Race for the Dying by Steven F. Havill Page A

and brandy. “Focus?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œRead that sign on the opposite wall for me.”
    â€œThere is no sign on the opposite wall, Doctor.” Thomas felt Haines twist, and the grip on his skull released.
    â€œWell, now. So there isn’t. I used to have one there, back in the old days, when we used this as an examining room. Well.” He stood up, hands on his hips. “I’m pleased, Thomas.” He pulled a gold watch from his vest and regarded it judiciously. “Alvi tells me that you were able to keep down some supper.”
    â€œYes. It tasted good.”
    â€œOh, that’s a guarantee. Gert does magical things with the simplest food.” The physician turned and hooked the wheelchair out of the corner with his toe. He turned and sat in it carefully. “Handy thing, this,” he said, patting the wicker arms. He pushed closer to the bed and rested his chin on his hand. “We haven’t really had the chance to talk, have we? I’ve been in and out, and we could say that you have been as well. You’ve slept most of the time, and I’ve been loath to wake you, sleep being the perfect restorative.”
    â€œEnough is enough,” Thomas replied.
    Haines laughed. “Ah, the impatience of youth.” He lowered his arm and leaned forward, picking up one of the small tumblers on the nightstand. “Nightcap?” he said as he hefted the brandy bottle. “It’s really very nice. Have you tried it?”
    â€œI haven’t.” The glass on the nightstand was empty, but not by his doing.
    â€œWell, then.” Haines decanted a small amount in one of the glasses and held it out to Thomas, then splashed a generous half tumbler for himself. He held up the glass. “To your arrival on our shores, Thomas. My God, it’s good to see you.”
    â€œSuch as I am,” Thomas replied, and touched his glass to the other. “It’s going to be good to be here.” He touched his tongue to the liquor. Haines polished off the first glass and refilled.
    â€œSo tell me,” he said finally. “What’s your passion, Thomas?”
    â€œMy passion, sir?”
    The beard bobbed and more brandy disappeared. “Yes. Why travel some…what, three thousand miles or more?” He held up a hand quickly. “And please. Don’t misunderstand me. We’re delighted that you’ve come. It’s a dream come true for us, I assure you. But what is it that you seek? What spurs you on, Thomas?” He held up both fists and shook them dramatically, endangering the brandy that sloshed in the glass. “After all, you’ve studied in the very heart of modern medicine, Thomas. That must have been exciting, was it not? To listen to all the greats? To be at the very core of all the marvelous debates and developments and discoveries that are surely changing the course of modern medicine?” He took a deep pull of brandy, his eyes going to half-mast with pleasure as he did so.
    He lowered the glass and looked at Thomas. “Leaving all that for our miserable little village…that must have been a difficult decision.” Before Thomas could comment, the doctor waved his glass and continued on. “I mean, here we are, soaked in the mists, mucking along, right in the middle of the most amazing squalor, right in the middle of some of the most lunatic undertakings that man ever imagined. My God.”
    He ran his finger around the rim of the glass thoughtfully. “You know, I received the June issue of Journal Medica last week. That’s how far from the center of things our little world is, Thomas. My journals are three months out of date when they find this soggy place. Delivery of pharmaceuticals, of equipment, of anything you might imagine, is sporadic and always delayed.”
    He waved a hand with impatience. “Listen to me prattle on like an old woman.” Haines drained the glass and