Mercy

"I tell ya, Kowalski, I get called outta bed one more time an' I'm runnin' back to the army. At least there we had a straight four hours."

Blond, balding, thin-pursed, and scrawny from years of tending house calls, Bill was the only guy Jacob could trust with a wizard on the lam. He was the good neighbor of New York City, always dropping in for a kid with a cough or an elderly gentleman with stiff knees. More poor folk had seen better care from Bill than the upper class in hospitals, and his wallet testified every donated splint or jar of beef stock. He never seemed to be in need, though; everyone took care of Ol' Bill.

"I ain't even that old," Bill griped as he slunk inside. "Turned forty last November, and I ain't slept through an house call yet. Where's the kid?"

"I didn't know what to do," Jacob explained as he led the way to the bedroom. "They practically crushed him. It was awful."

"Yeah, I already heard," Bill sympathized. "Twenty-odd people jumpin' on some crackpot immin'grant jist 'cause that boorish Mary caused a fight. I mean, there ain't no magic in New York. Whole thing's a fairy tale. All it takes is one person t'stir up anarchy and then someone gits hurt. Oh, shikaya…."

Freezing in the doorway, Bill shook his head. "Jakey, you weren't kiddin'."

"You can do something, right?" Jacob urged.

"Ee-yah-uh." Still shaking his head, Bill clumped into the room. "Did they put 'im through a meat grinder? That's all gonna be bruises by nightfall – you check if he's alive yet?"

Jacob spluttered. "What kind of question is that?"

"Okay, okay, don't panic," Bill shushed. He set his case on the chair and rubbed his hands fretfully. "Carp'in codfish. Even the mob bosses ain't so bad." He scratched the back of his head, rubbed his chin, and then flung off his coat. "Well, may's well git started. Least I ain't gonna be called the leadin' cause of death this time."

"Not helping." Jacob glared.

"There ain't no help here, Jake," Bill said pragmatically as he swept off the blanket. "Eegh, looks worse up close. Git me some hot water. Lots'o rags. I'm gonna shred off this coat. Too bad – this guy have a personal tailor?"

Jacob scuttled for the shrieking kettle. Digging for every scrap cloth he could find was a useless distraction. He knew he'd have to return to the cramped, dingy room that already smelled of bile and futility, where Bill would casually exclaim over ever gravel scrape, and Jacob himself would wish he'd never claimed the Brit as kin. It would be easier to help a stranger – he'd held people down for Bill on several occasions. Pretending "Claude" was his brother made this seem… personal.

He hadn't felt so uneasy since holding his ma's hand before the doctor said there was nothing more he could do.

"Hey Jake, there's a hot water bottle here you can use," Bill called from the bedroom. "Fill it up for me, will ya?"

"Uh.…" Snapping back to himself, Jacob snagged a basin from the lower cupboard, balancing the kettle and a score of rags in his left hand. "There's a … a hole in the bottom. Heh. Didn't think that would do any good."

"You know, I got two words'o advice about that Mildred – drop her. Any woman who can't keep a dime's wortha medicinal supplies on hand ain't worth marrying."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before." Jacob caught up the last rag with his fingertips and gingerly carted everything to the bedroom. Bill was already rolling up his shirtsleeves, having divested the Brit of his blue coat and everything else.

"Would ya believe it, the durn thing wouldn't cut," he said, eyeing the coat with a marveling huff. "Whoever makes this guy's suits, I'm gettin' mah church getup there. Say, I can't even see how this guy's breathin'! They sure tried to mush'im. Strange his ribs ain't pulverized by now. Put the basin down there – I've got my work cut out for me….."

Jacob tried to filter out the one-sided jargon. He helped as best he could; fetching boiling water, bracing a dislocated shoulder, closing his eyes at the blood, counting seconds while tilting a mesh screen of ether over Claude's face whenever he began to rouse. (That was terribly often, until even Bill was disturbed enough to mutter an apology when he tested a wrenched limb.)

"I don' like putting him out again," Bill admitted. "It's against every law in medical school. But miser's cats, he's gotta be hurting. Knee there's about twisted backwards. That's enough t'send a general hollering for his mother. Dislocated hip, too – don't ask how s'cruciating that can be. See those prints on his right wrist? That break's no accident; someone tried t'yank it three ways."

Severe grey eyes raked into Jacob. "Seriously, Jake – who tried to kill'im? Don't tell me it was another witch scare."

Jacob took a deep breath. "Look, all I know is, Mary Lou started something and he took the brunt of it. I tried to stop them."

"Well, I was gonna mention you look like you walked inta a light post," Bill said casually.

"Just…." Jacob held up his hand. "No questions. Please. The less anyone knows about this, the better."

"Jake, you're actin' like he robbed the bank," Bill tutted. "I ain't rattin' on anyone."

"I know," Jacob said hurriedly. "It's just that…."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Ol' Mary Lou's got your cat uppa tree. What'd she do, call your mother a witch?"

"If only it was that easy." Jacob lacked the energy to banter, and Bill was infallibly perceptible.

"So he caused more of a ruckus than a stray monkey and a firecracker."

Jacob swiveled and almost grabbed Bill's arm. The army doctor hissed a filthy oath.

"Dash it, Kowalski, I'm holding a scalpel! Unless you want more than a piece'o glass chunked outta this kid's leg, move outta my way!"

"What firecracker?" Jacob prodded.

A scarlet blade was waved in front of his nose and he closed his eyes, suddenly dizzy.

"Workin' with a blade," Bill said darkly. He thrust a towel into Jacob's hand. "That's three inches of filthy bottle buried in his thigh. Keep the blood out while I yank it free."

Bill's terminology was coarse, but he wasn't stupid. 'Yank it free' implied what felt like hours of careful incisions around a wicked piece of jagged, dark glass. Jacob breathed shallowly, constantly reminding himself that he'd seen worse, that it wasn't like this guy had lost a leg.

He hadn't seen this much blood in a long while, all the same.

"Ribs should be smashed," Bill repeated as he tugged the glass out of a horrible gash. He poured alcohol over the wound and Claude jolted, whimpering. "Sorry, kid."

Once bandages covered a neat row of stitches, Bill paused to rest his hands. "Something funny's goin' on here."

"You mean the monkey?" Jacob pressed.

"I mean he should be dead," Bill enunciated. "Maybe there was three kids in the crowd, an a couple lady-folk. They're nicer. Even if there were only six guys poundin' him, that's twenty-four limbs, Jacob. Oh, his ribs are broked plenty enough, kidney's might have problems, an' he's gonna have a fine time crawling around the next few weeks, but we're talkin' ruptured spine, crushed organs, internal bleeding….."

"Stop, stop, stop," Jacob said, holding up his hands. "Just tell me how he's still alive."

"That's jist it," Bill considered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Call it Saint Mary or angels or whatever you like, I can't feel anythin' slipped up internally. How'd you find him, anyway?"

Jacob's throat worked as he tried to swallow. "Unconscious in the middle of it all."

Huddled up, knees drawn into his chest, coat lapel flung over his head. Jacob thought that if he'd had a kid brother, and if that stupid idiot had been Claude, he'd have killed a man for putting him in that state.

It was easier to be detached when you didn't give someone a name.

"Okay, don't talk to me, then," Bill censured. "You know you're an horrible conversationalist when I'm workin'. C'mon, hold his leg. I'll set that ankle and then see 'bout his skull. Jemimah's kittens, he's gonna have a hangover the likes I hope I'll never see."

The one-sided prattle continued, and Jacob didn't have the strength to join in. He winced when Claude yelped, jerked out of his delirium by a savage yank that snicked his ankle in place, then hovered while Bill took advantage of the Brit's half-conscious state to peer into his eyes and ask soft, prompting questions. Name, date, city of origin, what'd he come to New York for, that was interesting, and what was he going to do with a … whatever it was called?

"He's bonkers," Bill said sadly as Claude's eyes closed. "Ain't got half a mind left. Jake, you realize what you're into. He's gonna need help. They'll take him to an institution if they hear two words of that nonsense."

"I know," Jacob said softly. He'd already figured that out when the Brit sacrificed himself for a suitcase and a duck-billed mole. Jacob met Bill's eyes and said evenly, "I'll get him back on his feet."

"You're sure?" Bill prompted him. "He's gonna be crippled for a while. You're gonna be responsible for everything, and it ain't gonna be comfortable for either of you. I'm talkin' bedpans, hallucinations, confusion, nausea, probably has family lookin' for him….."

"I got it," Jacob interrupted wearily. "I think I can handle it."

"No, you can't," Bill said pragmatically, "But you will. You're stubborn, you know that? Can't stop yourself, just have to help someone because you figure no one else can do the job."

"Sounds familiar?" Jacob retorted with a crooked smile.

"Least I have the credentials." Bill clapped Jacob's shoulder, spread a blanket over Claude, and stooped to gather his tools. "Huh: scope's vanished. Mind you find that, I'll need it again. Sorry to leave you on short notice. Gotta kid with croup down the road. Doctor's work is never done."

"Thank you," Jacob said, pushing all of his weary gratitude into the words. "Can I get you anything?" He leafed through his wallet, a little alarmed at the remaining cash, and thrust most of it at his friend.

"Nah, forget it," Bill said, waving him away. He faltered, raised a hand, and then pulled out a couple bills. "For supper. No, don't insist, you'll need it for him. Light broth for a couple days, nothing too rich, marrow in a day or two if he can handle it. Change the dressings twice a day; there's salve on the dresser. Use the morphine sparingly, and keep the bandages dry. I'll be here tomorrow morning to check on him."

"Bill, the monkey," Jacob interjected. "What did they say about it?"

"Really, Jake?" Bill deadpanned. "Fine. Kid's bob-tailed ape snitched someone's coin and the whole crowd got into a hoopla because Mary Lou's a bloody blasphemist and mistook a firecracker for a blast of magic. That's what I heard. I wasn't there – you were the witness. Why is this so important?"

"Nothing – not important at all," Jacob said hurriedly. "Heh… just wanted to know what the public was saying."

"No one's gonna peg you as a criminal, Jake," Bill said gently. "Look, everything will be fine. Send word to the factory, let them know your second-aunt's-cousin's-nephew – something or other related – is laid up and you're responsible for his care. I'll document it for you. You won't lose your job."

"That's… that's real good of you, Bill," Jacob said with a clipped nod. "Exactly what I needed to know."

"Sorry about Mildred," Bill said, waving his hat before clapping it over his thinning hair. "Keep lively, Jakey. Another girl will come along. And good luck."

"Yeah… uh… thanks." Twitching his fingers in an uneasy farewell, Jacob snapped the door closed and hurried back up to his apartment. The staircase seemed longer somehow, as though the length of a few extra steps could determine whether Claude took another breath.

By the time Jacob bolted his door and dashed into the bedroom, his heart was pounding like a racehorse cornered against the rail. He searched the room for anything out of place. Suitcase on the spare chair. Shells on the floor. Hot water bottle undisturbed. (At least he'd had enough mind to cut a tiny hole in the base, or the poor creature might have suffocated.) Claude was unconscious, still in the same position the doc had left him in. Nothing was amiss save for the blue-green serpent that was stretching towards eight feet long beside the window.

"Aw, you've gotta be kidding me," Jacob whispered.