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main | table of contents Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 15 Guardian Bob had called in saying he wasn’t going to make it to work. And since Quinn had already taken the day off, Verity had been left alone with the work. None of the doctors had requested any case files that day so it made things easier. Verity just concentrated on the reports that she was filing. She was still doing the older files but a different batch. These reports were all on cases of chronic lung conditions. There were patients with emphysema, bronchitis, bronchiectasis, alpha 1-antitrypsin deficiency, COPD (or chronic obstructive pulmonary disease), people who just need oxygen therapy. There were also asthma cases (mild and severe), interstitial lung disease, and a variety of respiratory infections. The descriptions in all cases were dry and clinical although it was easy to imagine the patients hacking and hawing, coughing up sputum of all different colors, and breathing harshly as if someone were about to suffocate them. But she was used to these and the files seem to fly by during the day until she hit a folder in the middle of one of the piles. It had been misplaced. The folder was of one of Dr. Urich’s patients, Megyeri. Verity seemed to recall that Megyeri was the one who found a cult secretly meeting under his cousin’s cellar. This session was similar to the one she read before. Megyeri had witnessed another cult meeting. But it was the lines at the end of the session that really caught her eye. Megyeri: I have a favor to ask of you, Dr. Urich. I was wondering if we could cancel next week’s appointment. I’ll be back the week after, of course. “You look busy.” Gammell was standing right outside her office, his winter coat unbuttoned revealing a dark shirt and a pair of jeans. He was holding a reference book and a stack of photocopies. Verity briefly wondered if there were files on Gammell with transcriptions with his doctor visits. She wondered if the conversations were like the ones with Dr. Urich’s delusional patients. She looked at her watch. “I’m always busy,” she replied. She closed down her office and took the reference book out of his hand and put it on a cart of books to be shelved. “But your timely arrival reminded me that it is time to close down the archives.” “Lucky me that I just finished doing my research for the day.” “Did you find what you needed?” “I had a hunch that Verne had something with the institute.” “You couldn’t have possibly found his file if he did have a file here. Patient records are strictly confidential.” “I know that. I was looking further back. Samuel Verne, from what some of my associates tell me, is a rather well-known entrepreneur in the Old Quarter. He came from one of those old families that have been in Monteport for generations—and dare I say it—even longer than my own. There were also rumors about some of his odd relatives.” “Oh?” Verity locked up the archive door after turning out the light. They climbed the stairwell to the first floor. “And you thought you could find some mention of his odd relatives in the institute archives?” “Yes, there’s that, but as you said before, I can’t get to confidential patient files. But I did recall that the Vernes had very peculiar physical abnormalities. So I was looking up some medical terminology and descriptions of diseases that may have matched those abnormalities. So far, there are a couple of diseases that sound similar although not exactly the same.” “One thing I’ve learned as a medical archivist,” she replied, “is that even though people may have the same disease, they don’t manifest them all quite the same way. Some people have it in more severe forms than others.” “I’ll think about that.” “So why do you think the medical histories of Samuel Verne’s family will help us with the job Pelorus gave us?” “I’m thinking that anything will help us.” They had reached the first floor. Verity noticed that the welcoming station was empty. Georgette and Patrice had already left for home. The only person loitering about was the bewhiskered custodian slowly mopping up the floor. “Some acquaintances of mine invited me to one of their Feasting Day parties. It’s supposed to be a casual luncheon,” said Verity. “They mentioned that I could take one other person along.” She felt her hands shaking and shoved them into her coat pockets. What was she doing? When she had ever asked her ex-boyfriend if he could go somewhere with her, he had always had an excuse. He was working. Of course, now she knew why he was “working” late every time. The skin under her bandages suddenly felt itchy. “I’m sort of new in Monteport and I don’t know very many people. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. I mean, if you’re busy, that’s all right too.” “No, I’m not busy, in the afternoon. One of my acquaintances had given me an invitation for two for a party he is throwing for Feasting Day too. But it’s in the evening. It’s one of those elaborate costume parties in the Old Quarter. I was going to ask you the same thing.” He grinned self-deprecatingly. “All my female acquaintances think I’m insane, but you’re the only one who seems to have stuck around.” Was she his last resort? But then suddenly hopeful, she said, “I don’t have anything planned for the evening of Feasting Day. So how about this, you come with me to the party in the afternoon and I come with you to the party in the evening and we’ll call it even.” “Is this some sort of business deal?” “Well,” she stalled. He suddenly seized her chin in his palm so that they were eye to eye. His gaze was sharp, just on the verge of being angry. His hand felt rough along her jaw. “I don’t want this to be some sort of deal. We go to each other’s parties because we want to.” She jerked her head away from his hand. “Fine. I’ll go because I want to.” A brief smile flitted across his mouth. “Same with me.” “Verity!” She turned at the crackling voice and saw Aeneus ambling toward her. He was holding three rolls of aluminum foil under us arm. “Hello Aeneus. Shouldn’t you be having dinner or be back in your room? It’s getting late.” “I just wanted to catch you before you left. I just finished…” he glanced up suspiciously at Gammell. “Who’s he?” “Oh? That’s Gammell.” “Gammell?” The old man squinted. “The Nathaniel Gammell?” “The same,” Gammell replied. Aeneus chuckled. “You’re famous, just famous. I’ve heard that you’re the only patient that Greene is tearing his hair out about.” “Why’s that?” he asked. “Because you’re a Rothburne, that’s what. Even though the Rothburnes donated the institute—well I’m sure you already know all about it—they still have controlling interest in what goes on here. I guess I can trust you. After all, your ancestors are one of the guardians.” “Guardians?” said Gammell sharply. “How did you hear about that?” “I hear many things,” said Aeneus, crafty. “They’re the ones who make sure Monteport’s barriers don’t break during the Unnamed Days.” “Who told you about the barrier? Are you one of Greene’s other patients?” Aeneus shook his head. “I’m lucky Greene isn’t my doctor.” He shoved the aluminum rolls into Verity’s hands. “Protect yourself. I’ve already gotten my room prepared and I’m staying there starting this moment. And you,” he pointed at Gammell, “had better start doing a better job of it. Someone at the church might be able to help you.”  |