Desert Dogma Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Neighbours and the Work Day

It was remarkably easy for Mercy to settle in as far as the dormitory was concerned.  Walter had been right about it being unencumbered by rules and procedure.  She had run into a nurse on her way to start her shift, and after introducing herself as Elizabeth, the nurse had shown her to a room that saw little use.

The reason for this, Mercy soon found, was that it was in the approximate middle of the house, and therefore not closer to either the back door or the front.  This would have robbed its occupants of valuable lie-in time.  However, this was no detriment in her eyes.

There were two beds stacked one atop the other, with barely enough room for the bottom sleeper to sit up and rub the sleep out of her eyes.  Two somewhat identical, battered lockers stood opposite the beds.  After stuffing her things inside the empty one and applying the padlock, she slipped the key into her pocket and gave the bed a test run.

Hours dripped away like beads of water sliding down a sweating glass of whiskey.  When morning showed its early face, she was unable to greet it, as the bedroom did not have a window.

Leather was hot and had a particular smell she was not fond of, but it was cheap, and it would serve her well as armour.  However, its odour increased to an unbearable level after two sweltering Vacarian days, and was not improved by the more tolerable nights.

After she had tugged the laces free and fought the clasps open, she peeled the bodice off.  For a moment it left her with a feeling of having taken off a layer of skin, a sensation made all the stranger for the fact that she still had on a thin white shirt.

Leaving the armoured bodice to air out on the bed, she retrieved her rucksack and changed into a clean set of clothes.  As she picked through it, she realised that she would have to admit her own semi-permanence in this place, or wash her clothes every day.

The leather armour would have to wait for cleaning.  She grimaced as she laced herself back into it, fingers fumbling slightly less over the clasps than they had before.  The holster was as comforting an addition as it ever was, and steeled her for whatever she might encounter.  She was fully awake now, and ready to combat the overwhelming heat of a new day.

As she stepped into the hall, she nearly bumped into a buxom nurse with yellow hair.

The nurse bounced back a few steps, then dropped her bag.  It hit the floor with a loud thump.  "Oh, now look what I've done," the nurse grumbled as she stooped to pick it up.  "I have the hardest luck, I don't mind tellin' ya."

"It's only a small spill," Mercy said, trying to sound heartening.  "No harm done."

"I hope that's the case."  The nurse straightened, then dusted herself off.  She grimaced a while longer, and then replaced the sour expression with a game smile.  "Anyway, always nice to meet a new member of the family.  What country have you come from?"

"Omniastrular.  But I'm not—"

"Cor, that's posh, that is.  You must have a charitable soul to come all the way out here."

"Not exactly.  You see, I came to—"

"Oh, a man is it?  Well, that's a different story altogether!  Far more interesting, for one.  What's he like?"

"There is no…"  Mercy cut herself off with an agitated sigh.  "I'm the doctor's bodyguard.  That's why I'm here, for a job.  Not charity or romance."

"Shame," the nurse said, and clicked her tongue.  "Although I admit, bein' a bodyguard must be exciting.  That's rather romantic on its own."  She stuck out her hand, then realised it was the one holding the bag and switched it to her other hand.  "I'm Henrietta.  Others call me Nurse Knolles, but I do get so sick of that."

"Henrietta then."  Mercy introduced herself and shook Henrietta's hand, surprised by the strength of the nurse's grip.  "Where are you going in such a hurry, if I may ask?"

Henrietta's mouth formed a perfect o as she threw her hands in the air, narrowly avoiding clocking herself in the head with the bag.  "Stripe me, I'm going to catch it from Noakes.  Er, nice to meet to you, Miss Deering, but I must dash or my job's forfeit.  Ta!"

With that, she ran down the hall and then out the door.  Mercy stayed where she was for several seconds, her head tilting involuntarily as she pondered the question of how such a generously endowed woman could run at such an impressive speed.  Urgency was indeed a great motivator.

She straightened her holster, double-checked the readiness of her pistol, and left the dormitory at a more sedate pace than Henrietta had.

The sunlight hit her with a blasting glare as effective as a bullet.  She fumbled for her goggles, then hurried to cover her eyes with them.

"So they aren't a beauty aid.  You ought to leave them behind and get used to our sun the natural way."

She reeled, twisting every which way until her protected eyes came upon the sight of Spaz, leaning on the wall of the dormitory.  He had his arms folded over his chest, a cloth sack dangling from one hand.

He pushed himself away from the wall and held up a hand in lazy greeting.  "Good morrow, my friend.  I take it you're enjoying Doctor Quack's hospitality?"

"Her name is—"

"Philippa Noakes, I know.  Only a fool jests at the expense of a stranger."  Spaz held out the cloth sack.  "Here, I thought you could use a spot o' breakfast."

Mercy's stomach growled traitorously, and she accepted the sack, if only to see what Spaz thought constituted breakfast.  Inside the sack was a small reddish fruit sitting atop a layer of assorted nuts.  She looked up at him, scanning his face for signs of a joke.

"Don't rush to thank me," he said, hopping past the porch stairs.  "That's a traditional Vacarian breakfast.  Light and hydrating."

"Traditional, eh?"  She sat on the edge of the porch and pulled the fruit from the cloth sack.  A traditional breakfast in her home city had been more robust, and she had expected meat to feature more prominently in the Vacarian diet.  "All right, fair enough.  So I just tuck in then?"

He doubled back, waving his hands.  "No, no, no.  You're such a tourist."  While she glared at him, he crouched beside her and plucked the little fruit from her hands.  "See where the stem peeks out?  You take hold of it like this, and then you peel the skin off."

Mercy watch him follow his own instructions, feeling uncomfortably like a child.  "What do I do with the skin?"

"Eat it.  It comes off in one piece, if you do it right."  He handed her the limp red skin, still pinching the stem tightly between his thumb and index finger.

Shrugging, she accepted the skin and popped it into her mouth.  It was a bit sour and had a rubbery hardness, but after a bit of chewing, it gave way to a smoother texture, like a flower petal or rich soup.

"Now you can break the fruit into sections and eat them."  Spaz handed over the peeled fruit, then kicked his legs out to sit down properly.  "Don't mind the seeds, you're supposed to eat those as well.  Unless you're planning to plant them, but I doubt you are."

The fruit separated easily into six sections, each of them wrapped in a pinkish endocarp.  "It's like a blood orange…"

"Could be they're cousins."

After Mercy had polished off the last of it, she dropped the stem into the palm of her hand and half-smiled at it.  "Remarkable.  Almost no waste."

"That's how things are done out here.  Children usually blow the stem out of their hands and make a wish."  Eyebrows waggling, Spaz looked from the stem to Mercy's face.  "What wish would you make, I wonder?"

Mercy closed her fist around the stem, and then dropped it onto the ground.  "I am not a child, Mister Wakefield."

"As anyone can see, Miss Deering."  Though there was still an detestable twinkle in the man's blue eyes, he did not supplement it with a grin.  Yet she still felt he was poking fun at her.  "Go on and finish your breakfast, I'll keep you company."

"What joy is mine," she muttered, reaching into the bag to try the nuts.  They were what nuts generally were, although someone, presumably Spaz, had dusted them with a sweet spice that turned her fingers a lighter brown.

Once the nuts were gone, she clapped the dust off on her trousers and pushed herself off of the porch.  Before she could question what to do about the cloth sack, a wild dog leapt out from under the porch and grabbed it.  While it savaged the empty sack, she stepped away from it and tried to affect the same coolness with which Spaz viewed the scene.

"Thank you very much," she said, sounding oddly stiff and formal, even to herself.

Spaz raised an eyebrow, an incredulous quirk to his small mouth.  "It's what any neighbour would do.  Tansey would have come along to see you, but he's enjoying the solitude of prolonged sleep.  I'm sure he'll be by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"  As she struggled not to choke, Mercy turned a wild eye on the young man who was grinning innocently at her.  It was impossible to divine his meaning from the expression on his face.  "Is this a habit of yours?"

"To spend time with mutual friends?  It is when we stay in one town for any length of time.  In fact, I shall be along to pay a visit to Mister How later on.  You're welcome to join me."

Despite it involving Spaz, the prospect did sound inviting.  Though their journey had been a short, rushed one, Mercy had had no difficulty in deciding she liked Jonas and his quiet, steady manner.  She bit her lip and shook her head.  "I'm afraid I can't."  Even as she said it, she determined to pay Jonas a visit on her own, once she had 'knocked off' for the evening, as Dr Noakes had put it.

Genuine disappointment arrested Spaz's face, and was slow to fade.  "That's a shame."

"Yes, it is.  Take him my best wishes."

"Shall I bring him a more verbose message?  Of love, perhaps?"

Gone was the disappointment, replaced by unmitigated cheekiness.  Mercy managed to refrain from slapping the man and merely shook her head, jaw clenched.  "Love is not a subject I shall delve into, sir."

"Leave it to others too long and you'll miss your chance.  I suspect even Tansey will find himself a surreptitious romantic entanglement, while we're here."

Rather than fall into the subject of Tansey's love life, or an even less comfortable tangent, Mercy began walking to the hospital.  Calling upon her memory from the walk with Walter and using the communications relay as an ancillary visual guide, she felt confident that she would find her way there with no help.

Unfortunately for her already discomfited composure, Spaz quickly caught up and strode along beside her.  He whistled as he walked, a lightness in his step that Mercy could not help finding instantly irritating.

They went on in this fashion for some time before she took a deep breath and turned to him.  "Why are you following me?"

"I'm walkin' you to work."

"Why?"

"That's a strange question."

"Humour me."

"It's because I'm a friendly person.  Comes with the job, really."

Mercy growled under her breath.  "Friendly?  What you are is infuriating.  Why don't you just leave me be?  This continuous act of following me about is disturbingly like a stray dog."

For a split second, she was afraid she had gone too far, but Spaz just laughed, his expression as free of guile as it had been since she'd met him.  "An astute comparison.  Wayfarers are stray dogs, according to most in your position."

"Not all wayfarers."

"Oh, you've met another?  Intriguing."  Widening his eyes in affected surprise, Spaz asked, "What is she like?"

"He," Mercy corrected, "is well-mannered and kind.  Which should come as no surprise to you, Mister Tansey is the same."

"Except when he's had one too many drinks.  Then he's loud and fun."  Spaz emphasized the last word, leaning forward slightly as he walked.  "I like him best then, to be honest."

"That is certainly in keeping with what I understand of your character."

His grin broadened.  "Is it?  That's almost a compliment."

"I assure you, it's nothing of the sort."

"I shall still take it as one."

They reached the hospital before Mercy could come up with a cutting retort, for which she was grateful.  Truth be told, speaking with Spaz left her tired and almost tongue-tied.  Keeping up with him reminded her of the time she had spent minding Susannah Cawley rather than guarding her.

She waved Spaz off with an informal farewell.  Then without waiting for a reply, she ducked in through the back entrance, which had been propped open.

All of the nurses were in full bustle, despite the still early hour.  Panic spurred Mercy into a half-run to the doctor's side, but as she crossed the room, she caught a glimpse of a large clock hanging from the wall.  It was only six of the clock.

While she tried to think of something Dr Noakes or Walter might have said to explain this, she saluted the doctor and announced her presence.  "Reporting for duty, doctor."

The doctor spun round, then smiled.  "Oh, Miss Deering, you're earlier than I expected you."

Relieved, Mercy allowed herself to loosen up a little.  "My apologies, I wasn't certain what time in the morning you wished me to—"

"Never mind it, this is a perfect time."

Instead of commenting on her employer's eccentric laissez faire attitude towards the application of a bodyguard, Mercy squared her shoulders.  Her face settled easily into professional, passive blankness as the doctor went on.

"The upstairs received a few more occupants during the night, so my work today will mainly keep me up there."  Agitation wrinkled the doctor's otherwise smooth face.  "I would have already gone up, but one of the morning nurses was late in bringing some rather essential apparatuses, and I have been playing catch-up ever since."

A gaslight flared in Mercy's memory.  "Was this nurse called Henrietta?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact.  Do you know her?"

"I met her this morning.  I'm afraid that I am the reason for her tardiness."  She itched to blush or rub the back of her neck, but a bodyguard did not succumb to such twitching signs of embarrassment.  "Our introductions ran a bit long."

She decided not to mention Henrietta's chattiness or inclination to interrupt.  From the look on the doctor's face, she was well aware of the plump nurse's social habits.

Dr Noakes pursed her lips, the puckering expression making her appear childish and stern simultaneously.  Then, she relaxed her mouth and turned her eyes up towards the ceiling.  "That sounds like our Henrietta.  But, I suppose as she has made herself a new, more responsible friend, I can overlook this little indiscretion.  I'm sure an acquaintance with you will improve her greatly."

Before Mercy could protest that no such expectation ought to be held over either of them, the doctor spun her weight on one heel and headed for the staircase.  Mercy's training took over, propelling her after her charge.

When spoken as a familiar term, 'the upstairs' carried with it a connotation of seriousness and possible dignity.  Her first sight of it, rather than over-turning that impression, bolstered it with a bleak sense of concern for those sent upstairs.

Like the dormitories, the upstairs was split up into a series of rooms, most of which, as Dr Noakes made her rounds, revealed themselves to be the temporary home to groups as small as three and as large as five.  Some of the patients were old and frail, most recovering from a prolonged illness, while most of the rest were injured.

After Dr Noakes had left behind a room with three men recovering from the effects of bad water, Mercy cleared her throat.  "The man from yesterday.  Mister Potts, was it?  How is he?"

"Potts?  He is doing well enough, I suppose.  That blasted serpentity must have just been playing with him."  Dr Noakes gestured to the next room.  "I've put him in a private room, to prevent his injuries upsetting anyone."

"Then that attack…  Such things do not happen often?"

"No, thank Providence.  But they raise such a fuss when they do."

The door opened silently, its hinges well oiled.  Inside, Mercy could see Potts reclining on a cot, light filtering in through a pair of pretty curtains.

He sat up and smiled when they entered, showing a missing front tooth.  "How do, Doc?"

"Wonderfully, thank you, Potts.  You bounce back with obscene speed, I must say."  A smile twitched at the edges of the doctor's mouth.  "Men like you are too hardy altogether.  If the other people in town were half so healthful, I would have nothing at all to do here."

Potts guffawed, and though the sound transformed into a cough near the end, he retained his gapped grin.  "Flattery won't get my bones to knit any faster."

"Nor will it win me your heart."  Dr Noakes faked a wistful sigh and winked, then reached into her white coat.  "However, whiskey will help you notice the bones less."  She withdrew her hand, holding a bottle.

An appreciative whistle from Potts, followed by a low exclamation, gave rise to speculation on its quality.  Mercy had heard of alcohol being used in place of anaesthetic when supplies were limited or unheard of, but surely cheap alcohol would have been more cost effective.

It took her a moment to realise that, among the presentation of the bottle and its subsequent opening, she had been introduced.  She bowed quickly, and tried to look as though she had been aloof rather than inattentive.

"About time you saw to protecting yourself a bit, Phil," Potts said, an edge of rebuke in his tone.

Dr Noakes waved her hand dismissively.  "If it makes you happy.  Merely having her around seems to have bought me a bit of peace already."

Gaze level and fixed on nothing at all, Mercy adopted the secondary duty of a bodyguard—imitating the walls.  It wasn't one that she particularly enjoyed, but it was easier and more comfortable than when she'd had overly friendly employers.

"Didn't I tell you?  If you'd just acknowledge the position you've put yourself in, then it would change everything."

"Has it occurred to you that I don't want to change anything?  I like my situation as it is, though I could do with a bit less nattering about my welfare."

"You don't know what you're asking."

"Perhaps I don't."

"Philippa…"

Dr Noakes stood and adjusted her coat and hair.  "If I sit and chat much longer, I'm afraid I'll neglect the other patients."

"Don't take on too much, Phil."

"I might say the same to you.  Fighting serpentities, really."  She gave Potts an indulgent smile and shook her head.  "Walter ought to be round in a couple of hours.  I'll send him up as soon as he arrives."

She stood up and left the room, barely glancing at Mercy as she did so.  Mercy nodded to Potts, then followed her employer into the hall.  It seemed cold and lonely when compared to the relative homeyness of Potts's private room.  Although the constantly pervasive heat of Vacarium was still perfectly able to permeate the walls, she suppressed a sort of shiver.

On the way to the next room, Dr Noakes sighed and paused.  She glanced up at the ceiling.  Then, without looking down, or even turning around, she said, "Did you have many friends in Omniastrular, Miss Deering?"

Caught off guard, Mercy shook her head.  "No," she said after a moment.  "Not especially."

"Yours is a solitary profession."  It wasn't quite a statement, but lacked the rising pitch of a question.  "I feel I can understand that.  Is it a lack of time?  Or perhaps a lack of opportunity."

Unwelcome questions.  Mercy let her eyelids droop shut and just breathed silently for a second.  "It may be a lack of something, or merely an over-abundance of something else.  What is important to me is that I have accomplished everything I've set out to do, and intend to accomplish further things."

It was a canned answer, one from the end of her school days.  But Dr Noakes had not known her in school.  She looked back over her shoulder, wearing a contemplative mien.  "Very eloquent, Miss Deering.  I should like to keep that in mind."  She approached the next door, then paused, her hand on the doorknob.

A few wordless seconds passed, tension building almost remorsefully.  Then she twisted the knob and went into the next room, trusting Mercy to follow her inside.