"She is sick ... " said Rose.
Marge's skin was hot to the touch. Her little coughs tore at his heart. After Seymon, the doctor from Chestoys, had finished treating Demond, whose condition did not improve in the slightest, Wes beseeched him to see Marge. The man was in a rush to see his other patients in the city, but he made time once Wes and Rose fell to their knees and begged him. And after he had taken every last copper they had between them.
"This is unfortunate," Seymon said laconically.
"unfortunate?" repeated Wes.
"Yes, unfortunate." The doctor made his move to leave.
Before he left, he turned to them at the doorway.
"It is a disease that takes children," he said with a strange lack of sympathy. "It is quite rare. Thus, it is unfortunate."
"What shall we do?" said Rose, though expecting an answer that wouldn't soothe her.
"Pray. The Great Father, if He wills it, will allow your daughter to recover," the doctor said quickly.
"You don't believe that rubbish, don't you?" snapped Wes.
Rose was taken aback. The doctor snorted and left.
For a moment, Wes kept silent. Rose embraced him, crying on his shoulder.
Suddenly, he stood up and walked out of their cottage.
"Wes," Rose called out, "Why? Where are you going? Wes!"
The doctor was climbing onto his saddle when Wes shouted at him.
"My coppers," he bellowed as wrath overtook him, "give them back!"
The villagers stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange. Garth began walking towards him, coming back from the field.
"You needed my service," said the "my service required payment."
"You did nothing!" everyone in the village seemed to hear him, "my daughter is still dying and there is nothing I can do!"
The doctor trotted away from him, uninterested in a meaningless argument.
"Seymon!" Wes screamed.
Wes wanted to chase after him, drag him from his horse, and take his coppers back. But Garth held him back. Hamil stepped closer to aid him in case he was overpowered by Wes.
"Get off of me," growled Wes.
"Easy, Wes," Garth said softly, "there was nothing he could have done."
"He couldn't ... I just ... Marge ..." he mumbled.
Upon seeing Garth's eyes fill with tears, so did his. Wes would have fallen to the ground, his body weak and his mind full of pain, but Garth embraced him. Alfons ran to him and hugged his leg. Leta stood from afar in her doorway and looked sad and guilty for fearing him for the past few days. Through bleary eyes, he saw some of the villagers offering their saddened looks and palm kisses.
That night, Wes went to see Hamil. The staffer failed to show yet again, and Wes needed the money. He hated himself for doing so. Knowing Marge's days were between a few and some, he wanted to spend every second with her. He left Rose to pray alone.
"Sorry Wes, I can only offer six tonight," said Hamil sadly, "I'll have the rest for you some other day."
"I'll take it," said Wes weakly.
Hamil walked off to his station and Wes made his way into the dark prison.
Zagarolo sat with his legs crossed. For a moment, there was silence. Usually, Wes would greet old Zag kindly once Hamil was away, but this night would be quieter, or at least he hoped so.
"He lies, my friend," said Zagarolo.
"Who does?" questioned Wes.
"Seymon. Seymon Silvertree. He is one of the doctors at Chestoys, correct?"
"Yes, that is him," said Wes wearily, "how do you know him?"
"Why," Zagarolo said as he stood up to stretch his legs, "he was one of my students. A lousy one, if I am to be honest. I believe he cheated on several occasions under my charge, but could not prove it. He was clever like that. Not so much in the matters of health, unfortunately."
"You? A doctor?" said Wes.
To be sure, the man was strangely wise, yet by the looks of him, Wes could only see him as some sort of beggar.
"Don't let my humble appearance fool you," he said laughing, "under this mad man's skull sits a brain full of knowledge. Though, still, I am yet to cease being just an old fool!"
"But Zag," said Wes, "if you are a man of such skill, why do you live in such squalor?"
"The city and castles did not aid my pursuit for knowledge, nor did its folk, nobles, lords, kings ... furthermore, I could not quite find the answers about this realm I desired."
He pulled out something from beneath his robes, his oyster shells clattering as he did so. He held a book bound in black leather. "Everything I've learned from the realm, that my education at Esengrendy failed to give me, is in this book. To think true healing power came from the movement of stars and the shape of the moon. Ridiculous!"
Not just a doctor, thought Wes with great hope, but a mentor of doctors.
"Zagarolo," asked Wes.
"Zagarolo," chuckled the old man as he flicked through the pages, "formal now are we?"
"Please, my friend," implored Wes, "Marge, my daughter ... can you save her?"
Zagarolo shut his book and became solemn.
"If you could bring her here, for me to examine her," said the old man, "I could see what can be done."
Wes did not respond to Zag. Instead, he flew out of the prison, towards his cottage. The night air was thick and hot, and the bugs sang loudly in the trees and grass.
Rose had fallen asleep on the dirt floor, as if during prayer. Wes carried her and placed her on their bed. He lifted Marge out of the cradle, singing softly to her. He headed back out into the night.
"I will not lose you," whispered Wes to his little daughter, sleeping quietly in his arms, "I can not lose you."
ns 18.68.41.137da2
