The Warlock's Curse (18 page)

The machine was so huge it entirely dwarfed the small human figure, wrapped in a colorful knitted afghan, who sat huddled beneath it.

“Good morning, Claire!” Jenny yelled as she briskly crossed the room. Adding to the oppressive clamor was the distorted screech of organ music from a wireless Teslaphone, which had been turned up to maximum volume to contend with the sound of the bellows. Jenny went over to the tall wooden cabinet and snapped the Teslaphone off, muttering something Will certainly couldn’t hear. Then, going to her sister, Jenny folded the blanket back from Claire’s head. Will froze.

For once, Laddie hadn’t been exaggerating.

Claire was so deformed by bony protrusions that her form was only vaguely human. Her blackened skin was encrusted with oozing lesions, the most severe of which were swathed in clean white bandages. Her throat was monstrously distorted not only by the ravages of the Black Flu, but by a silver tube that had been surgically inserted into her throat. The tube was connected by a flexible hose to the large bellows that rose and lowered with a mechanical clack and hiss. Her whole body seemed to distend and contract as the bellows worked her lungs for her.

Will knew he shouldn’t stare, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t even Claire’s deformities that transfixed him. It was her left hand. Somehow, her left hand alone had escaped the ravages of the Black Flu. It was a beautiful hand, absolutely unblemished, neatly manicured, mockingly perfect.

Lifting his eyes, Will realized that Claire was looking at him. Her eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, gummed with thick yellow ooze. Jenny, who had fetched a washcloth and some water from a nearby table, began wiping the crusted matter from her sister’s eyes, her movements both tender and matter-of-fact.

“There you are, now you’ll be able to see a bit better. Let me get your tapper.”

The “tapper,” as Jenny called it, was a small self-contained device with a single bakelite key on a lever of brass. No sooner had Jenny positioned Claire’s smooth perfect hand over it than her sister began tapping rapidly. A speaker on the device issued a series of loud tones, both long and short. Will recognized it immediately—a Morse machine. Learning the code had been a fad at his school, especially with boys who aspired to a career in the military.

You’re back soon
, Claire tapped.

“Yes, I wanted to see you,” Jenny said. She did not translate for Will, and Will wasn’t sure whether it was because she wanted the conversation to remain private, or whether she didn’t think it was worth relaying.

Dad with you?

“Not this time.”

Who’s he?

If Will hadn’t known Morse code, he wouldn’t have had any idea that they were talking about him; Jenny did not look his way and Claire did not move, except the tiny motions of her finger.

Jenny stood, returning to Will’s side to take his arm. He hadn’t realized he was standing quite so far back in the room until she pulled him forward. “This is William Edwards. William, this is my sister Claire.”

Will nodded to Claire. Claire swiftly tapped:

He needs a new suit.

Jenny smirked, but did not comment. “I’ve told you about him, haven’t I?”

Boy you liked once, yes?

Jenny blushed, but didn’t look at Will. “He’s an old friend,” she said, and released his arm quickly. Will stuffed his hands in his pockets and retreated.

Why are you here?

“To say goodbye.” Jenny took a deep breath, straightened. “I’m going away. I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to take care of what we talked about.”

There was a long silence, filled only by the noise of the bellows. Finally, Claire tapped one short word.

No.

“Claire, you know I have to at least try. And don’t worry, I’m going to make sure that the operation doesn’t—”

No.

Will had a strange feeling that Claire would have screamed the word if she could have. Something about the way the bellows revved suddenly, as if reacting to sudden tension in her body.

Jenny sank to her knees before her sister, and spoke very softly.

“Claire, I can do this. I have to do this.”

No.
Claire tapped again. And again, and again.
No. No. No.

She was still tapping it when someone entered the room. Jenny stood, turned quickly. She was white as a sheet, Will saw.

“Miss Hansen!” The older woman who had entered the room wore the white coat of a doctor over a neatly tailored skirt. “I didn’t think we’d see you back so soon!”

“Good morning, Dr. Smyth,” said Jenny, putting all of Miss Murison’s haughtiness into the greeting. “Yes, I didn’t expect to be back so soon either. But the situation is quite unusual. I have been married, and I have brought my husband with me.”

“Husband?” Dr. Smyth blinked. She looked at Will, her eyes appraising him. “Why, your father didn’t mention—well! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr—”

“Edwards,” he said. “William Edwards.”

“I am Dr. Margaret Smyth, Superintendent of the Hospital. I am also Claire’s personal physician.”

“My husband and I made a special trip to Stockton to see you. We wish to ask you one more time to reconsider your decision regarding my sister’s operation.” Jenny gave Will a sidelong glance. “My husband is in agreement with me that the surgery should not proceed. I wanted to make it very clear that it’s not just me who objects.”

“What surgery?” Will tried to whisper in Jenny’s ear, but Jenny nudged him with her elbow and he was silent. Dr. Smyth just shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ha—I mean, Mrs. Edwards. I am well aware of your concern for your sister, but your father has power of attorney over her affairs. He recognizes that the surgery is our policy, and a condition of her continued treatment at this institution. He has given his approval, and no amount of opposition from yourself—or, I’m afraid, your new husband—can be considered.”

Will felt Jenny stiffen beside him. “I know very well that my father has power of attorney, and that he’s given his approval,” she said, heat creeping into her voice. “But I also know that you have the power to delay the surgery based on medical advice. And that’s what I—what
we
are asking you to do.”

“Of course I would delay the surgery if I harbored even the slightest concern for Claire’s health.” Dr. Smyth spoke with officious briskness. “But I do not. The surgery is very simple and straightforward, and it has already been scheduled. There is nothing for you to be worried about.”

Jenny drew a deep breath, then leveled a dark gaze on the woman. When she spoke, her voice was sterner and more frightening than Will ever imagined it could be.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Dr. Smyth,” she said slowly. “The matter is by no means as simple and straightforward as you believe. I am in discussions with the Consortium regarding this matter, and a great many other matters as well. If you proceed with the operation against my wishes, I can promise you that they will be very,
very
disappointed.”

Dr. Smyth stared at Jenny for a moment, open-mouthed. She seemed to struggle for words. When she finally did speak, her voice was unsteady.

“Of course,” she said. “That ... that is a different matter.” She looked between Jenny and Will, and Will was surprised to see there was actual fear in her eyes. “Perhaps there is more to consider than I first thought. Perhaps postponing the operation would be in Claire’s best interest. I believe we could wait another six months. But after that, we will have to reassess the situation.”

“Thank you for your consideration,” said Jenny, icily. Will stared down at her in astonishment. What on earth was she doing? What was this “Consortium” she was talking about? He felt like they were kids again, and Jenny was acting the part of some villain in a melodrama.

No no no no ...

Across the room, Claire was still tapping the word, again and again, a quality of misery in the repetition. Dr. Smyth looked over at her, but there was no sympathy in her eyes.

“What is wrong, Claire?” she called. Claire’s finger stopped abruptly, and the speaker on the tapper fell silent.

“I’m afraid you walked in just as my sister and I were in the middle of a disagreement,” Jenny said, going back to Claire’s side. “We were arguing about the Teslaphone. Personally, I don’t like how it’s always blaring.”

Dr. Smyth raised her eyebrows as she looked at the Teslaphone cabinet. “Oh, someone turned it off?” she said. “That won’t do. Brother Phleger is delivering a special sermon this afternoon. Of course all our patients are looking forward to hearing it.” She went over and switched the Teslaphone back on. The sound of the screeching organ music had given way to the smooth, oily tones of a preacher:

“This is your Brother Dolphus Phleger, speaking to you from Justice, Illinois, where the New Faith Seat of Praise is being raised in honor of our great Lord’s holy name. His will be done!” He blurted this last bit like he was spitting a curse. “You just heard our own little Sanctity Snow—‘God’s Special Snowflake’—on the all-electrical organ, her playing today inspired by the message of courage and strength I want to deliver to all the valiant souls who will be participating in this Sunday’s rally in San Francisco ...”

“We keep our patients’ Teslaphones on so they will never miss a word of the Good Brother’s teachings,” Dr Smyth commented. “And of course, all our patients just love that dear little Sanctity Snow.”

Turning from the machine, she inclined her head toward them both. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edwards. Congratulations on your marriage, Jenny. I hope you will both be very happy together. Rest assured that Claire will continue to receive the best treatment our institution can provide.”

Jenny frowned, pressing her lips together as Dr. Smyth left the room. “All the best treatment!” she blazed, once the doctor was gone. She was stomping over to turn off the Teslaphone—now resounding with Brother Phleger’s rich, syrupy baritone—when Claire tapped:

Leave it.

Jenny froze, but did not turn. Brother Phleger was saying something profound and resonant about the moral decay of the United States, and how it was the duty of upright citizens to oppose injustice and tyranny in all its forms.

You two really married?

Jenny still did not turn, but nodded.

Don’t do it, Jenny. Please. Too dangerous.

“I have to. You know I do.” Jenny ran across the room, pressed a kiss to her sister’s blackened, tear-glistening cheek. “I love you, Claire. Goodbye.”

Then, grabbing Will’s arm, she fled.

She fairly dragged Will along the halls and corridors until they were outside the hospital’s tall front doors. Then, sinking down on the front steps, she buried her face in her hands and broke down in tears.

Will was confronted with the age-old masculine conundrum of just what, exactly, one was supposed to do with a crying girl. He had the feeling that taking her in his arms and holding her close might help—but then again, it might not. In the end, he just sat next to her and patted her back softly, uncertain as to whether or not that was sufficient.

Then he remembered probably the only valuable thing his father had ever taught him—always carry a clean handkerchief. Pulling it from his pocket, he handed it to Jenny and she took it gratefully, daubing her eyes then blowing her nose lustily.

“I’m sorry. I wish you hadn’t come with me. I thought having you there would make Dr. Smyth more reasonable. She always is when my dad’s around. But I still had to threaten her just as much.”

“What was that all about?”

“I just bought my sister six more months.”

“What was the procedure?”

“It’s called a salpingectomy. It is the surgical sterilization of a female human, rendering her incapable of reproduction.”

“Sterilize her? You mean like ... gelding a horse?”

“The procedure is just a
tiny
bit different,” Jenny said with faint contempt, “but I suppose that’s close enough for a rancher’s son.”

Will drew back in shock. “Why, that’s
awful
!”

“It’s compulsory for all the patients here. Especially the ones like Claire, the ones they call
magically cretinous
.” She spoke the term with distaste. “Dr. Smyth says it makes patients easier to care for, and removes even the slightest possibility that their contaminated genes could be passed along.”

“But surely ... I mean, she never could be a mother, could she?” Will tried to be tactful, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back.

“You don’t know that for sure!” said Jenny, fiercely. “No one does! And with science and money, who knows what could happen? You made an incredible power source out of a cigar box! How can they say for sure that Claire couldn’t be healed someday?”

Will didn’t know what to say. He took Jenny’s hand in his. Her skin was cold. He held her hand in both of his, rubbing it to warm it.