Doctor Platini stood with his intern at the doorway and peered through the glass at Cormag. He was lying in a hospital bed with one wrist handcuffed to the frame. He was shouting something towards the window, but through the sound-proof glass his ranting was muted to a series of demonic facial contortions. A bored policeman sat outside a door that was adorned with a series of warning signs; 'Isolation', 'Authorised Entry Only' 'Strict barrier nursing' and 'Infection risk'.
'Gosh, it's amazing what people pick up living rough.' said Doctor Platini 'He really is very confused. He's talking absolute nonsense! He's covered with boils, he's got fever and thirst, obviously some sort of toxic confusional state.'
'What do you think the diagnosis is?' asked his young colleague.
'Oh probably some sort of skin sepsis that's out of control because of living on the street. For the moment we'll just keep going with the I.V. antibiotics and wait for the path results. We'll give him a little sedation, at least then we can treat him properly. Pass me his drug chart.' Doctor Platini scribbled away on the card and then looked up at his junior. 'You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think that he might...' He shook his head. 'No, but that would be crazy.'
'What?' asked his intern 'What would you think?'
'Well, you'd think he might have ...plague. But that's crazy. There hasn't been a case of plague in London in a hundred years. No, I'm just being silly. When are the infectious disease people coming to see him? We'll see what they think. Oh, and nurse, after he's sedated, see if you can give him a bit of a wash.'
Elvis peered at the road from behind the gravestones. It was busy with traffic and the pavements streamed with pedestrians. Elvis looked at Mary in her old dress and sores. Behind the boils and buboes her bright blue eyes still sparkled and shone, but everything else about her was going to draw attention. It was too risky to just walk across the street again. But how else could he get her there?
Mary sensed his uncertainty. 'We can go through the tunnel.' she suggested.
'Tunnel, what tunnel?'
'Didn't you know neither? We found it last night. Comes from the 'ouse. 'Ere, I'll show ya. 'Ave you got one of them lights?'
Mary led Elvis to the small stone tomb.
'We can't go in there!' said Elvis. 'That's full of dead bodies and ...shit.'
'So what?' said Mary ' You don't mean you're afraid of ghosts now do you?' she added with a smirk.
Between the two of them they managed to shove open the heavy door. Inside the flagstone was still pushed to one side exposing the dark opening.
Elvis pulled out a small LED torch attached to his penknife and shone it down the hole. 'You don't want to go down there!'
'Why not? Come on. Don't be chicken!' Mary sat on the edge of the opening and prepared to climb down. She paused. 'I'm sorry Elvis, is it 'cause of your bad leg? I din't mean noffin' by that.'
Elvis shook his head. 'No, that's OK.' he dropped the crutch past Mary into the hole. 'I suppose if we have to. Go on, hurry up. We ain't got all day.'
Elvis gritted his teeth. The tunnel was dark and smelly. In places the roof was low and he had to crawl to get through. Elvis hated confined spaces. He tried to keep his mind focussed on just moving slowly and steadily forwards, to slow his breathing and racing heart and try to forget where he was. Rats scurried away from them as they made their way under the road. Finally they arrived beneath the iron grid behind the bush at the front of Number 28. Elvis used his crutch to reach up and push the grid to one side. He gave Mary a leg up and she climbed out before leaning back into the hole to pull Elvis up. Elvis peered out from under the bush. The road was busy but everyone was too concerned with their own business to bother about what was happening in his garden. They slipped around the side of the house and into the kitchen.
Morris had left the radio on. The lunchtime news was being read. 'Reports are coming in of a cluster of cases of an unidentified severe illness in Central and North London. Public health authorities are urgently investigating the outbreak to see if they can establish a link between the cases and identify the cause. They expect to have more information in the next twenty-four hours. Meantime anybody in London experiencing fever, skin rashes or chest symptoms are advised to stay at home and contact their doctor for advice.'
Elvis cringed. Surely this couldn't be anything to do with his people in the church hall? He had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that it very much did.
Mary and Elvis crept through the house into Elvis's bedroom. Elvis pulled a plastic box from under his bed and tipped it upside down. He scattered the copies of his X Box magazines, old birthday cards and school projects either side until he found the copies of the 1665 death registers that he'd meticulously repaired with sticky tape.
Mary picked one up and looked at it. 'What's this?'
'Don't you recognise it? It's a list of people who died from back in your time. Look, it's got 28 Monnington Street listed all down the side here. See if you know any names.'
Mary looked at it blankly.
'Oh, sorry,' said Elvis 'Here, let me have a look. What was your surname?'
'Young. I'm Mary Young. An' Alice an' Samuel an' Elizabeth an' James. All Young.'
Elvis began to scan down the list of names listed from 28 Monnington Street. At first he could see no mention of anyone called Young. Then finally, at the bottom of the page he found them.
'Look here, at the very end.'
The handwriting was ornate and a little difficult but there was no mistaking what it said. Elvis read it aloud.
'28th August 1665. Elizabeth Young 28 years, Plague. Mary Young 13 years, Plague. Samuel Young 12 years, Plague. Alice Young 2 years, Plague.' But there was no mention of James.
'See!' said Elvis. 'He must have survived. He must never have got plague so that's why he's not come back. He probably lived a long and happy life. So it doesn't matter that he didn't get the potion.'
'Hmm' said Mary 'what if he just died somewhere else, or they didn't know who he was?'
'Well...' said Elvis. 'oh hang on, there's another page here.' He picked up the last sheet and began to read it.
'Oh'. He read quietly from the top line; 'James Young 29 years, Plague.' He placed the paper softly back onto the bed.
Mary turned her head away.
Elvis was unsure what he should do, so he settled for a clumsy pat on the shoulder. 'Perhaps he got some of that stuff from someone else. Perhaps he'll appear any minute.'
Mary shook her head. 'There was nobody else.'
'Elvis! Elvis! Are you up there?' shouted his mother. 'Elvis!'
'Oh crap!' said Elvis. 'Quick, hide. Under here.'
Elvis lifted the overhanging sheet and Mary squeezed under the bed behind old shoes and outgrown toys. Elvis pushed the box behind her and then opened the bedroom door.
'What Mum...' Elvis's words were cut short. Morris was stood right outside his room.
'Hello Elvis' said Morris 'may I come in?' He eased his way past Elvis into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, making the soft springs sag towards Mary. She squeezed further back towards the wall.
'I'm pleased to see you're well again, Elvis.' said Morris. ‘Come; sit on the bed here next to me.'
Elvis sat at the edge of the bed, well away from Morris.
'I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to see you in hospital Elvis. You left sooner than I'd expected. Have they worked out what was the matter with you?'
'Pneumonia they said.' explained Elvis.
'Oh, pneumonia,' Morris nodded knowingly 'I see. Elvis, remember when you had those seizures, when you saw those children, remember?'
Elvis nodded
'Did any of them tell you their names, at all?'
'No' said Elvis 'why would they do that? They're just in my head.'
Mary strained to listen to Morris's soft voice. She felt sure she recognised it. The accent was maybe a little different, but she was sure she'd heard those tones before.
'No matter.' said Morris 'Did they show you anything unu
sual? Did you find anything up in the attic?'
'Like what?'
'Oh anything, I don't know, maybe books or toys or maybe...I don't know, a jewel?'
Mary was tormented by Morris's voice. She racked her brains and thought and thought. Where had she heard it before?
'A jewel? Why would I find a jewel?'
'Oh no reason. Just wondered.'
Monica's shrill voice sounded up the staircase again. 'Elvis! Elvis! Henry's here to see you. Come down Elvis!'
Elvis seized his chance. 'I'd better go downstairs.' He jumped up and held the door open for Morris to leave.
'Look Elvis,' Morris whispered before he left, 'there may be some strange things happening around here. Things that you wouldn't understand. Things that could get you into trouble if you're not careful. If you see anything unusual, if you find anything, you be sure to tell me.'
Elvis nodded. He followed Morris out of the bedroom, carefully closed the door and went downstairs. Henry was waiting in the living room.
'Hey up Elvis. How you doin'?' He held a plastic carrier bag. 'How d'you like my doctor's case. Pretty smart eh?' He reached in and pulled out a stethoscope and a slender glass tube. ' 'Ave you ever seen one of these rectal thermometers Elvis?'
'Rectal? What the...? You are not doing that to me!'
Henry laughed. 'Just kiddin'. Come on; take your shirt off mate.'
Upstairs Morris peeked over the bannister and satisfied himself that Elvis was busy. He quietly opened the door to Elvis's bedroom and sneaked back inside.
'Well' announced Henry 'everything is looking pretty good to me. Chest clear, temp's good, blood pressure OK. I reckon you're fitter than me, mate.'
Elvis replaced his T-shirt. 'How's Abit going Henry.'
Henry thought for a moment. 'He's battlin' hard thanks Elvis. He's a tough little cookie.'
In the bedroom, Morris quickly searched through Elvis's draws and cupboards. He couldn't find what he was looking for. Mary kept herself pushed up against the wall under the bed. Morris searched through Elvis's school bag. Still nothing. Perhaps there was something under the bed. He knelt down. The box of papers was protruding out from under the sheet. Morris pulled it out and lifted off the lid. He found the old death registers repaired by sticky tape. He looked at the words 28 Monnington Street appearing line after line. He gritted his teeth and put them back in the box and closed the lid. He stretched an arm under the bed to see what else he could find. Mary tried to edge further away from his outstretched fingers but there was nowhere else to go. She sucked in her belly and held her breath as Morris's hand foraged around in front of her.
The bedroom door burst open and Elvis walked in, followed closely by Henry.
Morris jumped to his feet. 'Elvis, I dropped my... key. Just found it! This must be Henry I keep hearing about. How nice to meet you.' He reached out a hand and shook firmly with Henry.
'Very nice to meet you Sir' said Henry. 'Your lad here is quite something.'
Elvis turned to Henry feeling rather surprised. He couldn't remember the last time anybody had said anything good about him. He felt a warm glow inside.
'Yes, I guess so' said Morris. 'Anyway, I'd best keep going. No rest for the wicked.'
'So Elvis,' asked Henry after Morris had left 'what did you want to show me?'
'Promise me this is our secret. You won't tell anyone else.'
'OK Elvis, whatever you say.'
'No matter how shocked you are.'
'Come on Elvis, you ain't gonna shock me mate.' Henry's mobile rang. 'Just a tick Elvis.' He glanced at the screen. 'It's Nya, I've got to take this.'
Elvis crouched down and put his head under the bed. He waved to Mary to come out. She shook her head defiantly.
'When did they notice?' There was an urgency in Henry's voice in contrast to his usual relaxed tone. 'What do they think's happenin'? ... Shit. OK Nya, I'll be there in twen'y minutes tops... Hey come on, don't cry. He's our boy, he's a fighter. He'll be right Nya, I promise.' Henry shoved his 'phone back in his pocket. 'Sorry Elvis, I gotta go mate. Show me tomorrow hey?' Henry hurried out of the bedroom and after a quick word of reassurance to Monica he was gone.
Mary crawled out from under the bed.
'Why wouldn't you come out? He might have been able to help us!'
'I didn't know who he was. I was scared he might be... someone else.'
'Someone else? You don't know anybody else Mary! Not from...now. For God's sake!'
Mary sat on the bed and dropped her head into her hands. 'I'm sorry Elvis. I was mixed up, after you showed me that list. I was a bit scared, that's all. I din't mean no 'arm.'
Elvis's tone softened. 'No, it's OK. I should have...thought...' he fumbled for the words. 'We'll... we'll get some medicine Mary, I'll find a way.'
Mary kept her face pointed towards her knees.
'And we'll find a way to get your father back. I promise.'
In the hall Madadh could wait no longer. 'I'm gonna fin' Cormag.' he announced.
'Wait' said Le Clerc 'If you go like that they'll spot you a mile off. Here, grab some clothes from these piles, that way we'll both blend in.'
'Both? Whit ye on 'boot? I dinna wan' ye slowin' me doon.'
'No Madadh, think about it. We can look out for each other and then, after we find Cormag, who knows? And anyway, can you read? Have you thought how you're going to find this hospital?'
Madadh thought about it. 'Aye, well if ye git in ma way, A'll be le'in' ye behind. Dinna fa'get that, reet?'
'We'll be a good team, the pair of us together Madadh, never fear.'
Madadh prodded at the piles of clothes. 'Whit the hell am I s'posed te de wi' all this shite?'
'Here, look at these.' Le Clerc handed Madadh a dog-eared old copy of 'Hello' magazine. 'Have a look in that, you'll get the idea.'
Madadh had a glance at the pictures and then huffed and threw the magazine on the floor. Le Clerc flicked through another copy until he found a double page spread on Elton John. The style met with his approval. On the table was a box with odds and ends, old purses, brioches and sunglasses. Le Clerc found himself a pair a white-rimmed plastic sunglasses with lens like saucers. He compared them with the picture. 'Perfect' he thought. 'I'll be invisible.'
Madadh searched through the clothes until he found something he found acceptable. He was loathed to lose the kilt but at least there was a pair of tartan trousers; that would be the next best thing. They were a little short, rather flared at the bottom but the colours weren't too far away from the MacDonald tartan. He found a jumper, a little tight on his broad muscular physique, but he approved of the large red star on the front and the way his bushy ginger chest hair bulged through the v-neck. Le Clerc threw him an old pair of black and white canvas baseball boots and they were all set to go.
Elvis saw Mary into the tunnel in front of the house.
'I'll come back tonight. I'll find a way, I swear.' He held her hand as she climbed down into the drain. 'I'm sorry about your father Mary.'
Mary managed a weak smile.
'Here, Mary, take one of these.' Elvis unscrewed the top from the bottle of capsules he'd been given at the hospital. He took one out and passed it to Mary. She eyed it sceptically.
'Trust me Mary, just swallow it.'
'Alright, if you promise it's safe.'
'I promise you Mary. It'll help make you well. Take it, please.'
'Well... only 'cause you say so.' Mary choked down the capsule.
'I'd better go. I'll get more though Mary, lots more, enough for everyone.' promised Elvis, though doubting the words again as they passed between his lips.
Elvis went back to his room. He lay on his bed and stared aimlessly at the ceiling. He had dozens of seventeenth century plague refugees now staying across the road, reports on the radio of what were probably more plague cases in London, and it was only a matter of time before his test results came in. He felt pretty sure what they were going to say. The shit would hit the fan then. What on
earth could he do? Who could he turn to? A thought entered his head. No, it was silly. But then what other options did he have?
Mary rounded the church on her way back to the hall. Outside the door, two boys wrestled on the ground. Mary looked twice. It was Fran's boys: Matthew was sitting on top of Isaac, a knee on each arm and mercilessly rubbing his ears. William ran around them in circles like an excited puppy.
'Hey, Mary!' shouted Isaac 'Ow! Stop it!'
'No, not 'til you say it! What are ya?' demanded Matthew, then turned his head and casually added 'Hi Mary.'
'Get off!'
'Not 'til you say it!'
'Alright, I'm a fat little piggy!'
Matthew gave Isaac a triumphant swipe across the head and rolled off.
Mary sighed and carried on into the crowded hall. The boys tumbled in behind her.
'Wow! Look at all these people!' gasped Isaac.
'I want Mum!' moaned William.
'Is she in 'ere?' asked Matthew, his gaze flicking between the countless faces.
'I ain't seen her.' Mary answered uncomfortably, a vision of Fran's end filling her head.
Elizabeth spotted Fran's sons and waved them across. 'Boys, you made it!' Alice was falling asleep in her arms as she spoke.
'I want Mum!' squealed William.
'How did all these people get here?' asked Matthew.
'The stone!' Samuel hop-scotched over legs on the floor to join them. 'It was the stone! I told you all it was magic!'
'What? How's it done that?'
'Everyone here 'as drank the potion 'fore they got plague an' then died!'
'Did your Mum drink it?' asked Elizabeth, gently rocking Alice.
'Yeh, I saw her!' shouted Isaac. 'She brought some back from your 'ouse. I saw 'er!'
'Yeh, but she didn't die of plague, did she?' said Mary under her breath.
Elizabeth scowled her disapproval.
'We'll find her.' Matthew grabbed William's hand and pulled him along behind him. 'She's gotta be here somewhere. Stop whingin'.'
Mary went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water.
'Hello Mary.'
Mary spat the water back into the sink. She knew Nick's voice immediately. She had promised herself that if she saw him she'd give him a slap across the face and humiliate him for tricking her and making her sick. She was going to let everyone know that he'd hidden himself in the carriage house knowing he was carrying disease; they would hear of his deceit. She turned nervously to face him. He bore the sores and marks of the sickness but she could feel herself slipping back into his deep chestnut eyes and her anger melting. She coyly wiped the water from her chin.
'I owe you an apology I think Mary. I don't remember too much at the end, but I don't think I was very nice.'
'Oh no, you were fine.' Mary cursed herself as the words slid from her tongue.
'I didn't know what I was doing, Mary. I'm sorry. You won't ...tell anyone, will you?'
Mary shook her head.
'Thanks Mary, you're the best. You know that don't you?' He turned his attention to the bustling room. 'Have you got any sort of clue what's going on here?'
Chapter 11