Charles Sheffield - The Amazing Dr. Darwin

At the sound of the cannon shot Malcolm Maclaren’s face turned white. He looked at the figure on the bed.

“If that is soldiers, an’ him here…”

Already four or five of the men had run silently from the room. Maclaren gestured to the women, and they moved to lift the unconscious man from the bed and wrap him in blankets. Before they could reach him, Darwin stood in front of them, his hand raised.

“Hold this action, and your men, too. Maclaren, that came from the loch—from Colonel Pole. There may be trouble there, but it’s no danger for you or for your prince. If you want to send men anywhere, send them to the loch. That’s where help is needed.”

Logic had spoken to Maclaren faster than Darwin could. He had recalled the cannon that Pole had brought with him and carried to the loch. He shouted a command to the men outside, then moved swiftly over to the figure on the bed. There was a new hopelessness in his expression, as though he was fully realizing for the first time the import of Darwin’s pronouncements on the future. He bent to kiss the unconscious man’s hand, then looked up at Darwin.

“Ye are right about Colonel Pole, an’ my men will be at the loch in minutes. An’ if ye are right about this other, he canna’ be revived—ever. It makes no difference now if he is living or dead, if he remains like this it’s over. Our fight’s all over an’ done.” The despair in his voice was total. Darwin moved to his side and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Malcolm Maclaren, I am truly sorry. If it will ease your mind at all, be assured of this: Prince Charles Edward departed this world as a conscious, thinking human the moment that he took that injury. If you had found a way to transport me here to Scotland the very day that it happened, I could have done nothing for him.”

“I hear ye.” Maclaren rubbed a knuckle at his eyes. “The line is ended, an’ now I must learn to bear it. But it comes hard, even though I’ve feared that word all these past three years. It is an end to all hope here.”

“So help me to look to those who can still be assisted. Bring lamps, and let us go down to the loch.” Darwin started for the door, then instinctively turned back to the bedside to pick up his medical case. Before he reached it there was a shout and commotion outside the house.

“Come on, Doctor,” said Maclaren. “That’s my men calling, something about Colonel Pole.”

It took a few seconds to see anything after the bright lamps of the room. Darwin followed Maclaren and stood there blinking, peering up the hill to where the group outside was pointing. At last he could see a trio of Highlanders. In their midst and supported by two of them was a stumbling and panting Jacob Pole. He staggered up to Malcolm Maclaren and stood wheezing in front of him.

“Talk to your blasted men—I can’t get them to understand plain English. Send ’em back to the loch.”

“Why? Dr. Darwin was worried for your safety there, but here ye are, safe an’ well.”

“Hohenheim and Zumal.” Pole held his side and coughed. “At the loch, but I couldn’t help. Both dead, in the water.”

Maclaren barked a quick order to three of the villagers, and they left at a trot. While Pole leaned wearily on supporting arms, Darwin stood motionless.

“Are you sure?” he said at last. “Remember, there have been other examples where Hohenheim’s actions were not what they appeared to be.”

“I’m sure. Sure as I stand here. I saw the coble smashed to pieces with my own eyes. Saw Hohenheim broken, and both their bodies.” He bent forward, rubbing at his balding head with a hand that still shook with fatigue. “The ship they were looking at was not the galleon! I saw it, an empty hold in an old wreck, that’s what they died for. The wrong ship. That’s their end.”

“Aye, the end indeed,” said Maclaren. He was watching as a silent procession of women carried an unconscious body out of the black-shuttered house and away toward the main village. “An’ a bitter end for all. Hohenheim came here of his own wish, but it was no plan of mine that would make him die here.” He began to walk with head lowered after the women.

“Not quite the end, Malcolm Maclaren.” Darwin’s somber tone halted the Scotsman. “There is one more duty for us tonight, and in some ways it is the most difficult and sorrowful of all. Give me ten more minutes of your time, then follow your lord.”

“Nothing could be worse,” said Maclaren. But he turned and came back to where Darwin and Pole stood facing each other. “What is left?”

“Hohenheim. He came here uninvited, and you asked why. You did not seek to bring him, and I certainly did not. He has been a mystery to all of us. Come with me, and we will resolve it now.”

Followed by Pole and Maclaren, he led the way across the turf to the house where Hohenheim and his servant had stayed. The door was closed, and no light showed within.

Darwin stepped forward and banged hard on the dark wood. When no answer came he gestured to Maclaren to bring the lamp that he was holding nearer, and opened the door. The three men paused on the threshold.

“Who is there?” said a sleep-slurred voice from the darkness.

“Erasmus Darwin.” He took the lamp from Maclaren, held it high, and walked forward to light up the interior.

“What do you want?” The man in the bed rolled over, pushed back the cover, and sat up. Jacob Pole looked at him, gave a superstitious groan of fear, and stepped backwards.

The man in front of them was Hohenheim. The tunic and patchwork cloak hung over a chair but there could be no mistaking the hooked nose, ruddy cheeks, and darting black eyes.

“It’s impossible,” said Pole. “Less than ten minutes ago, I saw him dead. It can’t be, I saw—”

“It is all too possible,” said Darwin softly. “And it is as I feared.” He leaned toward the man in the bed, who was now more fully awake and beginning to scowl at the intruders. “The deception is over. Hohenheim—for want of a true name I must continue to use your old one—we bring terrible news. There was an accident at the loch. Your brother is dead.”

The red cheeks paled and the man stood up suddenly from the bed. “You are lying. This is some trick, to try and trap me.”

Darwin shook his head sadly. “It is no trick, and no trap. If I could find another way to say this, I would do so. Your brother and Zumal died tonight in Loch Malkirk.”

The man in front of him stood for a second, then gave a wild shout and rushed past them.

“Stop him,” cried Darwin, as Hohenheim plunged out of the door and into the night.

“Is he dangerous?” asked Maclaren.

“Only to himself. Send your men to follow and restrain him until we can reach him.”

Maclaren moved to the door and shouted orders to the startled group of villagers who were still waiting near the black-shuttered house. Three of them set off up the hill in pursuit of Hohenheim’s running figure. When Maclaren came back into the room Jacob Pole was slumped against the wall, his head bowed.

“Is he all right?” Maclaren said to Darwin.

“Give him time. He’s over-tired and he’s had a great shock.”

“I’m fine.” Pole sighed. “But I’ve no idea what’s going on here. I never saw any brother, or any deception. Are you sure you have an explanation for all this?”

“I believe that I do.” Darwin walked around the room, studying the cases and boxes stacked against the walls. He finally stopped at one of them and bent to open it.

“Why did these men come to Malkirk?” he said. “That is easily answered. They came to seek treasure and the galleon. But there is a better question: How did they come—how did they know a galleon was in the loch? There is only one possible answer to that. They heard it from the actors hired to tempt me here . And is it not obvious that we have also been dealing with stage players here? You saw them and heard them. Think of the gestures, all larger than life, and of the hands that drew materials from the air. Their magic spoke to me strongly of the strolling magician, the attraction at the fairs and festivals throughout the whole of England.”