Charles Sheffield - The Amazing Dr. Darwin

“What of ’em?” he said. His pipe was newly charged with black tobacco scraped straight from the block, and he blew out a great cloud of blue-grey smoke. “I see nothing worth talking about. They’re just dreary peasants.”

“Ah, but they are pure Celt,” said Darwin cheerfully. “Observe the shape of their heads, and the brachycephalic cranium. We’ll see more of them as we go further north. It’s been the way of it for three thousand years, the losers in the fight for good lands are pushed north and west. Scots and Celts and Picts, driven and crowded to the northern hills.”

Jacob Pole peered at the group suspiciously as he tamped his pipe. “They may look like losers to you, but they look like tough fodder to me. Big and fierce. As for your idea that they don’t carry weapons, take a look at those scythes and sickles, and then define a weapon for me.” He patted his pocket under his leather cloak. “Ball and powder is what you need for savages. Mark my words, we’ll be glad of these before we’re done in Malkirk.”

“I am not persuaded. The Rebellion was over thirty years ago.”

“Aye, on the surface. But I’ve never yet heard of treasure being captured easy, there’s always blood and trouble comes with it. It draws in violence, as sure as cow dung draws flies.”

“I see. So you are suggesting that we should turn back?” Darwin’s tone was sly.

“Did I say that?” Pole blew out an indignant cloud of smoke. “Never. We’re almost there. If we can find boat and boatman, I’ll be looking for that galleon before today’s done, Devil or no Devil. I’ve never seen one in this world, and I hope I’ll not see one in the next. But with your ideas on religion, I’m surprised you believe in devils at all.”

“Devils?” Darwin’s voice was quiet and reflective. “Certainly I am a believer in them, as much as the Pope himself; but I think he and I might disagree on the shapes they bear in the world. We should get our chance to find out soon enough.” He lifted a brawny arm from under the canvas. “That has to be Malkirk, down the hill there. We have made better time from Lairg than I anticipated.”

Jacob Pole scowled ahead. “And a miserable looking place it is, if that’s all there is to it. But look close down there—maybe we’re not the only visitors to these godforsaken regions.”

Half a mile in front of them two light carriages blocked the path that led through the middle of the village. The ill-clad cluster of people gathered around them turned as Pole drove the dray steadily forward and halted twenty yards from the nearer carriage.

He and Darwin stepped down, stretching joints stiffened by the long journey. As they did so three men came forward through the crowd. Darwin looked at them in surprise for a moment before nodding a greeting.

“I am Erasmus Darwin, and this is Colonel Jacob Pole. You received my message, I take it? We sent word ahead that we desire accommodation for a few days here in Malkirk.”

He looked intently from one to the other. They formed a curiously ill-matched trio. The tallest of them was lean and dark, even thinner than Jacob Pole, and the possessor of bright, dark eyes that snapped from one scene to the next without ever remaining still. He had long-fingered hands, red cheeks that framed a hooked nose and a big chin, and he was dressed in a red tunic and green breeches covered by a patchwork cloak of blues and greys. His neighbor was of middle height and conventionally dressed—but his skin was coal-black and his prominent cheekbones wore deep patterns of old scars.

The third member stood slightly apart from the others. He was short and strongly built, with massive bare arms. His face was half hidden behind a growth of greying beard, and he seemed to crackle with excess energy. He had nodded vigorously as soon as Darwin asked about the message.

“Aye, aye, we got your message right enough. But I thought it came for these gentlemen.” He jerked his head to the others at his side. “There was no word with it, ye see, saying who was comin’, only a need for beds for two. But ye say ye’re the Darwin as sent the note to me?”

“I am.” Darwin looked rueful. “I should have said more with that message. It never occurred to me there might be two arrivals here in one day. Can you find room for us?”

The broad man shrugged. “I’ll find ye a bed—but it will be one for the both of ye, I’ll warn ye of that.”

Jacob Pole stole a quick look at Darwin’s bulky form.

“A good-sized bed,” said the man, catching the glance. “In a middlin’ sized room. An’ clean, too, and that has Malcolm Maclaren’s own word on it.” He thumped at his thick chest. “An’ that’s good through the whole Highlands.”

While Maclaren was speaking the tall, cloaked man had been sizing up Pole and Darwin, his look darting intensely from one to the other absorbing every detail of their appearance. “Our arrival has caused problems—not expected, we must solve.” His voice was deep, with a clipped, jerky delivery and a strong touch of a foreign accent. “Apologies. Let me introduce—I am Doctor Philip Theophrastus von Hohenheim. At your service. This is my servant, Zumal. Yours to command.”

The black man grinned, showing teeth that had been filed to sharp points. Darwin raised his eyebrows and looked quizzically at the tall stranger.

“I must congratulate you. You are looking remarkably well, Dr. Paracelsus von Hohenheim, for one who must soon be approaching his three hundredth year.”

After a moment’s startled pause the tall man laughed, showing even yellow teeth. Jacob Pole and Malcolm Maclaren looked on uncomprehendingly as Hohenheim reached out, took Darwin’s hand, and shook it hard.

“Your knowledge is impressive, Dr. Darwin. Few people know my name these days—and fewer yet can place my date of birth so accurate. To make precise—I was born 1491, one year before Columbus of Genoa found the Americas.” He bowed. “You also know my work?”

As Hohenheim was speaking, Darwin had frowned in sudden puzzlement and stood for a few moments in deep thought. Finally he nodded.

“In my youth, sir, your words impressed me more than any others. If I may quote you: ‘I admonish you not to reject the method of experiment, but according as your power permits, to follow it without prejudice. For every experiment is like a weapon which must be used according to its own peculiar power.’ Great words, Dr. Hohenheim.” He looked at the other man coolly. “Throughout my career as a physician, I have tried to adhere to that precept. Perhaps you recall what you wrote immediately after that advice?”

Instead of replying, Hohenheim lifted his left hand clear of his cloak and waved it rapidly in a circle, the extended fingers pointing toward Jacob Pole. As he completed the circle he flicked his thumb swiftly across the palm of his hand and casually plucked a small green flask from the air close to Pole’s head. While the villagers behind him gasped, he rolled the flask into the palm of his hand.

“Here.” He held it out to Jacob Pole. “Your eyes tell it—fluxes and fevers. Drink this. Condition will be improved, much improved. I guarantee. Also—more liquids, less strong drink. Better for you.” He turned to Darwin. “And you, Doctor. Medicine has come a long way—great advances since I had to flee the charlatans of Basel. Let me offer you advice, also. Barley water, licorice, sweet almond, in the morning. White wine and anise—not too much—at night. To fortify mind and body.”

Darwin nodded. He looked subdued. “I thank you for your thoughtful words. Perhaps I will seek to follow them. The ingredients, with the exception of wine, are already in my medical chest.”

“Solution.” Hohenheim snapped the fingers of his left hand in the air again, and again he held a flask. “White wine. To serve until other supply is at hand.”