"Oh?" He looks up and once more takes note of the cross. Maroon now, but undoubtedly once red. A red cross, stupid, he thinks. "Oh! But isn't it a little . . . well . . . old?"
Sophie's smile widens, and Jack realizes it's ironic. Whatever sort of hospital this is, or was, he's guessing it bears little or no resemblance to the ones on General Hospital or ER. "Yes, Jack. Very old. Once there were a dozen or more of these tents in the Territories, On-World, and Mid-World; now there are only a few. Mayhap just this one. Today it's here. Tomorrow . . ." Sophie raises her hands, then lowers them. "Anywhere! Perhaps even on Judy's side of the wall."
"Sort of like a traveling medicine show."
This is supposed to be a joke, and he's startled when she first nods, then laughs and claps her hands. "Yes! Yes, indeed! Although you wouldn't want to be treated here."
What exactly is she trying to say? "I suppose not," he agrees, looking at the rotting walls, tattered ceiling panels, and ancient support posts. "Doesn't exactly look sterile."
Seriously (but her eyes are sparkling), Sophie says: "Yet if you were a patient, you would think it beautiful out of all measure. And you would think your nurses, the Little Sisters, the most beautiful any poor patient ever had."
Jack looks around. "Where are they?"
"The Little Sisters don't come out when the sun shines. And if we wish to continue our lives with the blessing, Jack, we'll be gone our separate ways from here long before dark."
It pains him to hear her talk of separate ways, even though he knows it's inevitable. The pain doesn't dampen his curiosity, however; once a coppiceman, it seems, always a coppiceman.
"Why?"
"Because the Little Sisters are vampires, and their patients never get well."
Startled, uneasy, Jack looks around for signs of them. Certainly disbelief doesn't cross his mind — a world that can spawn werewolves can spawn anything, he supposes.
She touches his wrist. A little tremble of desire goes through him.
"Don't fear, Jack — they also serve the Beam. All things serve the Beam."
"What beam?"
"Never mind." The hand on his wrist tightens. "The one who can answer your questions will be here soon, if he's not already." She gives him a sideways look that contains a glimmer of a smile. "And after you hear him, you'll be more apt to ask questions that matter."
Jack realizes that he has been neatly rebuked, but coming from her, it doesn't sting. He allows himself to be led through room after room of the great and ancient hospital. As they go, he gets a sense of how really huge this place is. He also realizes that, in spite of the fresh breezes, he can detect a faint, unpleasant undersmell, something that might be a mixture of fermented wine and spoiled meat. As to what sort of meat, Jack is afraid he can guess pretty well. After visiting over a hundred homicide crime scenes, he should be able to.