Easton's Gold by Paul Butler

hundred-day supply of physic, what then?”
    â€œWell then, you would likely survive quite well for a hundred days. But as you have no doctor with you to observe your condition and adjust your medicine accordingly, I fear that, even for that time, your health will be severely compromised.”
    â€œAh!” the Marquis exclaims. “It is as I feared.”
    The Marquis sighs and looks from Fleet to Gabrielle then back again to Fleet. “So what am I to do, Mr. Fleet? I must go, that much is decided.”
    Gabrielle feels a tug in her chest that almost pulls her off her feet.
    â€œNo, my lord! You do not have to go!”
    The Marquis looks at her sadly.
    â€œI must go,” he continues more quietly, “but if I go without someone with knowledge of cures, someone with proved abilities to treat my own ague, then I may well die.”
    Gabrielle looks between the Marquis and Fleet. The Marquis is staring at the young apothecary, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Fleet’s expression gradually changes; his brow knits and his mouth opens.
    â€œYou can’t mean?” Fleet whispers.
    The Marquis nods.
    â€œWhere is this voyage bound?” Fleet asks hoarsely.
    â€œNewfoundland.”
    He flinches at the word as though it were a stone hurled at him through the air. Then he straightens himself and coughs. “May I ask,” he says slowly, “why this voyage is so imperative?”
    â€œThat I prefer to keep to myself, at least for the while.”
    Fleet glances across at Gabrielle.
    Is he testing whether I know the reason
? Gabrielle wonders.
    The young man’s face has become moist with sweat.
    â€œNeedless to say,” the Marquis continues, “you will be paid handsomely. I will see to it you are the richest apothecary to sail from the shores of England. What do you say to ten gold sovereigns a day?”
    â€œIt is most generous,” the young man stammers. Yet he does not smile.
    â€œMay I then count on you to join my household on this voyage?”
    â€œGive me until tonight to think about it, my lord. I will give you my answer then.”
    â€œWe will await you,” says the Marquis. He nods at the young apothecary. Fleet nods back.
    The apothecary turns and walks out of the room. Gabrielle glances back at the Marquis and then follows Fleet through the doorway.
    __________
    G ABRIELLE CATCHES UP WITH Fleet at the front door, as he hoped she would.
    â€œSir,” she says. “You must help him!”
    He says nothing but steps outside and gestures for her to follow. The breeze is mild now and the street crowded. Fleet walks slowly, dodging merchants, tradespeople, and children. Gabrielle’s need is delicious to him; he can almost taste it in her hesitant movements, in the way she keeps glancing at him while they walk.
    â€œHe wouldn’t tell me why this voyage is necessary,” Fleet says at last, pausing as two fighting boys come scuffling across their path. He takes Gabrielle’s elbow gently in his hand and steers her toward the cover of the buildings on the right. “Without knowledge of what drives him,” he says, “how can I advise against it?”
    Gabrielle turns toward him and takes a step closer. “Have you quite decided then not to come along on the voyage?” she asks. She does not look directly into his eyes; it’s as though she is afraid his expression will confirm her fear.
    â€œI have decided nothing,” he says. “I have not been given any information from which I can decide.”
    She glances into his eyes now, then she looks away, struggling it seems. Fleet watches her face—her high, rounded cheeks and her dark lips, the eyes in constant movement even when fixed upon a point—and wishes she would be as vulnerable and open to him but for some cause other than Easton. He feels he is gazing from a distance upon the ideal of devotion, and he wants to trap the moment like a