8. Making the Rounds

The clangor of the alarm bell cut through the list of needed supplies that Dr Darius Vonken had been making in his mind. Breaking into a run, he rounded the corner, expecting to have to chase the damned crabs away from the clinic again – Third time this year! Blast it, why don’t they install wards as I advised up there? – but instead confronted a more immediate crisis in the street: a young woman in black frantically swung a cane at a group of glittering black Cryptolithodes nigerus letus. The crabs clattered their claws uncertainly, but would certainly charge her in an instant. Vonken ran at them, thrusting forward his Coldspark talent like an aetheric net straight into their mass. The lead row toppled, but an hundred more surged forward. The young woman screamed, desperately slapping two of them with the cane, but her best effort only knocked them into their fellows pressing up from behind. Vonken dropped his doctor’s satchel, sucking in a breath sharply as he drew the Dust-energy of the horde of crabs into himself. It felt tainted, and salt and grime overwhelmed his thoughts as much as if he’d been able to smell them physically. Grimacing, he shouted, “Out of the way!” The woman turned, and he felt a moment of shock, of recognition, of anger; but then she dove to one side. Vonken threw the gathered energy at the crabs. Two or three dozen of them bowled over, carapaces shattering against the cobbles, legs crunching, high-pitched screeees making him wince.

The remainder of the horde milled about, not sure what had just happened, beginning to grow dazed as their gills slowly dried. Not fast enough, Vonken thought, and gestured at the street, the buildings, trying to draw in any speck of Dust-caused energy anywhere in the vicinity. He swept his arms toward his chest, conscious of the scant resources in this poor street; the river behind them certainly had more power to offer, but he was loathe to gather that poisoned sludge into his body. Especially this body. He’d worked too hard to ruin this over a simple crustacean attack! Irritated, he saw the crabs regrouping; all that could stand were orienting on him...and on the young woman who’d scrambled to her feet behind him.

“I need your energy,” he snapped at her. Holly Autumnson stared at him as if he’d spoken gibberish. He beckoned impatiently. “If you want to continue life with all your natural limbs, let me take it!” She looked from the clicking, lunging crabs to him, and quickly nodded.

Vonken reached into her with his mind, ignoring the swirl of emotion he found. Emotions distracted. Roughly he yanked out the power he found coiled in her core, surprised at the amount of it. Every person alive had a small inner reservoir of Dust-caused energy, but all save his fellow Coldsparks had no idea how to use it, much less any awareness of its existence. Miss Autumnson, however, possessed an abundance of it. He stopped himself from speculating on whether her brother’s ventures had contaminated her with Dust more than other residents of Concordia; time for that later. No finesse involved: he sucked up every bit of it and spewed it in a roar at the charging crabs.

Black, spiny limbs exploded in all directions. Stinking, sticky ichor splashed the nearby buildings, the front of Rumbaker’s especially. The ringing in his ears wasn’t quite loud enough to mask the clunks of shattered shells raining back down to the street. Vonken caught his breath, his pulse hammering, restraining the urge to expel the scones and cream he’d had for breakfast. He surveyed the carnage, checking to make sure nothing moved. To his dismay, he saw Miss Autumnson wasn’t moving either; she slumped just behind him in the street, unconscious. He wrapped his arms under hers and gently lifted her up, and she groaned, her head lolling, a long lock of soft dark hair slipping free of its pins.

“Oh for Dagon’s sake, Vonken!” Vonken looked over at the factory foreman standing disgustedly at the edge of the exploded crabs. “Didja really have to do that?”

Vonken replied curtly, forcing strength into his voice although it was hoarse after his bellow at the attacking monsters. “I have warned you more than once, Flanagan. Keep your blasted crabs in your factory, else I shall be forced to blast them!” He turned away as more of the workers crowded through the door, gaping and exclaiming at the ruin of so much of their supply. Miss Autumnson still wasn’t coming around. Vonken sighed, regretting his hasty decision to use all her power; the poor girl was going to have a devil of a headache. He didn’t feel too cheery, himself. Stolidly ignoring the cursing going on in the vicinity of the factory, he lifted the young lady against his chest and carried her carefully inside the clinic.

The nurse, one of the first constructs he’d built when he arrived in Concordia, made fussy motions as Vonken laid Miss Autumnson on the patients’ couch. Though it was no longer able to speak, it loosened the young lady’s corset and drew a warm blanket up to her pointed chin. “She fainted,” Vonken explained. He set his tall black hat upon a stand just inside the room, and opened his depleted physician’s satchel. “When she comes to, give her some of the willowbark tincture and send her home. Call the Watch for an escort.” The automaton nodded her copper head, at once moving to the pharmacy cabinet to retrieve a small phial of the tincture. Vonken looked through the boxes of supplies he’d brought down this morning from the hospital. “Blast it...Ratchet, have you seen the mercurous chloride? That idiot Calleux has got himself another case of French gout!” He stopped rummaging when the tall, rusting construct creaked over to him, holding out the very bottle he needed. “Ah. Thank you. Ever organized, my dear.” The greenlit eyes of the nurse flashed at him, meaning she was pleased with his compliment.

He’d built this first assistant along humanoid lines, and taught her manners and restraint; efficiency and a love of order she had developed on her own. He’d been forced to cannibalize her voice-box a couple of years back during a particularly trying time, needing the speech capability elsewhere, but Ratchet didn’t seem to mind being mute. He’d been promising her another larynx for some time now. Guiltily, he paused in his repacking of his satchel. “Whatever would I do without you here? You know, Dr Hodgson tells me you were invaluable in the amputation of the Brower boy’s leg this week.” The nurse gave one nod, returning to her sorting of bottles and packets of clean bandages into the cabinets covering one wall of the small surgery. Vonken patted her metal shoulder. “Now, it may take me the rest of the afternoon to finish my rounds, but if an emergency arises, turn on the beacon. I won’t be far.”

“Where are you going?” A weak voice, almost girlish, arrested his attention. How can she possibly be awake already? He turned to find Miss Autumnson groggily sitting up. One hand immediately went to her head. “Oooh.” She gave him a pained glare. “You didn’t say it was going to do that!”

Vonken took her wrist in his gloved hand, feeling her pulse, stronger than he’d expected after what he’d taken out of her. She looked askance at Ratchet. “You have an auto-matron for an assistant?”

“I find constructs often more honest and reliable than humankind,” Vonken replied mildly. He peered into her eyes; they showed only a little redness. Far less, in fact, than he’d displayed the first year or so he’d employed his Dust-given powers. “How do you feel, my dear?”

“As though a great tree fell upon my head,” she grumbled. Ratchet poured a neat spoonful of the willowbark tincture and offered it to her. Miss Autumnson eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“To counteract that tree.”

“Hmf.” She accepted the medicine, grimacing at its bitterness. Vonken continued stuffing items into his satchel. “Where are you going? I need to talk to you,” she said.

Vonken shook his head. “I have patients to attend, Miss Autumnson. I’ll have Ratchet summon the Watch for you, so you may have safe passage back to your home.” Struck suddenly again by the impossibility of her presence, he straightened his back and addressed her more directly. “How were you able to break my wards? Or did...someone else...” The thought that Villard might have an even more talented Coldspark in his employ was not one which had occurred to him before, but Miss Autumnson’s wan smirk reassured him even as it annoyed him.

“They’re still up, Doctor. I found the correct method of passing through them.” She scowled. “You might’ve told me how to get out! Did you expect me to sit like a caged sparrow and wait for you to return?”

“That was the general idea, yes.” Before she could protest further, he stepped closer, leaning over her to make his point. “You are damned fortunate to have found your way here without incident, I might add! What were you thinking, coming down Wharfside without even a guard? You could’ve been waylaid easily by any of the...the less savory populace here.” He wondered how on earth she’d managed to figure out his unconventional password spell, one he’d thought would prevent anyone but him from penetrating the wards. It was supposed to be simple, elegant, and impossible to simply guess.

“An army of berserk giant crabs doesn’t qualify as an incident?”

Vonken snorted. “Too common for remark, unfortunately.” He hefted the bag, ready to venture among the downtrodden for the second time today. “I don’t have time to chit-chat, Miss Autumnson. As you see, I am needed in this neighborhood.” Her blush pleased him; she’d caught the implication that it was her presence which was superfluous.

“Then I’m coming along,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. She slid off the couch, only then realizing her corset was loose. “Oh...”

“Ratchet, see to her needs,” Vonken commanded, and set his hat atop his head once more. He picked up his cane, but didn’t bother thanking her for returning it to him. At least it didn’t seem worse for wear after being used as a bludgeon against the crabs. He brushed the front of his charcoal-grey greatcoat, irritated at the tiny spots of crab ichor dotting it. Blast. Well, I can always dye the whole garment a deeper black, I suppose. He headed out, but hadn’t taken three steps before he heard the smart rapping of a lady’s boots on the street behind him. “Miss Autumnson, this is not suitable for a lady. You should go home.”

“Dr Vonken, you won’t be rid of me until I receive some answers,” Miss Autumnson said curtly, drawing abreast of him. She still appeared a bit pale, but was matching his stride despite her shorter legs. Vonken realized he wasn’t going to shake her, and perhaps it would be safer for her for him to allow her to tag along. He glanced at her through his habitual smoked spectacles: determination marked every line of her features, from her sharp little nose to the smooth, rounded brow; from firm, delicate jaw to the pout of her rosy lips. She didn’t seem to favor the garish painting of face the way many of the upper class now did; but then she was young, and rather isolated in her father’s manse on the hill. It made her appear innocent still, and he wondered just how much she’d seen of true life outside her refined neighborhood. To her credit, she’d come through half of Wharfside, apparently seeking him, and all on her own! Vonken quickly tempered his rising feeling of admiration; it wouldn’t do to show her any encouragement, or she’d think herself justified.

As he turned along a narrow, unpaved alleyway, he said, “I can’t imagine what you felt was so urgent that you risked your own safety, coming here.” The tenements crowded in overhead, four and five stories of teetering brick and salt-corroded mortar making the buildings lean toward each other at the top. Boarded-over windows did little to keep out the damp and the oncoming cold. He reminded himself it was time to mix extra doses of colocynthus, and to urge people to keep their living spaces as dry as possible to prevent pneumonia infections.

Miss Autumnson’s voice sounded subdued; she gazed up and around as they walked, and edged closer to him. “I...I didn’t know a Coldspark could take the very life energy of a person.” He could feel hers ebbing back, her pulse sensed easily now that he’d touched her. He felt as worn as a charwoman’s scrubbing rag, but made sure his steps trod with authority along the alley. In Wharfside, one ought never to appear weak... When he didn’t respond to her, she continued, “Have you done that often?”

“No.”

After a few more steps, she persisted, though quietly: “You could’ve warned me my head was going to hurt. And I feel as though...as though you’ve ripped something from my heart. As though it’s...empty.”

“That will pass.”

“But did you have to be so—“

“Miss Autumnson,” Vonken growled low, “would you rather have been torn apart like Rome before the Visigoths? I did what was required, no more, no less.” He continued on, taking a turn down an even narrower passage that anyone not familiar with the route would have completely missed, hidden as it was behind an overgrowth of curling black ivy. He paused long enough to hold the sooty vines away from Miss Autumnson’s unprotected head, gesturing her through, then dusting off his gloves against one another. Black ivy would cause severe itching on bare skin, although many of the urchins in the area seemed to have developed a partial immunity from constant exposure to it.

“Thank you,” Miss Autumnson murmured, and he gave her a curt nod. He made his way briskly between the crumbling hovels, heading for the home of his most recalcitrant patient. “Why didn’t Mikael ever tell me you and he had some sort of business partnership?” she asked, following directly in the wake of his long grey coat.

Vonken let out an irritated sigh. “I had asked him to keep our agreement discreet. Your brother had some unpleasant qualities, but happily the integrity of his word was—“

“So you told him not to tell me about something which has now ended up putting me in some sort of danger?”

“I do not know why he thought it would be prudent to send his discovery to you, my dear.”

Miss Autumnson continued badgering him. She must’ve been up hours pondering all this, he thought glumly. “He instructed you to look in ‘the usual place.’ Had you regularly been coming into my home for these secret projects, Dr Vonken?”

“It was, until recently, your brother’s home as well,” he argued.

“I find this lack of consideration on both your parts highly ungentlemanly! Is there anything in my house still which I should be aware of, whether you think it poses any danger or not?”

Vonken stopped, forcing her to halt just inches short of him. Clearly uncomfortable, she nevertheless stared coldly up at him, her mouth set in a pursed frown. “I am about to go into the home of a man whose dalliances with the Wharfside ladies have caused him some unpleasant consequences,” he told her. “I do not have time for your concerns, Miss Autumnson. I suggest you wait out here, as I’m sure your delicate sensibilities would be offended by the condition of my patient.”

“Why, is he covered in sores or pestilence?”

Vonken scowled at her flippant tone. He pulled down his green-grey lenses to fix her directly with a glare. The shadows of the alley didn’t hurt his eyes as the plain daylight did now, however overcast the weather. “He has syphilis, Miss Autumnson.” Satisfied with her blanch, he smiled. “Still want to accompany me?”

She swallowed, but braced her shoulders forward. “You won’t be rid of me yet, Doctor.”

“As you wish, then.” He knocked at a door made of nailed-together scraps of lumber. After a moment, a hoarse, accented voice called out.

“Get off, you mongrels! I have no money for you!” Something clattered within. “And if you try to force the door, I am waiting with mah rifle!”

“Gus, it’s Vonken. May I come in?”

“Oh!” More noises, and a dull thud, as of something heavy hitting the floor. “Oui, oui, come in!” Vonken gingerly pushed open the door; once, Gus had forgot to disarm the booby-trap of an iron balanced over the lintel, and the bruise took weeks to fully heal.

The single room, with old newsprint wedged into the cracks in the walls, stuffy from months without benefit of a sweeping and dim and smoky with krakenoil lamps, was fairly cozy for this district, but Miss Autumnson seemed taken aback. She waited just inside the door, shutting it behind her. Vonken watched her from the corner of his eye as he took the mercurous chloride and a clean dropper from his satchel; she seemed curious but possibly appalled at the dirty plates and empty bottles covering the small table, the crates used as seats, the ragged curtain thinly separating the bed and the chamber-pot from the rest of the room. Gus Calleux turned from using the pot, not bothering to button his trousers. “I think it’s not so bad this time; at least nothing is falling off...” He stopped, blinking blearily, upon seeing the young woman across the room. “Ahh! Vonken, your nurses get prettier every year! Did you finally give up on your ugly metal matron?”

“Ratchet is at the clinic, as always,” Vonken returned, gesturing for Calleux to sit on the bed so he could examine the man. “This is Miss Holly Autumnson. Miss Autumnson, Mr Gustavus Calleux, trapper and carouser.”

The old Frenchman laughed. “More of the latter, not so much of the former, I’m afraid.” He grinned at Miss Autumnson’s hesitant nod. “That’s a lovely sable you have on. One rarely finds the beasts now.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and Vonken grinned to himself. Would she actually attempt polite conversation under these circumstances? True to form, old Gus picked up a half-empty bottle of wine and gulped from it, ignoring Vonken’s ministrations below his loosened belt, rheumy eyes fixed on the young lady. “Do you...perhaps know where I might find a matching muff, Mr Calleux?” she asked; glancing over, Vonken saw she’d turned to face the door, her face flushed red. “Winter is almost upon us, and I haven’t anything suitable to warm my hands.”

Gus chortled. “Oh, oui, ma belle! I know something very warm you could—“

“Gus,” Vonken warned, though it was difficult to suppress a grin.

The Frenchman sighed. “Ah, I see, your new mistress, eh? Fine, fine, I behave.”

Miss Autumnson sounded as though she was straining to speak around a beehive in her throat. “I am merely an acquaintance of the doctor’s, sir.”

“Cover up, man; don’t you know how to comport yourself around a lady of quality?” Vonken chided Calleux. As the unrepentant old man tucked in his shirt and buttoned his trousers, Vonken held out the full dropper. “Open your mouth.”

“You sure I cannot have something sweeter?” Gus complained, but took his medicine. Vonken left the dropper in the bottle, on the battered dresser next to the bed.

“Take two dropperfuls of this morning and evening, and for heaven’s sake try to wash more often, Gus. And stay away from Miss Hattie’s!”

“I will, if you tell me where you found her,” Calleux said, his yellowed teeth bared happily beneath his white moustache. Vonken shook his head, but smiled with his back to Miss Autumnson.

“Hillside, my friend. Out of your range, I’m afraid.”

“A pity.” Gus leaned close, and whispered so loudly Vonken was sure Miss Autumnson heard: “Come back later and tell me what it’s like, eh? To slip your soldier into a sable fur that fine!”

“Take care, Gus.” Vonken started for the door, and Miss Autumnson hurried out ahead of him. She stood fuming in the chill air, wrapping her coat more tightly around her slender frame, as he checked to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind; Gus had once taken his pocketwatch and pawned it. Satisfied he had all he’d come with except the medicine he’d just dropped off, he headed up the alley again.

Behind him, she sounded decidedly angry. “How dare you imply I am some sort of concubine to that...that man!”

“I said nothing of the kind. Are you going to take offense at every character we encounter? If so, I recommend you stop your ears and put on blinders, and let me lead you like the mule you are, my dear.”

“That is absolutely enough!” He didn’t respond, walking on, when suddenly he felt a harsh yank inside his chest. Caught off-balance, he staggered, grabbing the nearest jutting corner. What the hell? The heartlink! Stunned, he looked back. Miss Autumnson strode toward him, brown eyes dark with anger, her hair falling free of its pins as a gust of wind forced its way through the alley. She appeared an angel of destruction bearing down on him, her coat blowing back, her hands clenched into fists, and Vonken stared at her in utter bewilderment. Did she just try to sever the heartlink? How in blazes—

“How dare you humiliate me in front of a filthy old reprobate?” she shouted, planting herself directly before him, fists on her waist. “I don’t care if you were useful to Mikael, I don’t care if you think you’ll best protect me by sending me back to my house without answering my questions; to be honest, Doctor, I really don’t care what you think!” She stretched on her toes to shout in his face; he felt her words blowing his moustache against his lip. “If you ever again treat me, or allow one of your patients to treat me, as less than a proper lady, I will have you reprimanded by the Krampf Surgeon General!”

Vonken touched his chest, his hand shaking. His heart still beat, and the aetheric connection to that other heart seemed secure, but for an instant he had felt... He searched her face, confused. Is she not even aware what she just did? But how...? Could that have been mere coincidence? If so, than what could...?

She kept glaring at him. “Am I quite clear, Dr Vonken?”

He drew himself to his full height again, deciding whatever had just happened, this girlish woman had no clue whatsoever. “Very, Miss Autumnson.” He hesitated. Perhaps an apology would prevent another such painful incident, whether intentional on her part or not. He inclined his head to her. “I am sorry to have caused you any distress. I did warn you that this was not a place suitable for a lady of Society.”

She continued to silently fume, her eyes boring into his even through the tinted lenses, it seemed. “If you can agree to disregard the low opinions of the inhabitants of Wharfside, I promise to curb my tongue,” he offered, and meant it. Perhaps hearing the sincerity in his tone, she nodded, and when he wordlessly resumed his mission, she once again followed him.

“Where are you going next?” she asked.

“To check on Mrs O’Leary, just in the next tenement. She lost an infant recently to the pox, and I’m concerned she may be coming down with it as well. You might wish to remain at a healthy distance.”

He glanced back, and saw her nod. She tried to put her hair back up, though she’d lost at least one pin, and the wind had picked up. Her veil was askew, revealing more of her clear forehead and light olive skin. Vonken recalled that Mikael had told him their mother had been of Spanish descent; that explained the lovely, dusky hair and eyes both siblings had. Trying to repair the breach of decorum, she asked as she walked, “How many patients do you have in Wharfside?”

Vonken spread his hands to both sides. “All of them...those willing to be treated, at least. Some people refuse to let a Coldspark anywhere near them. Dr Hodgson also tends the free clinic when he can, and Ratchet is always there to dole out simple remedies or set broken bones.”

“Free clinic? So none of your patients pay you?”

He shrugged. “Some of them bring crabs from the canneries. I don’t eat them, but Dr Hodgson says they reserve some of the choice bits for us. Other than that, one charwoman sends her two daughters over to help clean the clinic every fortnight, and when repairs are needed to the exterior we’re never short of hands.” He paused to offer his hand to her at a broken-down cart which had been left to rot or be scavenged in the middle of the path, and helped her step over it. “You see their circumstances, Miss Autumnson. Only someone with the mentality of a leech would ask for payment for services so essential to their bare existence.” He paused, listening. When Miss Autumnson began to speak again, he held up a hand to shush her. He thought he caught whispers from a burnt-out building on their right. Wind moaned through the empty windowframes on the ground floor. No...there is someone there. Hazarding a guess based on the pitch of a voice he could not quite catch, he called out, “Jeremy, didn’t your mother tell you it was rude to spy on people?”

Giggles confirmed his guess. The boy popped up, leaning his bare elbows on the sooty stones of the window-hole. Dirty blonde pigtails and bright eyes peeping over beside him told Vonken the boy’s sister had tagged along. “Hi Doc. Who’s she?” Jeremy asked without preamble.

Vonken gestured gallantly at his determined companion. “This is Miss Autumnson. She’s from Hillside, come to visit about a...a charity venture. May I present Jeremy Pfisher and his little sister Annabelle, local scamps.”

Jeremy laughed, never taking his curious gaze from Miss Autumnson. “Why’s she trompin’ through the alleys? Ain’t never seen a lady do that afore.”

Miss Autumnson reacted genteelly, as though used to chatting with half-clothed, soot-stained urchins every day. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Pfisher, Annabelle. I...decided to accompany the doctor on his rounds in order to see what assistance he required in his good works. Perhaps I and my sisters can help.”

Jeremy squinted. “You got sisters too? They’s a pain.”

“Hey!” little Annabelle squeaked, but then shyly hid behind her brother as they ventured out of the ruined tenement.

“I meant my sisters in charity,” Miss Autumnson explained, but the boy frowned.

Trying to get this encounter over with so he could continue to his next patient, Vonken asked, “Is there something you needed, Jeremy?”

“Yeah. It’s Betsy, Doc.” Jeremy’s lean face drew even narrower when he frowned worriedly. “She ain’t well. Been coughing, and some of it’s...red.”

Red? Consumption, again? Dismayed, Vonken immediately changed his priorities. He thought he’d eradicated it from this neighborhood earlier this year, but apparently not. “Show me. Now.” He quickened his pace to follow the boy scampering through the deserted building, climbing carefully up a mostly-burned-away stairwell. He intended to tell Miss Autumnson to wait on the ground floor and be quiet, but there she was, skirts tucked up in her sash, daintily picking her way up from crumbling step to step after them. Shaking his head, Vonken focused on his own risky ascent. A fall wouldn’t hurt him much, but there were things he’d rather not reveal.

At the top of the fourth floor, less damaged by whatever fire had gutted the place months back, Jeremy led the way to a door and rapped upon it five times in a specific pattern. Vonken memorized the knock for future reference, and removed his hat as he ducked inside after the children. Inside, he saw where several of the orphans must have been nesting for some time: discarded, moldy cushions and stained feather mattresses had been piled near the coal-hearth, where a single lump smouldered. Box-sides and other bits of lumber were nailed over the windows, but the chill seeped in everywhere. Angrily, Vonken gathered up a swirl of sparking energy from the remnants in the building, and cast it at the hearth. The coal blazed up in a green flame, and numerous pairs of wide eyes turned from it to him. Ignoring their reaction, he knelt on the mattresses. In the center, a tiny girl cocooned in old blankets lay. Behind him, he heard Miss Autumnson murmur, “Oh...” in sympathy.

He felt the girl’s clammy forehead, checked her weak pulse. Spots of red gleamed on her lips. “How long has she been like this?”

Jeremy answered; the other children, all younger than him and in similar poor dress and poor health, gathered in a semicircle closer to the greenfire, their need for warmth overcoming their trepidation, watching and listening carefully. “’Bout a month, Doc. I told her she shoulda gone to your clinic, but she was too afraid, and I couldn’t get no one to help me carry her.” The boy glared at his companions. “I told you he’d help!”

The girl woke at Vonken’s touch, and shied away from him, uttering a frightened moan. He shushed her gently, stroked her hair, and concentrated a tiny spark between his hands. The girl stared at the tiny ball of golden light as he rolled it easily along his fingers, and then he held it out to her. The girl gulped. “It’s okay, Betts,” Jeremy said. Vonken had used this same trick to gain the boy’s confidence two years ago, while treating him for a nasty gouge in the leg from a pike-hook. Uncertain, Betsy held out her palm, and Vonken gently transferred the tiny ball of Coldspark energy to her. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath at its unexpected warmth. Vonken smiled, and tapped the ball, making it break into a swirl of light which diffused around the girl.

Startled at first, she then began to smile when the warmth of it spread through her tiny body. She looked up at Vonken, this time with more acceptance. “Hello, Betsy,” he said. “I’m Dr Vonken. I’m going to see what I can do about this cough you’ve been having.” The girl nodded, and relaxed, and allowed him to check her pulse and put his stethoscope to her chest to listen to her lungs. It’s bad. I’ll be surprised if she lives out the week like this.

Jeremy, watching his expression closely, whispered, “How bad, Doc?”

Vonken sighed. “She needs a warm bed, Jeremy. Real food and a dry place to rest. And all of you should burn these cushions and find another place to bunk. This is contagious; you could all catch it if you don’t do as I say. Understand?” Frightened, several of them nodded, casting unhappy looks at the poor girl.

“Is it the White Plague?” Miss Autumnson asked. Vonken nodded, wiping his stethoscope with a flash of greenfire between his fingers. “Can you cure her?”

“I don’t know. It’s very advanced. This child should have been in the sanatorium months ago.” He turned to regard the huddled children. “I need to examine all of you. Anyone who’s been sleeping here.”

“Will Betsy die?” little Annabelle asked.

Vonken had no heart for lies to them. “She might. I’m sorry. I will do all I can. Now let me see each of you, please.” He beckoned, still kneeling. After a moment, Jeremy stepped forward, a brave look in his eyes. Vonken gave him a nod of thanks, and swiftly checked his tongue, his pulse, his breathing. “You’re fine. Come along, who’s next?” One by one, though some needed coaxing or even bullying from Jeremy, each child approached him to be examined. They were fascinated by the way he manipulated the aetheric energy to cleanse his stethoscope each time. One small boy wouldn’t stop crying, and Miss Autumnson crouched behind him, holding him still and whispering soothing words into his ear the whole time. Vonken put his tools away at last, thankful that only the one girl seemed to be infected. Yet. “All right. Now do as I’ve said: burn these mattresses, and better, find somewhere else to sleep from now on. If any of the rest of you begin coughing, or run a fever, or have chills, come to the free clinic at once, do you hear?” He looked around once, taking care to meet each of their eyes, his smoked lenses removed long enough to be sure each of them saw the serious cast of his own blue ones. “It is absolutely imperative that you see a doctor, either myself or Dr Hodgson, if you feel ill at all, as soon as you can. We will never turn you away, and we will help all we are able. Understand?”

Most of them nodded or murmured acquiescence, but then Jeremy argued: “But where we gonna bed down now, Doc? Big Leo’s been around a lot, and he...he ain’t real friendly to us. He hadn’t found us in here yet.”

“Big Leo?” Vonken rose to his feet, scowling. I thought the Watch had given him a good drubbing. Not enough of one. “He’s out of prison, is he?” At the scared little nods he received, Vonken’s expression darkened further. “You let me worry about Big Leo. All of you, scout out another place this very night. Here.” He shook a few coins from the soft purse hidden within his shirtwaist, handing them to Jeremy. “Buy some coal, and some broth. Go to Maddie May’s, she has the strongest broth in this part of Wharfside.”

“What about the girl?” Miss Autumnson asked.

Vonken wrapped the blankets more tightly around the child, who’d fallen asleep again, her breathing shallow. He hefted her up, worried at how light she felt. “I’ll see if the Granview Sanatorium has an extra bed.”

Miss Autumnson put a hand on his arm, alarmed. “Granview! But that’s where they take White Plague sufferers to...” Realizing her error, she shut her mouth, but the paleness on Jeremy’s face said he plainly understood what she’d been about to say. Trying again, she asked, “Is there no better place for her to...to recover?”

His voice soft and low, Vonken replied, “I do not have adequate facilities at my own home, and despite its name, All Souls’ won’t take children from the slums no matter how dire their circumstances. The only chance she has at all of survival is treatment at a place meant for this disease, where she can be tended constantly.”

“Bring her to my house.”

Vonken blinked at her, surprised. “Do you comprehend what this disease does?”

“I had an aunt who perished of it, before the Cataclysm. My father’s sister. He told me of her suffering.” Miss Autumnson’s gaze was steady, and he was startled to see actual compassion in it. Perhaps she could do some good here, after all, not just lip service to the cause like the rest of her ilk. “Can you treat her yourself?”

Trying to readjust his thoughts, Vonken looked at the peaceful face of the child in his arms. “I will begin administering the bacteriophagic serums, if you are to house her yourself, yes...but she may not recover, and you will have to destroy anything she coughs upon, and take precautions yourself to avoid contamination.”

She touched his arm, forcing his gaze to return to her serious dark eyes. “I...I have heard that a Coldspark can heal...”

Vonken frowned. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But I have read,” Miss Autumnson persisted, “Surely you are familiar with Jameson Millbush, the celebrated Coldspark? They say he cured a whole sanatorium in San Diego! Surely, with your talents, you could—“

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Vonken growled, moving away from the children, who listened eagerly. “That imbecile glory-hound Millbush didn’t heal those people, he cursed them!”

“All their symptoms vanished! The newspaper said –“

“The newspaper did not tell of what is happening to those poor bastards now, these months later,” Vonken hissed. “Right around now, they will be experiencing the aftereffects of that energy so foolishly poured into them! Do you know what an excess of greenfire does to the human body? Do you?” When she stared at him, bewildered, he reminded her roughly, “I have lived through those effects, seen the people around me begin to change, to grow extra limbs or go blind or have their very organs seep through their skin! The Dust energy affects each person differently, but too much of it in every case only leads to horror! Do you understand?” The room was silent, even the fire in the tiny hearth seeming muted. “I will never, never use my unasked-for gift thus. You saw what I did to the crabs. Now imagine that happening to this poor girl...but so slowly as to allow her to feel every tingling agony of it a hundred times before she perishes!”

Miss Autumnson shook her head, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry...I didn’t know...”

All the children were staring at him. Regretting his speech, Vonken carefully bundled Betsy in the blankets, making sure they wouldn’t come loose as he carried her even if the wind blew fierce. He lowered his protective spectacles once more, and gave the leader of the group a nod. “Jeremy. Please do as I’ve bid you. I’ll find Big Leo and have a little chat with him, man to man.”

The boy swallowed hard, but offered up: “Y’mean...troll to Coldspark?”

Vonken smiled. “If it comes to that. Yes.”

They left. Miss Autumnson preceded him down the half-destroyed stairs, glancing up in concern often, but he placed his feet cautiously and didn’t allow his grip on the girl to falter. In the upstairs hall above, his sensitive ears caught the frightened voice of one of the other children: “He’s scary.”

Jeremy replied, “Yeah, I know...but he’s on our side.”

Vonken couldn’t quite manage a smile. If they’re scared of me now, he thought, how much worse would it be if they knew all? Much worse. Especially if any of them thought to run and tell the Surgeon General.

Wrenching his mind from that ugly scenario, Vonken carried the sick child out of the chilly wreck of a building, and headed for the docks, where a hack might be procured to drive them to Autumn Hill. He was surprised at first at the light touch of Miss Autumnson on his arm, and looked down at her. She met his stare with a determined, silent one of her own, and he decided not to question her. She was helping, for now, and perhaps it was enough to use an ally wherever he could find one.

All alliances were temporary, he knew, but at least this one was so far interesting.