Page 133 of Malady

“Now, just a moment!” Matthew steps into the street, still clutching his cleaver, and plants himself in their path. “That’s Miss Harrow you’re threatening! She’s been tending folk here for weeks, and the Doctor’s done nothing but good for this city. What right have you to come marching in here calling for their deaths?”

A murmur of agreement passes through the crowd, growing louder as Mrs Marchant comes bustling down her steps, broom still in hand. “Aye, and you can put those bloody torches away before somebody gets hurt!” she shouts, waving it towards them. “There are children here! Leave them be!”

“The Doctor saved my husband!” a woman calls from behind the stalls, and more voices rise in agreement as Mrs Marchant and the fishmonger move to stand beside Matthew. Others follow, gathering shoulder to shoulder until the brethren can come no closer, and my gut wrenches as I watch them. Only minutes ago, these people were wishing us good morning, and now they're putting themselves between a band of armed holy men and us.

“You have been deceived!” Gideon bellows, raising his cross towards the crowd. “You have welcomed the Devil into your city, and still you stand here defending him!”

“We know perfectly well who they are!” Matthew shouts back, though his voice wavers as one of the Beswick men advances towards him.

“Then you are corrupted also!” Gideon staggers against Matthias, who catches him by the shoulder, but my brother angrily shakes him off. “Enough! If these people will not surrender the witch, we shall take her ourselves. Brothers, bring her to me!”

The men surge forward with their torches raised, pushing through the crowd as people scramble towards the safety of the shops. One carries a thick cudgel, another a length of chain, and a woman nearly loses her footing as she snatches her child out of their path. Matthew plants himself between them and us, his cleaver held high.

“Keep back!”

Iscairn's fingers tighten painfully around mine, and when I turn towards him, his whole bearing has changed. His shoulders have lowered beneath his cloak, the amber lenses fixed upon the advancing men, and as one of them shoves past Matthew, he releases my hand and strides towards him.

I hurry after him, pressing my gloved palm firmly against his chest before he can reach the men. “No, stop. He's my brother, Iscairn. Let me deal with him.”

“Your brother left you to die, Ophelia.” His voice is dangerously quiet, his attention still fixed upon Gideon. “I will not allow him to hurt you again.”

I press harder against his chest as the shouting grows louder around us. “Please, Iscairn. Just let me try.”

“If any one of them lays a hand upon you,” he says, lowering his beak towards me, “I shall kill him.”

“Then let's hope it doesn't come to that,” I say, drawing a shaky breath before making my way towards the brethren, with Iscairn following so closely that his cloak brushes against my arm.

Matthew is still standing in the middle of the street with his cleaver raised, and when he catches sight of me approaching, he moves to block my path.

“Miss Harrow, please, you shouldn't⁠—”

“It's all right, Matthew.” I touch his arm, gently encouraging him aside. “Let me through.”

He hesitates, glancing towards Iscairn before reluctantly stepping back, and I pass between him and the other townsfolk into the open square. The heat of the torches reaches my face as I approach, their smoke drifting across the filthy robes of the men gathered around Gideon, who is still shouting about the Devil and the punishment awaiting those who shelter him.

“Gideon!”

His voice falters at the sound of mine, and he turns with his wooden cross still raised, his expression twisting into something so hateful that I almost falter myself. But I keep walking, closing the distance between us as the brethren draw aside.

“Put that bloody cross down,” I tell him. “You're scaring everybody, and you're in no fit state to be carrying on like this.”

“You dare address me?” he bellows, staggering forward with the cross raised above his head. “You, who have given your flesh to the Devil! You shall burn for your sins, Ophelia! I will see you cast into the fires of⁠—”

He swings the cross at my head, but my hand closes around his wrist before it can strike me, and he drops it. Gideon stares at me in astonishment, twisting to wrench himself free, though the harder he pulls, the more apparent it becomes that he cannot break my grip.

“For pox’s sake, Gideon, stop it!”

He's still trying to wrench himself free when a violent heave doubles him over, followed by another that sends something warm splattering across my cloak.

Blood.

Blood spills down his chin, horribly bright against his greyish skin, as another heave takes hold of him. His remaining hand claws at his robes as he gasps for air, while fresh yellowish discharge seeps through the filthy bandages around his stump.

“Gideon, can you hear me?”

He attempts to answer, but all that comes out is another wave of bloodied vomit, and his knees buckle beneath him. I catch him beneath his good arm before he can fall, taking enough of his weight to ease him towards the cobbles as Matthias pushes through the brethren towards us.

“Brother Gideon!”