Fever Quest: A Clean Historical Mystery set in England and India (The Isabella Rockwell Trilogy Book 2) (11 page)

“Why?”

“It’s either stolen or bought.”

Isabella nodded, thinking quickly of Al Hassan’s friend,
Joseph Mann, and how he said he’d arrived in Mombasa on a boat from Spain.

“So it’s very valuable?”

Vritra looked at her, his gaze black and penetrating.

“What do you think?”

Isabella ran her own fingertip through the powder. It
looked so plain.

“Of course. It must be.”

“And if anyone were to successfully grow a plantation of
these trees here, then how rich would he find himself?” A burning branch fell
from one of the braziers to the ground and a donkey’s bray came from one of the
tunnels. “It is a pity we have only the bark and not any seeds. But then, what
we have here will save many lives. We must be grateful.” He sighed, deep in
thought for a moment. “Come, we must return you to your cell or suffer the
wrath of Colonel Stone, and he is not in the best of moods.”

Isabella forced her breathing under control so her voice
would sound normal.

“What will you do with it?”

Vritra was folding the paper carefully so none of the bark
spilt.

“I will use it.”

“May I have a little?”

Vritra looked at her, hesitating, then he poured a few
granules of the powder into Isabella’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.”

Vritra salaamed to her.

“No. Thank you.”

Isabella opened her bag with her other hand, took out
Abhaya’s herb pouch and poured the powder into a tiny glass bottle.

Vritra leaned over her.

“What is that?”

She screwed the stopper in tight.

“It was my ayah’s. She was a healer, too. She left it to
me.”

“Ah, so that is why you’d heard of the fever tree?”

Isabella nodded, unable to think of anything other than
the nine precious seeds sinking from sight into the mud of her cell floor.

Vritra stood.

“I’m sure you have told me everything you know, but should
you think of anything else, you have only to ask the guards and they will find
me.”

Vritra led her back down to the cells. The thought of
Midge working down here for the rest of his short life was too much for her to
bear. Her shoulders sagged, but she straightened as she remembered the seeds.
Surely she would be able to find them? Then maybe she could barter for their
release.

But would Midge come with her? And Vritra – could she
trust what he said or was he spying for Stone, trying to get information he
thought she was hiding? The tunnel pressed in on her; her head throbbed and her
stomach cramped with a hunger not satisfied by the fruit.

Lights were ahead of them, glowing orange, floating along
in the darkness. There were six lanterns and the sound of footfalls.

“Isabella?”

It was Rose. Her face was creased on one side where she
had slept and mud smeared a her cheek and hair. She hugged her clothes to her
thin frame. Vritra held the torch up higher.

“What is this?” he asked one of the guards who was
standing next to Rose.

The guard moved to one side to reveal four of his men
carrying a stretcher. On it was Livia.

“Rose?”

Isabella looked at Rose and saw her face was streaked with
tears.

“I was asleep and when I woke up you were gone and Livia,
she was … she was …” Here Rose gulped and tried to continue, but
couldn’t.

“She was having a fever convulsion, sir,” finished one of
the soldiers.

Isabella took a lantern and held it over Livia’s still
body. She was wrapped tightly in her tunic, which was drenched with sweat. Her
face was white and her lips were bloodless. She was quite unconscious. Isabella
felt her stomach disappear.

“We have orders to take her to Sarovar.”

Vritra closed his eyes and nodded.

Isabella turned to him. “Where is that?”

“In Golconda, all cases of malaria are quarantined.
Sarovar is where they are looked after.” There was a warning in the tightness
of his grip and she closed her open mouth. “Come. We will go with them. I will
find her a bed.”

Rose’s face looked shattered and far younger than her
sixteen years.

“Oh, Isabella.” Rose collapsed against her.

Isabella turned them both around, supporting Rose with her
shoulder. She could feel Rose’s bird-like bones through her clothes. Guilt
surged through her. What had she done in bringing these girls with her? What
had she been thinking? The sudden thought of having to face Livia’s parents to
tell them of their daughter’s death made her shrink with fear.

She, who wasn’t scared of anything.

Or so she had thought.

“Come on, Rose. It’s all right.”

But Rose’s silent sobs didn’t stop.

Outside the mine, dawn was breaking, and the only
people awake were a few guards who nodded at Vritra. On the road back towards
the shanty town there was the odd shack here and there. Drying saris moved in
the wind and a couple of dogs growled as they both tugged at the same bone. It
was such a desolate place, so unlike the usual bustling Indian villages, that
Isabella thought she might cry again.

Vritra strode ahead of them, his long spider’s legs making
short work of the ground covered and Isabella walked with Rose unable to bring
herself to look at Livia again. Just as the road reached the boundary of the
miners’ village, a path snaked to the left. It was overgrown with fern and
boulders lay at angles to the road. It would have been impossible to drive a
cart along it. At its end was a bamboo gate, at least fifteen feet high and
padlocked from the outside. A huge red cross had been painted on the bamboo and
when Vritra reached for the lock with a key, a guard stepped from the shadows
with a musket, stepping back when he saw who they were. Isabella wondered what
it was he wanted to keep out. Vritra slipped through the gate and Isabella and
Rose followed after the guards carrying Livia’s stretcher.

A pink light from the east illuminated a large single
storey wooden building the size of the soldiers’ mess tent at home. The roof
looked rickety and it was surrounded by deep porches. No trees or bushes grew
around it to give it any shade, and a pool of stagnant water nearby gave off
the smell of rotten eggs.

“What is this place?”

Vritra carried on walking towards one of the buildings.

“You don’t know?”

From deep inside the bungalow came a scream, full of pain.
Instinctively, Isabella gathered her sari and began to run towards the sound,
but Vritra was too quick for her. He grabbed her shoulder and brought her
around to face him.

“Stop! What do you think you are doing?”

“Someone needs help …” she babbled, not really sure
what she’d been doing, just that the scream was the worst thing she’d ever
heard.

Vritra’s grip on her shoulder was like iron.

“
Everyone
here needs help.”

He climbed the steps into the bungalow, keeping Isabella
behind him.

It was the smell that hit her first.

The odour of unwashed flesh mingled with the metallic
smell of blood made her gag and, because the heat inside was far greater than
outside, the smell seemed to wind its way through everything, her hair and
clothes and skin, until she wasn’t sure where she ended and it began.

All around her, on rush matting, lay mostly young, British
soldiers, some still in their uniforms. There was the occasional bed, but most
of the patients were on the floor. Some had vomited and were too weak to turn
away from it and so lay half in and half out of what they’d brought up. Some
were unconscious and had lost control of their bowels. Everywhere there were
flies – on faces and eyes and wounds – an endless, stinging black cloud. Sunken
eyes rested on Isabella. There was no fear in them, no entreaty, just
resignation.

It was a moment before Isabella realised she had tears
running down her face.

She turned and left the room and went out into the dawn.
Stars jumped in front of her eyes and she sat down, forcing her head between
her knees.

“I thought you were a healer.” Vritra’s voice was behind
her and he settled on the step next to her.

She could barely speak.

“I’m not. It was my ayah.”

The stars started to dance again and she bent over,
forcing the blood up to her head.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen so many people so ill at the
same time.” She screwed up her face, trying to remove the image of the dying
soldiers from her mind. After a moment she felt the colour coming back to her
cheeks. She wiped her eyes with the hem of her sari and forced herself to focus
on the bulrushes in the pond in front of her. The sky was lightening by the
minute and a gaunt cockerel crowed.

“Why doesn’t Stone let them go?” Isabella rubbed her eyes.

“Where would they go?”

“But why isn’t more being done for them?”

“Because” – Vritra ran his hand over his eyes – “with this
malaria, they die. There are no reprieves.”

“So you leave them in this to die, away from everyone,
with no comfort, no kind words.” Isabella’s anger was choking her. “If a dog
were as ill as those men, you’d shoot it.”

Vritra spun around to face her. “What is it that you think
I have been doing here all these years?”

“I don’t know!” They were both shouting now.

Vritra’s shoulders suddenly slumped.

“Aiee. I know. You are right and I have tried – how I have
tried – but Stone will not close the mine. No one at the British High
Commission will listen to an old sadhu.”

Isabella took a deep breath, a sudden heavy tiredness
overtaking her.

“Why won’t he? Is it the prophecy? All those lives lost,
just because he hopes to dig up a diamond?” She wanted to cry, but she had no
tears left.

“It’s more than just a diamond to Stone. It’s a city,
which he rules. He wouldn’t exist without it.”

Isabella frowned at him. “Why are you still here with
him?”

Vritra shook his head.

“Like your ayah, I cannot leave.” He breathed out. “I used
to be a good man. I seem to have lost my way.”

Something stirred inside her.

“Join the club,” Isabella said, in English.

He looked at her.

“What does this mean ‘join the club’? I have never heard
it before.”

Isabella felt the ghost of a smile cross her face.

“Just that. You and me. We are the same.”

“Indeed.” Vritra looked at her again, his black eyes
searching her face.

“I still don’t see what this has to do with Midge and why
Stone would want to keep him here. It’s not like he’s going to find the Eye of
Kali.”

“No. But if he found another …”

“What? In a mine that hasn’t given up a diamond in thirty
years, Midge will suddenly find one?” Isabella’s tone was scathing, even to her
own ears.

“I’m afraid that’s where you are wrong.”

“What?” The hairs on her arms rose at his tone. “But
Colonel Stone told me the whole story. The mine is dead.”

“Colonel Stone doesn’t know.” Vritra looked over his
shoulder, a flashing glance that took in the whole area around them – a man
used to intrigue.

“Doesn’t know … ?” Isabella hesitated. Her mouth was
having trouble forming the words with the dreaded realisation and Vritra
finished her sentence for her.

“Doesn’t know that Midge has found the first diamond in Golconda in thirty years? No. He doesn’t.”

Isabella was still for a moment.

“When did it happen?” she asked dully. She looked at her
feet, her sandals covered in filth and dust from the mine floor, her toes
barely visible.

“Yesterday.”

“Why didn’t he tell Stone? I’d have thought it was the
first thing he would do.”

Vritra exhaled. “I told him not to.”

Isabella looked at him. Each word was like a knife to her
soul.

“Midge would never be able to leave.” Vritra’s face was
blank. “Colonel Stone would work him to death.”

Isabella felt her stomach disappear.

“Work him to death?” Her thoughts flew back to the workers
in the makeshift town, how ill they’d looked.

“Of course,” replied Vritra, uncoiling himself from his
sitting position. “He’s only been here three days. Wait until he’s been here
three months.” He stood up and offered Isabella his hand. “I have ordered the
guards to put Livia in a room of her own. It is the best I could do. You must give
her the fever tree as soon as you can. I am sorry she is so unwell, but I am
glad you have had a chance to see this place.”

“Why?”

“So you can see the future Midge faces if he stays here.”

Isabella kept her face still.

“There’s nothing I can do about that. Midge has made his
own decision to stay.”

“Then he will die.”

“He might not.” Isabella could hear how unsure her voice
sounded.

“No. He might not,” said Vritra, splashing his face with
water from the pond.

“Those men … are they all British?”

“Mostly.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

Vritra’s eyebrows rose, making his nose look even longer.

“You don’t know?”

Isabella shook her head, pictures of sunken eyes and
hollow cheeks still dancing before her.

“Cholera?”

“They have malaria.”

Isabella could think of nothing to say and looked back at
the porch behind her, where a curtain hung limply at an open window. Even the
faintest breath of air would have been welcome.

“They are so ill with it. I haven’t ever seen …”

“No.” Vritra’s voice was gentle. “Nor had I. You can see
how glad I am to have the Jesuit’s Bark.”

Isabella’s voice was empty.

“How many do you think it will save?”

A dog came over and licked the hand she’d used to wipe
away her tears.

“Oh, at least ten, if I measure it out correctly.”

“But there must be forty men in that bungalow.”

Vritra’s face was sombre, the light in his eyes
momentarily dim.

“I will have to choose.”

Isabella’s eyes filled again and she looked down,
desperate to distract herself.

“Do you know what the dose should be?” Her hand was on the
dog’s head, running over a lump where one of its ears should have been.

Vritra gestured to her to follow.

“Yes, the monk made me write it down. He was going to tell
me how to make the powder from the bark, but he was imprisoned for smuggling
before he got the chance.”

Isabella’s hand went still.

“Is it difficult to make?”

“Yes. The priests guard the secret closely, but it’s said
there is one woman who knows how. She lives at Lucknow.”

Isabella bit her lip and swallowed. Before he spoke she
knew what he was going to say next. She said it for him.

“Mother Muckerjee.”

Vritra looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Yes. I haven’t thought of her for a long time.” He looked
at her.

Isabella grasped around for something to say.

“Why doesn’t Stone stop the British coming here, if they
all become so ill?”

“Because he needs an army to control the workers. They
would all have left long ago if they’d had the choice.”

“Has Stone had malaria?”

“Yes, but he is one of the few who survived. Now the
people think, because he cheated death, he is immortal and maybe half god.”

“And what do you think?”

“I see a man who used to be my friend overtaken by a lust
for riches.”

“So why do you stay?” She asked again.

Vritra turned to look at her. His expression was hard to
read.

“What would your ayah have done in my position?”

This time Isabella couldn’t stop the tears as they
overflowed down her cheeks.

“She’d have tried to make them better … She’d
have stayed.”

Through the muslin of the curtains draped around the
bed, Livia looked like a ghost; barely breathing and her head stretched
backward in the rigor of fever. Her teeth ground together and her hair’s blonde
roots were black with sweat. It was midday and the sun pounded through the
window, making a hard yellow square on the floor next to Isabella’s feet. The
room was boiling and airless. Rose sat beside Livia’s bed, her hands twisting
in her lap. Vritra had put Livia in a tiny room off the main dormitory. Here it
was quiet and only occasionally could they hear cries. Not that Livia could hear
anything. She’d barely managed to swallow the fever tree powder, once Isabella
had dissolved it in water. Half of it had dribbled out of her mouth onto the
pillow. Isabella just had to hope she’d swallowed enough.

Strangely, it was Rose about whom Isabella was most
worried. Livia was past caring, but Rose seemed to be coming unhinged. Her face
showed an unfamiliar expression and her eyes looked straight through Isabella.

“Rose?”

There was no answer. Where was Vritra? He’d promised he’d
be back with more water, but that was more than an hour ago, judging by the
shadow moving across the floor. She stood up and felt Livia’s hands. They were
like ice, but the rest of her burned with a heat Isabella could feel through
Livia’s clothes. She badly needed a bathe to bring down the fever.

“Rose?”

Finally, Rose’s eyes settled on her.

“I’m going to get some more water. Stay here.”

Rose nodded.

The building slumbered in the harsh sunlight and
Isabella’s feet made no sound as she scooped up a bucket. She jumped down from the
porch and walked behind the building to find a some cleaner water, but there
was nothing but dry dirt and some laundry. A small gap in the foliage caught
her eye and she pushed through it, small puddles on the ground suggesting she
was going the right way.