Baby Wess had rubbed at the lesions on his arms, exacerbating them enough to cause considerable discomfort. However, he was not in respiratory distress, and his fever remained moderate. The Doctor mixed a soothing balm from the stock of botanicals on hand and gave it to Ilaine to apply to the child's arms and legs. The concoction calmed him, so the Time Lord made a larger batch for use with the other children. He set aside a small measure for Rose, hoping he would not need it.
"How is your friend doing?" Ilaine asked the Doctor after he had examined Raben and reassured her that his lungs sounded no worse.
"Her fever's up, and she's developed several lesions," he replied.
"I hope she won't become too ill."
He nodded. Worrying about Rose was the last thing Ilaine needed to do. So he changed the topic. "Wembur hasn't been back yet?"
She sighed. "No. Marden came in while you were with Rose and told me that the King won't allow the doctor to leave Cani's side."
"How ill is the Prince?"
"I'm not sure. We're only getting second-hand reports. But he's the only child and the heir to the throne, so the King and Queen must be terribly worried."
"Understandable. But we could use Wembur in here."
"I think we're all doing all right," Ilaine replied.
He opened his mouth to inform her that soon things would become much worse. However, he remembered Rose telling him that sometimes the blunt truth wasn't what people wanted to hear. Sometimes humans needed a softer version. He could almost hear her voice…
He clasped Ilaine's shoulder gently and said, "Yes, you're all doing a fine job. Is your husband still nearby?"
She appeared momentarily alarmed, worried perhaps that the Doctor had not been truthful about the boy's condition. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he reassured her. "I just wanted to ask him to order some more food from the palace."
"Oh. He said he'd be just outside; they're letting him remain nearby so that he can see the children."
The Doctor once again stepped through the exterior doors, this time with his hands held out placatingly to his sides. Still he was met with an immediate blockade of four sturdy guards.
"Just need a moment with Marden," he informed them.
Raben's father stepped away from the small group and motioned for the Doctor to follow him back inside. "Are the boys worse?" he asked, professionally stern exterior melting away the instant he left his fellows.
"No, they're stable for the moment. But you need to know that within the next eight to ten hours things are going to get much worse for all of the children. We're going to need more help—skilled help. If Wembur can't assist us, we need at least one more doctor. Send word to the city, and—"
Marden shook his head. "I can't."
"No? Then tell me who can, and I'll speak to them—"
"No, Doctor, you don't understand. The illness seems contained to my village and here; Dr. Wembur thinks the outbreak began in the village, and fortunately we had some bad weather that kept everyone at home until today, so most likely there wasn't sufficient contact for it to spread elsewhere."
"That's good news, then. It's only these half-dozen children and Rose who're affected. There should be loads of other doctors and nurses willing to help out. I'm surprised no one's volunteered yet—"
"They don't know about it."
"Pardon me?"
"No one outside the village and palace has been informed, and those who know have been ordered to remain silent."
The Doctor bristled at the implication of this information. "So this quarantine isn't just for the good of the people. It's to keep the outbreak a secret. But why? Is it to avoid panic?"
"I imagine so." Marden's tone was less than convincing.
Now the Time Lord's expression darkened with building anger. "Oh, wait just one minute. It's political, isn't it?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," the Sentry hedged.
"Oh, you know exactly what I mean! If word spread that Erythrocaeleia is back and possibly originated with the Prince, the Royal Family would fall into disfavor. And there've already been rumblings about doing away with the monarchy, haven't there? The King's afraid that this outbreak will be seen as a sign of real weakness, and he can't afford that, can he?"
Marden's silence confirmed the Doctor's suppositions.
"These children need help," the Time Lord reiterated, his voice sharp with indignation. "When things get worse—and believe me, they will—my help's not going to be enough. So you're going to need to decide where your loyalties lie: with your King or with your family. And you're going to need to make that decision very, very soon, because your sons don't have a hell of a lot of time."
"Doctor, I—" Marden began.
"Excuse me," the Doctor said brusquely, "I need to check on Rose." He turned and stalked away.
Rose slept fitfully, eyes moving beneath her closed, slightly swollen lids. Her skin remained flushed and damp. The Doctor brushed his fingers softly across her brow to confirm that her temperature had risen incrementally. He resisted the urge to press his fingertips against her temples; he could judge her condition well enough through other, less invasive means.
Carefully he lowered the blankets to examine her arms and legs. Much to his relief, he found no new lesions. However, the extant ones were worsening; soon they would cause her considerable pain. He hoped that the balm would prove soothing to her, as it had to the children.
He pulled a stethoscope borrowed from the infirmary from his pocket, taking a moment to warm it in his hands before gently placing it over Rose's heart.
"'S cold," she murmured.
He looked up to see her watching him through half-opened eyes. "Really? I tried to warm it," he replied with an apologetic smile.
"With what?" she rasped.
"My hands."
She chuckled sardonically. "You do know they're probably colder than that metal?"
He grinned at her attempt at humor; if she could joke, she mustn't be too terribly uncomfortable, and he was pleased with the degree of alertness it signified. Still, he was anxious to finish his evaluation, so he shushed her for a few moments so that he could listen to her lungs, too.
"Well?" she asked when he'd removed the instrument from his ears.
He gave her a nod. He'd detected some very small signs of beginning respiratory congestion, but they were probably not yet noticeable to her. "Sounds all right. How're you feeling?"
"'Bout the same. How're the children?"
"They're managing."
He pulled the sonic screwdriver from another pocket and switched it on. He ran it rather slowly over her torso. It confirmed slight alterations in pulmonary function and alerted him to a change in her liver. He folded the blankets carefully across her hips.
"I need to have a look at your belly," he told her.
She frowned in concern. "It doesn't hurt."
"No, it shouldn't. This is just a precaution."
"Go on, then."
He undid several of the buttons on her nightgown to expose her abdomen. A single lesion stood out lividly just to the right of her navel. Damn, he hadn't been expecting that. He wondered if she felt it. She wasn't looking at him; her half-lidded gaze focused hazily on the ceiling.
He directed his concentration to his hand for a few seconds, sending extra blood to the extremity to warm it. Then he placed it at the base of Rose's ribcage and pressed gently. Just as he'd suspected, her liver was slightly enlarged.
"Doctor?" she was asking, and now she was looking at his face. "What is it?"
He smiled woodenly. "Nothing to worry about. Everything's happening just as it should."
"An' what's happenin', exactly?"
He deftly fastened the small buttons then pulled up the blankets. "The disease is running its course. And the best thing you can do is have a little more water and then a nice, long nap."
Before she could question him further, he'd slipped an arm beneath her back and eased her up so that she could drink. He didn't fail to notice that she winced with the movements; her pain was increasing. As before, the short interchange with him and the effort required to sit up and drink left her enervated. He settled her back against the pillows and tucked the covers securely about her shoulders.
"Sleep, Rose," he instructed tenderly, brushing a kiss over her brow.
This time she did not require his assistance to fall into deep slumber. He knew it wouldn't last long, however; discomfort would awaken her soon. And he wanted to remain at her side, to assuage her pain in every possible way. But he knew that he was needed in the children's sickroom; their conditions were worse.
The Doctor stood, hating to leave her yet well aware that it was necessary. If only he could have some help… But that wasn't possible. Fuming at the selfishness of the King and the unerring willingness of the Sentries to obey without rational questioning, he strode back to the sickroom and the soft, wrenching whimpers of the children.
To be continued…