is, I shall double it!’

  Another long pause. Tom could imagine The Doctor’s devious mind, clicking away as he tried to figure out just how much he could make on this.

  ‘The other gentleman . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He has promised me five hundred Scottish pounds.’

  ‘Then, by God, you shall have a thousand! This is the life of a young child we’re talking about. Of course, I’m sorry for the other lady, but she, at least, has lived her life. My granddaughter is only eight years old. I shall write you a note to my bank before you leave here.’

  ‘Ah . . . that would be . . . inconvenient,’ said The Doctor. ‘I would rather be paid in cash, if that’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Cash?’ For the first time, Lord Kelvin looked suspicious. ‘That’s a large sum of money to procure in cash, Doctor Rae.’

  ‘I know it. But it’s a delicate matter, you see. Because of my position with the City Council. If they were to become aware of such a transaction, it might be . . . awkward for me, do you understand? Doctor Wikepedia’s techniques are far beyond their ken. They might not approve of me using them. So, such a payment, if ‘twere made, would have to be . . . untraceable.’

  Lord Kelvin nodded. He seemed reassured. ‘I appreciate your position,’ said Lord Kelvin. ‘Cash it shall be, Doctor. I will go into the city this very day and withdraw such a sum. I’ll tell them it’s to purchase art. I often spend money on paintings. And I shall have it here by tomorrow morning. I would however, stipulate one condition . . .’

  ‘Yes, Lord Kelvin?’

  ‘Before I part with the money, I would want to be assured that my granddaughter was completely healed of the contagion. I do not intend to pay out that kind of sum on mere conjecture.’

  ‘I quite understand. Rest assured, I shall visit every day until it is clear that Annie is out of harm’s way. There are also a few other things that I would strongly advise you to do in order to give her every opportunity to recuperate.’

  ‘Whatever you think, Doctor.’

  ‘The girl should be washed from head to foot with lye soap and her nightdress and bedding changed for fresh ones. And if you could procure some bunches of lavender?’

  ‘Lavender?’

  ‘Aye. Festoon them around the bed once everything has been cleaned. It will help to ensure that there is no re-infection.’

  Tom bunched his hands into fists. The Doctor was acting as though this was something he’d done before but he hadn’t even seen it used until Tom had visited Alison. Tom felt like telling Lord Kelvin about the deceit, but he didn’t dare speak out. The Doctor was a violent man and would doubtless thrash him, maybe something even worse, once they were away from here. Tom could only watch in disgust as The Doctor took the packet of tablets from his pocket and handed them to Lord Kelvin.

  ‘Annie is to have one of these every morning and one at night – it’s written on the box here – and she’s to keep doing so until all the pills are gone. Entrust nobody else with this task, Lord Kelvin – these pills are more precious than diamonds.’

  Lord Kelvin nodded. ‘I shall see to it personally,’ he said. />
  The Doctor looked at Douglas. ‘Put away the irons,’ he said, ‘we’ll no’ be needing them today.’

  The look on Douglas’ potato-like face was one of disappointment. This was the second time he’d prepared for such a treatment only to have it cancelled on him. With no water to quench the iron, he left it in the coals and proceeded to wrap up the other instruments.

  Lord Kelvin was looking at the packet doubtfully. ‘It’s hard to believe that it could be so easy,’ he said.

  ‘Then prepare to be astonished,’ said The Doctor. ‘As I was, the first time I witnessed this miracle.’ He turned away. ‘And now, if you will forgive my haste, we must away to my other patients. People who must endure more robust cures than young Annie. I bid you good day, Lord Kelvin – and I shall call on you tomorrow to see how things are progressing.’ He looked at Tom and Douglas. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘We’ve tarried long enough and there’s yet more work to be done!’

  Seventeen

  Back in the coach, The Doctor removed his mask to reveal Hamish’s sweating but delighted features. He took a leather purse from his cloak and shook the contents out into a gloved hand.

  ‘Twenty shillings!’ he exclaimed, delightedly. ‘Twenty shillings for nothing more than a bit of play-acting! And a thousand pounds to follow. I’ll be a wealthy man yet!’

  Tom studied him in disgust. ‘You’re pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?’ he observed.

  The Doctor’s smile vanished instantly. ‘What if I am?’ he snarled. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Well, for one thing,’ said Tom, ‘by rights, half of that money should be mine.’

  The Doctor laughed dismissively. ‘How do you make that out?’ he cried.

  ‘If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even have the pills. You wouldn’t know about the clean bedding and the lavender and . . . you wouldn’t have even heard of Doctor Wikepedia.’

  The Doctor scowled. ‘But I have the expense of housing and feeding you,’ he replied. ‘Not to mention the valuable apprenticeship you’ll be getting.’

  Tom sneered. ‘An apprenticeship in how to blackmail people,’ he said, ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he added, ‘I don’t want any of the money, not when it’s been ripped off like that.’

  ‘Ripped . . . off?’ The Doctor looked confused. It clearly wasn’t a term he was familiar with.

  ‘Yeah. I think it’s disgusting what you just did to that poor bloke. OK, so he’s rich, but charging him for pills that cost you nothing in the first place, that’s really scuzzy. And making up that other case, so you could drive up the price?’

  The Doctor fixed him with a look. ‘What makes you think I made it up?’ he growled.

  ‘Oh, please! Don’t even try to lie about it. Nobody else knows you’ve got the pills. If you’re the real Doctor Rae, I’ll eat my shorts. You’re just some scally trying to pull a fast one.’

  The Doctor returned the coins to his purse and carefully replaced it in his pocket. ‘What’s a scally?’ he murmured.

  ‘It’s a crook, a lowlife, a scumbucket,’ snarled Tom.

  ‘And that’s what you think I am?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom, ‘and–’

  That was as far as he got. The next moment, The Doctor flung himself across the narrow space between them and had Tom by the throat. He was pinning him back against the seat while he stared into Tom’s face, his eyes inches away, his vile breath gusting into Tom’s nostrils.

  ‘Now you listen to me,’ he said, ‘and you listen good. If I ever hear you say anything like that again, if you so much as look at me the wrong way, I swear I will snap your neck like a twig, do you hear me? I don’t want you talking to people, asking questions. From now on, you’re my assistant, and you’ll do exactly what you’re told and nothing else. Do I make myself clear?’

  Tom struggled to escape but the hands around his neck were pressing with incredible force, choking the very life out of him. His head was filling with a horrible buzzing red mist.

  ‘And you’d better pray, boy, that your doctor friend in England sends me some of those pills soon, because, if the weeks go by and they don’t arrive, then you’ll be no use to me and, if that happens . . .’

  The Doctor’s stinking mouth continued to shape words but Tom could no longer hear them, because he was melting, he was running through The Doctor’s gloved hands like hot sealing wax and, quite suddenly, he was no longer in the swaying interior of the coach, he was sitting in a different kind of coach altogether, the one that was taking him on the school trip to Mary King’s Close. It was no longer The Doctor’s face that was pushed up against his, but the fat, grinning features of his arch enemy, Stuart Gillies. The boy’s big hands had hold of the lapels of Tom’s blazer and he was pulling him up close, blasting the stench of half-digested cheese and onion crisps into his face.

  ‘Say it!’ he bellowed.

  Tom stared back at him in bewilderment. ‘Say what?’ he gasped.

  ‘Say ‘I’m a waste of space!’’

  There was a pause while Tom tried to get his fuddled senses around the command. Part of his mind was still back in the coach with The Doctor and when he spoke, he did so without thinking it through. ‘You’re a waste of space!’ he stammered.

  A concerted ‘Oooh’ went up from the seats all around him and some laughter too. The response must have shocked Gillies because he let go of Tom’s lapels and reeled back in surprise, the look on his face suggesting that this was the last thing he had expected. ‘You trying to be funny, Manky?’ he snarled.

  ‘No, I . . . I thought that’s what you wanted me to say.’

  Laughter now, from the surrounding seats. Gillies glanced quickly around, sensing that his authority was slipping. ‘Oh, so you’re a comedian now, are you? We’ll see if you’re still laughing after the visit.’ He threw a quick glance over his shoulder to where Mr McKenzie sat at the front of the coach, his gaze fixed on the way ahead. Gillies turned back and shoved a grubby index finger in Tom’s face. ‘You and me, Manky,’ murmured Gillies. ‘One-to-one. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  And, with that, he gave Tom a contemptuous shove and went back to his cronies at the back of the bus.

  Tom slumped miserably against the rain-spattered window and stared out at the grey streets of Edinburgh. He wondered if he was back for good this time. If so, he had jumped backwards in time maybe only half an hour . . . at least, he told himself, he would be forewarned about what might happen at Mary King’s Close . . . and, if he should happen to see a flickery vision of Morag, moving past an open doorway, there was no way he was going to be dumb enough to follow her into that room a second time. After all, although this was a reality he hated, it was also one that he recognised. Maybe his trips to the seventeenth century were over with.

  ‘Why do you let him treat you like that?’ asked a female voice.

  ‘Huh?’ He looked up in surprise to see that a girl, sitting in the seat in front of him, had turned around to look at him. She was pretty, Tom thought, with steely grey eyes and dark, shoulder-length hair. There was also something strangely familiar about her, but he couldn’t think from where. He was fairly sure he hadn’t spotted her in school before.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted him. ‘Nothing to say for yourself?’

  ‘Er . . . no. Sorry.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t know?’ She seemed puzzled by this answer. ‘Seems to me you should have an idea about it. Is it because you’re afraid of him?’

  ‘No, it’s not that, exactly, it’s just . . . look, sorry, do I know you?’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she said. ‘I’m Shona. I’m in your class.’

  ‘Er . . . OK, but I . . . I can’t help feeling I’ve met you somewhere before. I mean, not here. Somewhere else. You . . . you haven’t ever lived in Manchester, have you?’

  ‘No, worse luck. I bet Manchester is a cool place to live. All that great music . . . and Coronation Street! Have you ever been?’
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  Tom shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’s a real place,’ he said.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t say! It’s a TV programme, right? Some of it must be filmed on location. I thought maybe you might have gone on a tour or something.’

  ‘No, sorry. Not a fan.’

  She shrugged. ‘That’s OK; it’s not a test.’ She smiled. ‘Question is, what made you want to leave Manchester and come and live in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ asked Tom. ‘Everybody else seems to. My mum ran off with this guy and he lives here.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the back seat. ‘They’re all talking about it.’

  ‘I don’t take much notice of what they say,’ said Shona, dismissively. ‘They’re idiots. Anyway, about Stuart Gillies. You shouldn’t let him push you around like that. He’s a bully. And when you stand up to a bully, he just melts away like a snowflake in a microwave.’

  ‘It’s not just him though, is it?’ argued Tom. ‘He’s got all his mates to back him up.’

  She laughed at that. ‘What planet are you from?’ she asked him. ‘Everybody knows that kids who hang around with a bully only do it so they don’t get bullied themselves. Once they see you stand up to him, they’ll lose interest.’

  ‘Think so?’

  ‘Know so.’ She smiled and, once again, he was struck by the look in those steely grey eyes. It was maddening. He was sure he knew her from somewhere. He decided to start fishing for more information.

  ‘Are you from round here?’ he asked her.

  ‘I live on the Close,’ she said.

  He stared at her. ‘Mary King’s Close?’

  ‘No, you bampot! Nobody lives there any more. I’m talking about Argyle Close. There’s quite a few of us from there . . .’ She stared at him. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked him.

  ‘Bampot,’ he echoed. ‘You . . . called me bampot.’

  ‘It’s just something people say,’ she assured him. ‘Don’t take it personal.’

  But an idea was forming in his mind – something incredible – something he could never have anticipated; the more he looked at Shona, the more he began to place those grey eyes in an entirely different environment. ‘What . . . what’s your surname?’ he asked her, hardly daring to breathe.