Boats on Land: A Collection of Short Stories Read Online Free Page B

drunk.
    ‘Don’t know what they were up to…probably nothing more than long walks, really, but I noticed she seemed rather dispirited after…well, after her aunt had a word with her about him.’
    Doctor Wallang knew who they were talking about; Kyntang had escorted his ailing father to the clinic about a month ago. He was a quiet, good-looking boy even if he did bring along with him a faint odour of horses.
    Mr Smithson sat back heavily in his chair; he looked tired.
    ‘This afternoon she was…I suppose you could say, delirious…not herself at all. Kept talking about a golden…a golden, what was it? Anyway, it was most worrying and we thought, perhaps, it could be one of those things, what you people call…’ He struggled with the words.
    ‘Kem ksuid?’
    Mr Smithson nodded. ‘My wife thought we should call Father Bevan…’
    ‘And he suggested we summon you,’ finished Jonah, ‘because he says you…have some experience in these matters.’
    The awkwardness hung in the room like a blind, lost creature unable to escape until Mrs Smithson beckoned from the door.
    The lantern she held threw long, loping shadows on the walls of a narrow corridor leading to the bedroom.
    ‘How old is Miss Lucy?’ asked the doctor.
    ‘Nineteen. A most trying age, when a girl’s mind is full of fanciful things. We must not be indulgent, doctor.’ It sounded more an order than a plea.
    ‘And her parents?’
    ‘Both dead, bombed in the Blitz. It’s a miracle she escaped.’
    Mrs Smithson stopped and pushed open a door. ‘I’ll be right outside, doctor.’
    He paused. With cases like these, he was never sure whether he’d need to be shaman or doctor. Sometimes, there didn’t seem to be a difference.
    The room he entered was large and spacious, with a heavy chest-of-drawers and wooden bed on one side, and, on the other, a small table and chair by a window. A lantern placed on the mantelpiece above a cavernous fireplace shed limpid light on a girl as pale as the snowy quilt wrapped around her. Even when he moved closer, she lay still, propped on a pillow, her wavy chestnut hair spread out in a wild, flaming tangle.
    ‘Miss Lucy, how are you feeling?’
    His question was met with silence.
    ‘Your aunt and uncle are worried about you.’
    He thought there might have been a quickened breath.
    ‘If you prefer to sleep, I can come back later…’
    This time she laughed, a hollow shaking that subsided when she turned to look at him. ‘Nobody else cares that I want to be left alone, why should you, doctor?’
    ‘They only want you to get better, as I’m sure you do too, Miss Lucy.’
    He gestured to a chair. ‘May I sit down?’
    She shrugged in indifference.
    ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?’
    She stared straight ahead, out of the window into consummate darkness.
    ‘Your aunt says you have headaches?’
    She nodded slowly.
    ‘I can give you something for that, but might I examine you first?’
    She sat up and responded mechanically to all his clinical instructions—to take a deep breath, stick out her tongue, open her mouth wide. Apart from a slightly increased pulse rate, she seemed physically well. Perhaps Mrs Smithson was right, that she was merely seeking attention.
    ‘I’ll give you a tonic for your headaches.’
    As he reached for his bag, she turned to him. ‘Can I ask you something, doctor?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    ‘Do you think I’m mad?’
    Her eyes were green—he’d never been close enough to notice before—like the pools of water at Laitkynsew, undisturbed for a thousand years.
    As a good medic should, he turned the question around to her. ‘Why would I think that?’
    She sank back into her pillow and closed her eyes. ‘They all do, I know it, except… It’s always there—that look on their faces, those hushed conversations. Following me…like flies. Only when I go riding, they can’t catch up. Everything disappears.’
    An image flashed through the doctor’s mind—the