A Plague of Hearts by Patrick Whittaker (best large ereader .TXT) 📖

is not a happy one, Doctor. But then, these are not happy times, are they?’
‘Indeed not,’ agreed Doctor Ormus.
‘And yet, I see no cause to give up hope entirely. I trust that your knowledge of medicine is still as prodigious as ever it was?’
‘I flatter myself that it is. Although of late I have concerned myself chiefly with the physical sciences, I have taken care not to neglect the study of other disciplines.’
‘Then I can leave Shadrack in your capable hands?’
‘It would be best that you do, Your Grace. Aside from Peregrine Smith, I believe I am the only person in this land to possess a working knowledge of orgone energy. And furthermore, I have in my basement an orgone generator which was constructed by myself and Smith shortly before his alleged death.’
‘Does it work?’
‘I really don’t know. I’ve only ever tried it on mushrooms.’
‘Mushrooms?’
‘The giant ones in the Pleasure Garden are the results of one of my experiments. It seems that orgone accelerates the growth of plants. My main worry is that it could have the same effect on humans.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘From the little I understand of the subject, I would say probably not. But I can’t be sure.’ Ormus glanced briefly at Shadrack. His eyes took in only general details of the youth’s frame and bearing. He could not bring himself to focus on the face. ‘I shall do what I can for him, Your Grace. If my machine works, I believe that the best course would be to subject him to further doses of orgone in the hope that it will speed up his healing processes. Who knows? Maybe a complete regeneration is not out of the question.’
‘Do you think that possible?’
‘I think the process has already begun, Your Grace. For if what the Albatross told you is true, his face - indeed his whole body - must have been burnt away almost beyond recognition. And yet he now has relatively few signs of disfigurement.
‘I cannot promise anything, but I do hold out a great deal of hope.’
Lisa ran a hand through her hair, swayed as if she was about to faint. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Whatever you can do for him - ’
‘The problem now,’ said Doctor Ormus, ‘is to find a safe place in which to carry out the treatment. Castle Ormus is quite out of the question. The police have it under constant surveillance.’
‘Not such a problem,’ said the Mock Turtle. ‘You forget that a very good facility exists close by.’
Doctor Ormus shook his head. ‘That’s something I could never forget. But when I discovered the uses to which it was put by Peregrine Smith, I swore I would never go there again.’
‘Do you have an alternative, Doctor?’
Ormus hesitated. Whatever his personal feelings, he owed it to Shadrack to treat him as soon as possible. ‘No. I suppose not.’
‘Good,’ said the Duchess. ‘When can you start?’
‘Not immediately. After all these years of disuse, the place is going to be a mess. Also, I have to find a way of transporting my orgone generator from Castle Ormus without attracting any attention. That won’t be easy. It’s a fairly large piece of apparatus.’
‘First thing’s first,’ said the Duchess. ‘We’ll deal with the generator in the morning. In the meantime, let’s see about cleaning up your laboratory.’
‘It will be quite a task, Your Grace.’
‘I think not, Doctor. Many hands make light work.’ So saying, the Duchess of Langerhans opened a drawer and produced a copper hand bell. ‘Come, my angels!’ she called, shaking the bell into urgent life. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are. The time has come to leave the shadows and once more face the light of reality.’
It was the Priestess calling to the faithful, the lion to the jungle, the sea bird to the sea. Her voice was strong and commanding. On wings of regality, it flew into the surrounding tunnels like an iron butterfly in search of the sun.
And it was answered.
They slouched from the tunnels, faces as bland as Muzak, feet scraping on stone. There was no poetry to their movements, no grace or vitality. A dozen teenagers dressed in jeans, T-shirts and orange headbands. They wore make-up. Brutal lipstick that varied from black to purple. Heavy eye shadow that accentuated the unwholesome aspects of their features. It was hard to tell male from female, but the March Hare judged it to be roughly an even split.
As they draw near, a musty scent reminiscent of stale cinnamon disclosed the nature of their affliction. The March Hare had only once before met a buzz addict, but the smell was unforgettable.
‘Who are they?’ asked Julie.
‘Buzzniks,’ said the March Hare. ‘The most authentic form of human lowlife ever known.’
The Duchess rose to her feet. Ash dropped from the joint in her mouth and fell down the front of her dress. She spread her arms and beamed warmly at the buzzniks as they gathered around her desk. ‘You dear, delicious dregs,’ she enthused. ‘What rough diamonds you are! The sediment - the very sediment I say! - of our society.’
‘I hope they’re as docile as they look,’ said Julie, who was standing between the buzzniks and the desk.
‘Cute, aren’t they?’ said the Mock Turtle sardonically.
‘Did someone ask if they were docile?’ asked the Duchess. ‘Of course they’re docile! They’re as gentle as lambs gamboling in a spring meadow. There’s not one of them - not one single one of them - who would wish harm to anybody. Saints! That’s what they are. Saints!’
Julie did not look convinced. ‘They’re on drugs, aren’t they?’
‘On drugs and as high as fresh manure, my dear.’
‘But harmless,’ added the Mock Turtle.
‘Oh, very harmless,’ agreed the Duchess. ‘Very harmless and terribly misunderstood. Just look at the poor sweet darlings. Can you not see the pain in their eyes? Can you not read in their faces the tragic circumstances which have brought them this low?
‘If they had ever been presented with one single chance to escape their awful fate, do you not think they would have taken it? Judge not, my child, lest you be judged also.’
‘I’m not judging,’ said Julie. ‘Honestly, I’m not.’
The March Hare noticed a slight stirring amongst the buzzniks. One by one, they seemed to have become aware of Lisa’s presence and were reacting to it in an extraordinary way. She stood behind them, away from Shadrack, and she stood quite still with her hands by her sides, her legs spaced lightly apart. Murmuring an unintelligible incantation, the buzzniks turned slowly towards her and bowed their heads as if in prayer.
The murmuring stopped.
There was almost total silence in the chamber, broken only by the laboured breathing of the buzzniks and the sound of dripping water. Looking at the floor, the March Hare found fresh significance in the symbols and pentacles that radiated from its centre. The buzzniks were revering Lisa.
Curiouser and curiouser, he told himself, though he was sure he knew what was going on. This was the Duchess of Langerhans’ way of controlling the buzzniks. She had engineered a religion for them in order that their miserable lives contained at least some shred of purpose, some reason for them to carry on.
Raising her head, Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. She uttered a few words of gibberish, and then nodded twice. This must have signified the end of the ritual, because the buzzniks turned away from her and looked instead at the Duchess.
Julie and the March Hare exchanged uncertain glances. They were united in the knowledge that they alone found the present situation bizarre. The Duchess, the Doctor and the Mock Turtle showed no sign of even noticing the ceremony.
Rather guiltily the March Hare realised he had left Shadrack out of the equation.
I no longer think of him as human, he admitted to himself. I don’t expect him to have thoughts or feelings or to be aware of what’s going on.
The Duchess cut into his thoughts with a clap of her hands. ‘Are we all set then?’ she asked, her voice all authority and jolly hockey sticks. ‘We have a long night ahead of us, so let’s be started at once! There’s work to be done, my angels. Do you hear? Work!’
A murmur went up from the buzzniks. It was a vague, non-committal hum, neither protest nor assent.
‘Nobody gets their morning fix,’ added the Duchess, ‘until the job is finished. So follow me and let’s have no shilly-shallying.’
As the last echo of her words died in the chamber, the Duchess disappeared through a nearby arch. The buzzniks trailed after her like jetsam caught in the wake of a passing liner.
‘Hey ho,’ said the Mock Turtle, adjusting the angle of his outrageous hat. ‘Let’s go.’
He and Doctor Ormus departed, side by side.
The March Hare hung back, waited to see if the others would follow. He had no desire to involve himself further with the Duchess’s macabre plans; he wanted nothing more than to go home, slip into bed and forget everything that had happened today. But he knew he owed it to Lisa to stick around, find out what she wanted from him.
Taking Shadrack by the hand, Lisa seemed to notice Julie for the first time. ‘You’re that Earth girl I’ve been hearing so much about, aren’t you? I was rather hoping we’d meet.’
‘So was I,’ said Julie. ‘I just wish it was under happier circumstances. If there’s anything I can do...’
‘Thanks,’ said Lisa. ‘I appreciate that.’
‘Are you going then?’ asked the March Hare. ‘With the others, I mean.’
‘Of course,’ said Lisa. ‘But you’d best head home. This must have been one hell of a day for you, and you look bushed. Thanks for all your help.’
‘Help? I must have caused you more grief than you ever thought possible.’
‘No. On the contrary. You brought Shadrack back to me. And if Ormus is half the scientist he’s cracked up to be, he’ll soon have him as good as new.’
I hope so, thought the March Hare. He could think of nothing more to say, so he turned and headed back the way he came. Lisa was right. It had been without doubt the worst day of his life. Maybe in the morning he would be able to put things into perspective, sort through the day’s events and find that things weren’t as grim as they seemed.
Maybe.
*
Back in his cottage, the March Hare nursed a cup of tea but could not bring himself to drink it. He watched galaxies of dust dancing in the path of moonlight that spilled through his kitchen window.
When the tea had lost all trace of warmth, he tipped it down the sink and then turned his attention to the letter which had been waiting on his doormat. The envelope bore a small crest and the legend, Department of Labour. He tore it open, carefully unfolded the paper inside. It read:

FORM EL.17/b Notification of Employment Allocation
Department of Labour,1-15 Baud Walk,Conundrum C12 X7S.

Dear March Hare,

following your recent loss of employment and inpursuance of the Emergency Labour and War EffortAct, you have been assigned the following post whichyou are required to take up on the first working dayfollowing receipt of this