Night Plague Chapter 2

Written by Omnitrix12

If anyone had ever told Judy that she would end up practically eloping with Lucy deathly ill, she would have said they were utterly mad. Yet she and Nick were soon wed, and not a day after that they were on board a train which would take them back to Zootopia. The ceremony offered some respite from worrying about her adopted sister, but the long journey gave Judy time to remember and to fret.

"You okay?" asked Nick, putting a paw on her shoulder as she gazed out the window. She started a little at his touch, then reclined disquietedly against his chest as the countryside rolled past.

"I'm fine," she promised. "Just worried about Lucy.''

That confused him, and he drew back a pace. "Why would you be worried?" he asked. "You said she was fine when you left, right?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I just am."

"Of course you are." He put his arms around her and dropped his chin down between her ears. "That's one thing I always liked about you."

She looked up at him, though it was strange since the only thing he could see of her was the tip of his snout. "Was it?"

He nodded. "When I saw the way you looked after your sister, something in me just… fell into place, I guess."

She smiled, reaching up and patting his fuzzy cheek. "That's good to know."

The train was sparsely occupied, and the couple could talk freely if they chose. Yet they enjoyed a half-hour or so of comfortable silence before anything more was said.

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," said Nick. "She probably just caught pneumonia or something being… well, out late."

Judy cringed. It was exactly that kind of phraseology that made her so anxious to see the matter of Lucy's sleepwalking kept under wraps. At best, the poor doe would be a laughingstock, and she was sensitive enough that that alone might ruin her. There was, however, one other reason why this theory comforted her little.

"Mother would tell me what kind of sickness it was if she knew," she pointed out, "and any doctor can diagnose pneumonia."

Nick had to admit she had scored a victory over him in that respect. Judy was sharp; so sharp that often the only point in saying rot to her was to enjoy having it called out for rot. "Well whatever it is, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. That letter said Doctor Seward's friend is the best, right?"

Deep down, Judy knew that even the best doctors failed sometimes. She also knew, however, that worrying wouldn't help anything. Better to at least focus on Nick's efforts to comfort her – especially when he added, "Besides, you'll be there soon enough, and I've never known a disease that would stick around when you came along."

She huffed at the excessive flattery and bumped him with her shoulders, but it was some comfort. She was no college-trained physician, but she had some knowledge of medicine and had helped care for Lucy – and later Mrs. Westenrut too – many times. As long as she could convince the doctors to let her help, she could do some good, and she could usually convince mammals to at least give her a chance. Someone had once joked that where the good Lord carried a sword in His mouth, she carried a pair of light and quick daggers; a silver one for persuasion and charm, and a steel one for when someone just needed a good cutting down. Already her mind was thinking of points on which to lever her way past even the most stubborn caregiver, as she'd done on a few occasions past.

She was interrupted in this when Nick reached into his bag and pulled out a small package tied up with cord. "By the way, there's something I've been meaning to give you. I kept forgetting about it until now."

Judy took the bundle and started to open it, but he stopped her.

"This is, uh… well, it's my journal from the trip; the trip I don't remember."

She was confused. "Then why don't you read it?" she asked.

He looked pretty serious. "I tried, and you know I'm no chicken, but it, uh…" His ears drifted back. "It shook me up. Truth is I'd like to get rid of it, but I can't bring myself to destroy it or throw it away."

Judy stared at him, then at the wrapped package. An uneasy prickling began to go up her spine, as if it were a box full of deadly spiders or centipedes rather than a book – and a book by her husband, at that. She knew for certain that Nicholas was no coward, so how could something he wrote himself scare him that much?

"If this might help us figure out what's wrong with you…" she protested, reaching for the knot again.

He laid a paw right on the knot. "Judy, please. Right now I'm on a train ride home with my wife, and that's all the recovery I want. I'm giving it to you so if we do need it we can use it – somehow – but I want you to promise me you'll only open it if you have to."

Judy could think of a few reasons why this was nonsense. For one thing, she couldn't very well know if she needed what was in it if she didn't know what was in it in the first place. None the less, she assented to his wish. "Okay," she agreed, laying a paw on his. "I promise."

At their next overnight stop, she proceeded to reinforce her promise. Using a candle in their room, she made a wax seal over the knot as if sealing a letter. While the wax was still malleable, she stamped it with her wedding ring.

Considering how much had already gone off-plan, Judy wasn't sure how to feel about coming back from her honeymoon to see her adopted family – or at least what was left of it. The walk up the cobblestone path to a house large enough to belie the small family it had held for the past twenty-some-odd years felt maddeningly conflicted. She and Nick had decided that it might be best for him to wait in the carriage lest he be there as an awkward added presence. So on the one paw, she didn't feel quite as bothered about being less happy than a new bride ought, since she was entering much as she had left: a doe on her own. Yet she also felt guilty about leaving Nick out, as if he could ever be unwelcome after having the whole family's approval, including the late Mr. Westenrut before he perished. Then too there was the paradoxical matter of Lucy's predicament: soon to be wed herself, but ill enough that she might not see her own nuptials. It reminded her of a line from a play she and Nicholas had gone to see: "Fair is foul and foul is fair."

With such an unaccustomed burden on her mind, it was little wonder that she was a bit distracted as she let herself in. She as thus unprepared when a strange voice suddenly uttered, "Oh! I didn't realize we were expecting a guest."

Jumping slightly, Judy turned to see a quite unfamiliar wolf, gray with curious black marks on his tufted cheeks. His rather wrinkled face and thin limbs betrayed a venerable age, but by the brightness of his eyes and the erectness of his posture he seemed quite healthy for all that.

The stranger blinked apologetically, rising to give a cordial bow. "Ah, madam, forgive me for startling you." He had a crisp and pronounced accent, and spoke in a very formal tone. "You are friend of the family, I assume."

She shook her head. "Family, actually. I'm Judy Hopps – I mean, Judy Wilde," she amended. She still hadn't gotten used to her new surname.

At the mention of her name, the wolf's eyes lit up and he knelt to clasp her paw eagerly. "Ah! Then you are the Judy dear Miss Lucy speaks of so much. You are good to come."

Lucy's name made Judy's heart lurch upward just a little. "Yes, that's me. Is she here?"

"Yes, she is here. She hasn't left the house these past two weeks. But I forget my manners. I am Professor Van Savage, a friend of Doctor Seward, whom you may know."

Judy nodded uncertainly. "Lucy mentioned Doctor Seward in her letters, but she didn't mention you."

"I suppose she wouldn't. I am recently arrived myself. Doctor Seward was a student of mine, and asked me to come aid as I can in poor Lucy's treatment."

Judy's heart sank. "Is she that ill?"

Van Savage folded his paws. "I don't wish to alarm you, Madam Judy. She has improved, but it has been very difficult going. Her illness is…" Here an odd look crossed his face.

"What is it?" demanded Judy in earnest. "If she's mentioned me, then you know you can tell me anything."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," he confessed, raising his paws apologetically. "It is no worry of discretion, or of your ability to handle the facts of the case. It is only that her illness is most… well, singular, if I may say so. I have been called one of the foremost physicians of this time, and though I think that is undue praise I must say that I think her disease is… well, unidentified; unknown to science."

That didn't sound good. "How bad is it?"

"Well, as I said before she has improved these last few days, but her condition must be watched closely if she is to be made well." Seeing the growing anxiety on Judy's face, he softened. "However, I do not think she is contagious. Perhaps you should come and see her yourself before I make any further explanations."

There wasn't a thing Judy wanted more in the world, so at a word she was led up to Lucy's room. Van Savage paused and turned to her with his paw on the handle.

"I do hope your visit will do her some good, seeing that you are sisters," said he with great solemnity. "I must warn you, though, that her state of health may frighten you. You must not act alarmed or greatly upset. Such a thing can only do her harm, I think."

Judy nodded, taking a deep breath. "Stay calm. Got it."

He smiled and turned the handle. Opening the door only a little, he called in, "Miss Lucy, a friend has come to visit."

"Send her in," came a voice from inside.

Judy flinched at the voice. Lucy sounded worse than she'd ever heard her – or anyone. Her voice was like the voice of an old woman.

Van Savage pushed the door ajar and bowed in sign for her to enter, which she did.

It was well that he had warned her not to act too alarmed, for Lucy was indeed in a frightful state. Her slender neck and well-formed face now seemed pale and withered like a dried plant as she sat up in bed. The strong, peculiar odor which filled the room did little to help. Yet the smile was the same as ever.

"Judy!" she exclaimed, and then trembled a little as if the effort of simply lifting her voice in joy had exhausted her. She quickly lay back down and huddled under the blankets. "Please come in. I'm so glad you made it back."

Judy came in slowly and solemnly. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"She is as well cared for as Doctor Seward and I can contrive," promised Van Savage.

Lucy sighed. "Come sit on the bed, please," she urged. "I've missed you. Is Nicholas well?"

Judy hardly had a mind to talk about anything so casual. Yet she knew that it would be best to do so for Lucy's sake. So she hopped up onto the bed and sat, as she and the larger doe had done many times when they were younger.

"Nick's doing about as well as can be expected," she replied. "It's so strange. He went on that business trip, and now he hardly remembers any of it."

Unnoticed by the two females, Van Savage's ears pricked up and his eyebrows lifted with interest.

"Hardly anything?" asked Lucy curiously. "How strange. Did something happen to him?"

"Something must have," Judy admitted, "but he doesn't know what. He won't even look back at his journal about it, and he made me promise not to look into it unless I had to." She had a feeling that this would not do any good for Lucy, so she went on, "You already know he turned up in an abbey on Boardapesth, though, which is why I left."

Lucy nodded. "And since you're back, he must be better." There was a probing tone in the remark.

Judy knew what Lucy was getting at, and she nodded. "Well enough to travel," she agreed. Then, with a coy smile, she added, "And it also means he's my husband."

A cry of delight sprang from Lucy's lips, and with a surprising fit of spirit she flung her arms around Judy. "Oh, Judy, that's wonderful!" she squealed. "Oh, I'm so… happy." As quickly as the energy had come upon her it left; the very act of sitting up had made her dizzy.

"Here, here, lie down," urged the professor, hastening to her with surprising vigor for his age. Judy was close behind, hopping up to assist him.

"You mustn't exert yourself too much, dear," he urged, drawing the coverlet to her chin.

"What's happening?" demanded Judy. She had never seen such a rapid change. In mere seconds Lucy had gone from looking and acting very nearly her old self to seeming scarcely healthier than a corpse.

"Shh, shh," hissed Van Savage. "She needs rest and medicine. I shall give her both now." Moving to a bag tucked against the wall, he drew out a bottle and poured a small glass of some liquid from it. This he gave to Lucy, who drank it off like the most placid of children. By the time the rabbits had put all in order, Lucy was sound asleep.

"There now. We have done what can be done for the present. That sleeping draught will calm her down and restore a little of her strength, and she needs all she can spare at present." Then, answering Judy's unspoken question, he added, "She will wake in a few hours and want company, but until then we can speak."

Judy's nose fairly buzzed with anxiety. "What kind of disease does she have?" she pressed anxiously. "I know you think it's unidentified, but can you at least give some… I don't know, close guess?"

Van Savage sighed. "I don't think it's unidentified; I am certain it's in no medical record," he said wearily. "She's been going through a staggering amount of blood, but she has none of the other anemic symptoms; only lack of blood. Most unsettling."

"Blood?" asked Judy, flinching from surprise and worry.

He nodded gravely. "I don't want to frighten you, Madam Judy. It's not a thing for a-"

Before he could say any word relating to her sex, her paw was on his arm with a clamp like iron pincers. "Tell me," she insisted. Then, softening her grip and her demeanor a fraction, she added, "Please."

He sighed. "Alright. When I first came to see her, I saw at once that she was very weak and pale. I did what I could to safeguard her condition; gave her all the fluids she would take and so forth. Yet she continued to worsen. She was getting much low on blood, so I arranged a transfusion from her fiance. Since then she has had four transfusions from four different donors counting the first. After Arthur came Doctor Seward, myself, and even a stout young buck named Quincy."

Judy was stunned. "Quincy?" she asked. Quincy was rather an old friend of the family, and had been an army scout in Amareca. He was hardy, but how he could spare enough blood for a deer was unimaginable.

"There was no one else at paw. We cannot bring just anyone in to give her blood, lest it frighten Mrs. … ah, you have caught my meaning."

That was certainly true. Old Mrs. Westenrut didn't want Lucy to know it, but she had received her death notice. Her heart was failing, and it was ten to one she would not last three months. A sudden fright or any other added strain would kill her in an instant. In retrospect, Judy felt sorry that she had been angry with the professor a moment ago. If he had gone to such lengths, he deserved her respect – and her help.

Besides that, Judy was not one to sit by and leave a problem untouched, especially one this serious. "So we need some way to bring in someone who can give her a transfusion without upsetting Mother," she mused. A moment later, she snapped her fingers. "I've got an idea. If Mother's expecting someone for some other reason, we just need her out of the room, right?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She leaned in and whispered her plan, lest any of the maids should overhear and unwittingly let slip the scheme. Van Savage's face lightened a great deal as he listened.

"Ah, you are as clever as she said," he commended. "Yes, I think your plan will do excellently. Shall I leave the arrangements to you, then?"

Judy nodded. "Count on me. Just have your part ready, and I'll take care of the rest."

True to her promise, in not more than a week Judy had executed her plan. At half past two, a large gray horse came to the house wearing a long white coat and a black scarf looped loosely about his neck and hanging down to his knees. He carried a large book, and a small bird perched on one of his shoulders. Mrs. Westenrut greeted him joyfully at the door, though he had to stoop to make it through the opening.

Within the house, all was in the most perfect order. White linen draped all furnishings, and vases of flowers lined the way like attendants for the priest and other selected persons to be present at the blessed occasion.

The sitting room had been made available for the occasion, with all being re-arranged to as closely resemble a small chapel as possible. Gifts for the bride were prominently displayed; fine silver or china, various things needful for making a home, and boxes or jars of hoof ointment and perfume. Each gift was marked with the name of whoever had given it, and Judy had tastefully arranged them to show those brought by the guests who were there to their best advantage.

Of the present guests there were not many. Although the house could have held more than a dozen mammals in comfort, the physicians had pressed that the ceremony be of simple nature and a larger party be held later to amend for it. Accordingly, the guests comprised of Judy heading up the house maids turned bridesmaids, Nick and the doctors as ushers, and Quincy as the best man. One of the maids, conveniently, needed no place in the seats as she was to sit at the piano in place of an organist. At the front, a seat had been placed for the bride where she was to be joined to her husband. It was, on the whole, the least orthodox wedding arrangement the Westenrut family had ever had or would have, but everyone was in cheerful spirits.

Of course, much attention was given to Arthur, who was immaculately dressed. The red deer's wore an immaculat black suit, the cloth of which was tailored and brushed to its absolute best. Everyone seemed lining up for a chance to shake his paw and congratulate him on his good fortune, wish him the best with his bride, and offer words of encouragement and advice.

Judy came into the room and glanced across at Nick. Like the other gentlemen, he wore a small cluster of the white wild roses on his shoulder, tied with white ribbon and trimmed with silver leaves and lace. The bridesmaids also wore favors, made by Lucy and each one augmented with some little trinket, as all the maids had grown up in the house and been childhood playmates of their future mistress. Judy's favor bore a pair of links from a silver chain; an old memento from when she was adopted. Lucy had found the bit of chain from a broken necklace, and insisted that they keep it as a symbol that, though broken from all else, they would always be sisters.

Nick caught sight of her and clapped his paws together for attention. "Ladies, gentlemammals, I think it's time. Everyone to your places!"

Mammals rushed to their seats. Lord Goredalming rushed to the designated spot in the room, right by a window where the sunlight shone in.

As the piano began to play, Doctor Seward brought Lucy in leaning on his shoulder. It was a bittersweet sight, for all could see that she would surely topple to the floor if not for his support. For those who knew that he had himself asked her to marry him, it bore moreover an air of rather sad irony. Yet for all that, Lucy looked quite nearly as beautiful as she ever had. She wore a ruffled silk dress bedecked with lace, with a wreathe of tiny white rose blossoms on her head like a diadem over the gauzy veil. Even in her weak and sickly state, the dress brought out her sweetness and echoed her snowy soul. Moreover, Judy and the maids had been busy about her with all the best cosmetics they could find, putting a veneer of color back on her pallid face.

The priest, who had not yet seen Lucy, glanced as discreetly as might be done toward Van Savage and Lord Goredalming. The groom seemed to swallow a little, pained as he was to exert his bride so just to get some life's blood back in her veins; truly, cruelty in the name of kindness if ever there was such a thing. Van Savage gave a tiny but decisive nod and looked meaningfully at the stallion, flicking his eyes toward Mrs. Westenrut to remind him of the need for secrecy. The priest, recalling the gravity of things, resumed his passively happy demeanor.

Mrs. Westenrut, as planned, knew nothing of the planned transfusion. Judy had arranged everything by persuading her – ostensibly at the professor's suggestion – that it would be good for Lucy if Arthur might come and see her at any time he chose and stay as long as he liked. Of course, there was only one way to do so without raising a scandal, and that was naturally that they be quietly, privately joined as man and wife. She had added, of course, that Lucy would only know of the part of this which was for her health. She would in no wise be told just yet that her mother might not live to see a later ceremony. Mrs. Westenrut had wholeheartedly embraced the plan, not suspecting that she herself was meeting with a bit of kindly disinformation. In all, only the doctors, Arthur, the Wildes, and of course the priest were any the wiser. Van Savage had confessed that he "liked it not," but as they were facing "strange opposition," he would do whatever he had to for his patients.

The mother of the bride merely wiped her eyes, and whispered to Judy how glad she was to see that blessed day.

Doctor Seward brought Lucy to the improvised altar and helped her into the chair. Arthur clasped her hoof as the priest read the wedding liturgy, and readily produced a slim, unadorned gold band to fit around Lucy's wrist.

"Arthur," hissed Van Savage as the buck went to fit it in place.

Arthur started, dropping the band to the floor. Then with a chuckle, he picked it up and gently bent the soft metal around his bride's wrist.

"Let all gathered here witness that this male and female have been joined in the sight of God in holy matrimony," announced the priest. "You may seal the covenant with a kiss."

Since the bride would not be leaving the house, the guests showered her and her husband with rice as they symbolically went up to Lucy's room without looking to the right or the left. Lucy leaned heavily on Arthur, but she was in good spirits as they laid her down on her bed still in her wedding gown. Van Savage waited until the last to throw his rice, and oddly seemed to cast it more towards the window than the bridal bed.

"I think you're supposed to throw it on them," whispered Nick.

The professor cast him a very confident look. "It will serve the purpose," he said frankly. Then, with a nod to Doctor Seward, he bustled back downstairs.

"Where is he going?" asked Lucy, a little anxiously. Though one might have thought her attention would be wholly on her husband, she had come to expect much of the professor's presence and care, and would at times become agitated if he were gone.

"It isn't anything," promised Doctor Seward. "He has some small business to attend to. Come, let me get you a drink to help you rest. You mustn't exert yourself too much."

Lucy drank the preparation he gave her as placidly as the mildest nursing babe, and in a short while she slipped into peaceful rest clasping her lover's paw with both her hooves.

Professor Van Savage returned. "I have seen to Mrs. Westenrut," he announced, "and the maids have been instructed that if she wake, they are to keep her occupied. We will not be disturbed for at least an hour, I think. Ah, you are preparing the instruments."

The priest rubbed his nose as the doctors did their work. "It's rather stuffy in here," he remarked nasally. "Mightn't a window be opened?"

Seward looked at Van Savage, who nodded. "Yes, a little fresh air will do no harm at this time, I think. Madam Judy, would you be so kind?"

"Harm?" asked the priest, thoroughly puzzled. "Who ever heard of fresh air doing harm at any time, I should like to know?"

Doctor Seward shook his head. "My old mentor is as good as any man alive for illnesses, but his methods on this one puzzle even me. You ought to have seen him a couple of weeks ago, tying these blossoms together in garlands and rubbing them all over the blinds and round the bed. As I recall, I said he looked for all the world as though he were working a charm to keep out an evil spirit."

"A charm?" asked the priest, clearly piqued.

Van Savage shot his friend a look before answering. "I swear on my life, I am no magician. There is a method and a science in all I do, but I cannot speak now."

Judy and Nick looked at one another, clearly baffled. Nick's gaze broke off over a moment to scan the flowers and the pungently scented curtains.

Why does this seem so familiar? he wondered.

The physicians worked swiftly and efficiently to exact the operation, but the transfer of blood seemed agonizingly long and painfully slow. Strange, too, for though the stallion grew visibly weaker as the minutes passed, Lucy only recovered a portion of her former color and fullness. It chilled Judy down to the marrow to look on it and think of the implications. Nick, though better at hiding his thoughts and feelings, seemed to grow calmer somehow.

Doctor Seward was not blind to their reactions. "Does the operation unsettle you?" he asked gently.

Judy shook her head. "No. I'm just surprised it's taking so much."

"Indeed," Van Savage agreed, watching everything with unwavering attention. "It's the strangest thing my eyes have ever seen, that what badly weakens so large a creature only partly restores such a smaller one."

The horse grew anxious. "What exactly ails her?" he asked.

Van Savage looked up at him, and for a moment his expression was dark. Then he softened, as though realizing the priest's worries. "It will do you no harm, I think," he said in reassurance. "I gave her blood myself, and I am not ill."

After a few more minutes, the doctors decided that the priest had given all that it was good for him to give. Seward quickly withdrew the needle and applied cloth and pressure to the puncture, whilst Van Savage ministered likewise to Lucy.

"We have done all that may be done," said he with much better humor than when they had begun. "Thank you, good sir, and may God bless you for your gift. Like our Lord, you have given of your life's blood that the dying may live, and that is a greater gift than you can know."

"It is not so great as the salvation of a soul," the priest countered, though he smiled graciously at the professor's praise.

Van Savage looked deeply thoughtful at this. "Perhaps…" was all he uttered, gazing as one looking far, far off.

Judy was so preoccupied in puzzling over the strange look in the wolf's eyes as he spoke that she managed not to see a shiver run through Nick's body.