Page 29 of Malady

“It… yes. I suppose it was the penitents,” I say, accepting the explanation he’s so conveniently placed in my lap. “They made me wonder whether I’ve spent too long trying to fight this pestilence in the only way I know how. If there is more at work than sickness, then perhaps I ought to understand that too.”

For once, Gideon doesn’t seize the admission and smother me with scripture. He only watches me for a moment, something quietly pleased settling into his face before he nods.

“You do not have to stop trusting what you know, Ophi,” he says. “Only allow that there may be things beyond it.”

“The book confused me, though.” I take a mouthful of broth, eyes darting back to the moth. “Everything in it was so certain. Demons bring corruption. They torment the dying. They drag souls towards Hell in terror and pain.”

“They do.”

“But must they?” My thumb follows the worn rim of the bowl. “Suppose one did not come with torment. Suppose it came to someone already dying and offered the opposite. No pain. No fear. Only…” Alice Fletcher rises in my mind, plague-grey and still, with that strange little smile on her lips. “Comfort.”

His expression hardens. “That would be worse.”

I frown. “Worse?”

“Much worse.” The chair creaks as he leans back. “Evil rarely arrives wearing the face of a monster, Ophi. The Devil deceives. He may appear fair, speak gently, offer exactly what a frightened soul most wishes to receive. Satan masquerades as an angel of light.”

“And taking away pain would be a deception?”

“To someone dying? Of course it could be.” He reaches across the table and catches my hand, his thumb smoothing gently over my knuckles. “You see suffering as something to be stopped because you have spent your life tending bodies. I know that. But suffering has a divine purpose.”

I think of Alice struggling for every breath. Of the wet rattle in her chest. Of Iscairn kneeling beside her while that impossible blue light slipped from her mouth.

“And if something took that suffering from them?”

“Then I would ask what it wanted in return.” Gideon’s thumb continues its tender rhythm against my skin. “Think about it, Ophi. A creature of Hell comes to a dying man without claws or flames or any of the horrors he’s been taught to fear. Instead, it takes away his pain. It comforts him. He would welcome it. He might even trust it. And by the time he understood what had come for him, there would be nothing left to save.”

“But if they die peacefully⁠—”

“Earthly suffering is a divine forge, Ophelia,” he explains. “The agony of the flesh before death burns away our sin. It purifies the soul so that it might be worthy to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. If a creature comes to a dying man and takes away his pain, it is offering no true mercy. It is stealing his purification, robbing him of the fire, leaving his soul steeped in sin, and damning him to Hell for all eternity—all with a smile upon its face. A creature that offers comfort is a thousand times more dangerous than one that offers torment. If such a thing existed, we would have to destroy it without a moment’s hesitation.”

I stare at my brother, the blood roaring so loudly in my ears it nearly drowns out the moth tapping at the glass.

If Gideon ever discovers what Doctor Iscairn is doing, he will condemn a quiet mercy as a thief stealing his flock’s salvation. He will rally those bleeding men in the churchyard, hand them torches, and march on the physician’s cottage to slaughter him in the name of God. And he will do it with the same tender, loving look he’s giving me right now.

And then what? My patients go back to choking on their own fluids, drowning in terror while Gideon stands over their beds, praising the holy forge that’s burning them alive?

“I see. Thank you, Gideon. That clarifies things. I thought my duty was only to watch for the fever. Now I know I must watch for false comforts as well. I will keep my eyes open.”

“The Lord will be proud of you, Ophi. As am I.” He leans over and presses a brief kiss to my knuckles. Then he bows his head over them. “May He keep your judgement clear and your heart guarded against deception.”

“Yes… Amen,” I murmur, finally standing.

I leave him to his pottage and make my way through the vestry, but my eyes find his chamber as I pass, and beyond its open doorway, the black spine of De Natura Daemonum is just visible amongst the clutter.

I came here wanting reassurance—something foolish enough to laugh at—so that I might go home and call the whole thing a trick of a tired mind.

Instead, I’m leaving with no better idea of what Doctor Iscairn is, and a belly full of turnip water.

Perfect.

9

OPHELIA

The Carter girls’ decoction is ready by mid-morning, boiled nearly black with willow bark and shepherd’s purse for monthly courses that have grown too eager for my liking. Mrs Carter insists this is merely a winter affliction. Of course, Mrs Carter also assured me last month that her youngest could not possibly catch the pestilence because all three children have eaten raw onion every third Thursday since infancy. So I take her medical judgement with exactly the measure of respect it deserves.

None.