As quickly as she could, Kate unfastened his white shirt collar and removed the stays from his shirtfront. When she pulled the material back, she saw a muscular chest covered with intricate tattoos. Scores of runic script ran in various lines and curved around his torso just under the neck bones and across his pectoral muscles, the ink an ebony black against his skin. The writing was only vaguely familiar but she couldn’t read a word of it. Suddenly he seemed less like a gentleman and even more a man of mystery.
Kate wrestled him from his shirt and tails, careful not to touch the quills that came away with his coat. She stared at the tattoos covering even the hard contours of his arm. The runic symbols intertwined in a vaguely disturbing fashion and seemed to move as his hand dropped limply to his side.
She hovered nervously. “Mr. Archer, can you hear me?”
His wide eyes didn’t shift.
There was a knock at the door and a muffled voice. “Miss Kate, is there a problem?”
She rushed to the door and opened it to reveal Hogarth. “There is an intruder on the grounds. Please attend Imogen and have all the doors and windows locked.”
“I will put more armed men around the grounds.”
“No. The intruder is very dangerous and our people aren’t prepared. Just see to the security of the house.”
“Very well, miss.” Hogarth noticed Simon on the sofa. “Is Mr. Archer injured? Shall I send for Dr. Nothergill?”
“No. I’ll look after him.” Kate closed the door and spun around to see a figure leaning over Simon. She shouted and Nick turned in annoyance. He held the two quills in his hand with a handkerchief. His pant legs were wet from the knees down.
Kate asked, “Did you find the thing?”
“No. How’s Simon?”
“He’s been poisoned. His breathing is slowing.”
Nick’s eyes filled with fear. Kate turned away from his pained expression and began to search the laboratory, hoping for inspiration. Something must spark an idea. Some formula. Some concoction. An antidote.
She turned to see the rigid Simon gasping for air.
“He’s dying!” Nick shouted.
“Wait.” An idea pierced Kate’s mind. “There is an elixir that Norsemen of the Dark Ages used to increase their vitality in battle. It might allow Simon to counteract the deadly effects of the poison. I don’t know. It’s not a sure option.”
“Why are you still talking to me? Do it.”
“Perhaps if you stop blustering and help me. Open that cabinet and fetch the stinging nettle and the bottle labeled ox heart.” She went hurriedly to a shelf and pulled a book. Flipping vellum pages, she scanned the Latin inscriptions. She didn’t have all the proper materials, but hopefully she could find usable substitutes. She unlocked a chest and removed a flask of green liquid.
Nick set bottles on the worktable. “You know what you’re about, don’t you?”
Kate didn’t look up. She measured with practiced fingers doses of crumbled herbs, sections of twigs, small piles of rare earths. Once she had the proper amounts, she scooped them into a mortar and crushed them together. When she had a suitable blend, she took up the flask of green and a chemical dropper.
Kate held the open flask over the mortar and tipped it. She pulled several drops into the pipette. This substance was not part of the original medieval recipe, so she was estimating the amount needed. A mistake could well have dreadful consequences, perhaps even worse than simple death. She squeezed the green liquid into the mortar and sniffed. A metallic tinge went deep into her nose. It was active. She worked the substance into a heavy paste.
“Traditionally,” she said, “Norsemen used it as a poultice. We don’t have time for that. I am going to apply it directly to his gums.”
Nick reached for the mortar, but Kate pushed past him and went to Simon, who lay gasping on the sofa. His eyes were rolled up in his head as she knelt next to him and took a dollop of the greenish paste onto her finger. She spread Simon’s lips and began to slide her finger along the wet surface of his upper gums. After an inspection of the work, she repeated the action across the lower. She wiped her hands, feeling a minor tingling on her fingers.
Nick was at her shoulder. “Is that all? Is that all you’re doing?”
“Mr. Barker, be still, I beg you.” Kate was suddenly very aware of the loud metallic ticking clock on the mantel.
Nick exhaled anxiously, cracking his knuckles. He muttered threats under his breath, or perhaps a prayer.
Simon’s breath turned wetter, as if he was strangling. Then his gurgling croaks stopped.
Nick froze and gave a sick moan. “No.”
Kate held up her hand to silence him, willing Simon to breathe, staring at the stark stillness of his chest. It should work. Her theory was sound.
Suddenly, Simon took an explosive gasp and rose nearly off the sofa. Kate was there to grab his arms, holding him steady. His eyes sprang open. His hands clutched the upholstery like claws, nearly tearing the leather. His muscles were rigid cords. She eased him back down. He lay still, exhaling harshly through his nose. His mouth clamped shut.
“Simon, try to relax.” Kate pressed the palm of her hand against his chest, covering a dark rune. She could feel the wild pumping of his heart. It nearly matched her own. “Don’t panic. Try to control your breathing as best you can.”