Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 14

Taken from the journal of Benjamin Garrick, physician.

May 28th 1692, Sozopol

The air hath been heavy with heat today. The townsfolk that dare to speak with me tell me that it is unusually warm for this time of year and the sea breeze hath done little to calm the temperatures. They are, of course, naturally accustomed to the coastal weather, yet I, an Englishman by birth, am more at home with the rain and overcast skies of London. More than once today I hath felt my shirt soaked from collar to hem as I tended the sick and bed-ridden but no amount of mine own discomfort hath forced me to wish for the cool of the night hours. I would endure the sun a thousand times over so not to face the night, for it brings with it an unnatural quiet that rattles me and yet I cannot determine neither rhyme nor reason for it.

I suppose I should be thankful that those afflicted are calmer during the night hours. During the day, when consciousness cruelly allows them no peace, they endure much pain and I confess to be at a complete loss of how to aid them with their suffering.

My initial diagnosis upon arriving in Sozopol after examining some of the sick was that it could indeed be the Plague. It is a coastal town after all, and every day ships come into the port to trade, all potentially bringing with them something far worse than a few drunken seamen. Fever and muscle spasms are common, as is pain and swelling of the throat and yet their skin shows no sign of the Black Death. Not one person displays the dreaded black spots upon their flesh. They hunger and yet will not eat. They thirst and yet will not drink. The heat is not helping of course and they perspire until their bed linen is saturated. I try to air their abodes in the hope that the sea breeze that drifts through the town will offer them some relief, but the sunlight seems to bother them and so I am forced to drape the windows with blankets or other such coverings.

Once the sun has taken its leave, their suffering seems to ease somewhat. Again, this to me, does not speak of the Plague, for I have never heard of nor seen any plague victim who finds a moments peace from their affliction, whether night or day.

I must admit that the priest's words hath not stopped haunting me since I arrived here. I dearly wish to shake this feeling that chills me to the very bone, this sense that I am up against something over which I simply cannot prevail and yet my rational mind - my physician's mind - tells me that logic will out. It tells me that I will find the cause of this and I will find a cure. I must. For five days now I hath tended the sick of Sozopol to no avail. So far, it is fortunate that not one of the afflicted hath died under my watch, but since my arrival, I am advised of newly sick each day. At my last count, ten more hath fallen prey to this mysterious illness. It is a voracious and vicious malady indeed to strike so many so quickly and I must act with haste, yet how do you begin to cure what you cannot diagnose?

The heavy sense of foreboding that hangs over Sozopol appears to be highly infectious. Indeed, upon entering the town, I suffered many a suspicious glance myself, although no doubt a grinning fool who bid everyone a good morning with such gusto was a curious sight to behold in a town that is gripped by so much misery and darkness. Let me tell you, it was not long before that foolish enthusiasm was drained from my spirit!

Despite receiving barely a good morning from those I met along the way, I continued upon my path until I happened upon a young gentleman on his knees in the dirt, his bag and its contents spilled out on the ground. Immediately I set about assisting the young fellow, who thanked me in surprisingly good English and I noted with some enthusiasm that it was the tools of a physician that lay strewn about his feet.

I enquired as to whether he was indeed a doctor and the fellow met my question with a dramatic wave of his hand and insisted that he was not, which perplexed me greatly since he clearly held a doctor's bag in his possession. He told me that his name was Andrey and he had been the old physician's assistant. Since there was now no physician in the town, the task had befallen this poor young man to aid the sick, yet it became clear to me very quickly that he lacked the knowledge and skill to do anything of value. Naturally he was overjoyed to learn that I, myself, was a doctor and immediately set about informing me of the town's predicament and asked me to accompany him with haste to the home of one of the stricken, a local fisherman named Petar.