“Incorrect. You are to be the chemist here. If I choose so. Nicholas Belyard is the village’s physician. You and he will share the hospital, but it is beyond his duties—and capabilities—to explore the laboratory and use the chemicals in the fashion that will fall to you. If I allow it.”

“Ah. I see.” Firebaugh shifted uneasily in his chair. “Um … I seem to recall the name of Nicholas Belyard. He—”

“Two years ago shot and killed another physician in an argument over a young woman,” Fell said. “Such are the uncontrollable emotions of youths scarcely out of medical school. He escaped the clutches of the law and a year later wound up in my employ. So you as the village’s chemist will not be in direct contact with patients needing such things as stitches and boils lanced. Belyard makes trips beyond the village to bring back medical supplies, ointments and instruments as needed. Those will not be your concern.”

“Ah,” Firebaugh repeated. “Then … basically … I will be in a position of research? A position that one might say is … solitary?”

“One might say,” Fell replied. He looked at Matthew. “The book?”

It came out of Julian’s cloak. Julian put the red bound volume in front of the professor, who ran a hand across it before he opened it and for a minute or two turned through the pages in silence. “I know,” he said, “that you would not be here if Matthew had not decided you met the qualifications. I will hear the whole story from our travellers at a later date, but right now I want to hear from yourself why you believe you’re up to this responsibility.”

Responsibility, Matthew thought. He almost laughed and he knew Hudson almost did as well. Even Julian might have suppressed a guffaw that would’ve earned him much more than broken ribs. Fell was making the job of keeping most of Y Beautiful Bedd’s inhabitants dazed with drugs sound like a task Queen Anne might have commanded. Matthew wondered what might happen if, indeed, the drugs wore off. If the people here—kept prisoner by Fell for one reason or another—began to come to their senses, as Matthew had seen a few start to resurface from their drugged depths, would the remaining contingent of guards be strong enough to hold back a revolt? Or would the whole place collapse without the power of the potions? If anything, the place would be changed, and no longer would the majority of inhabitants—prisoners—be so docile and easily contained.

He was thinking of his promise to the Italian opera star Madam Alicia Candoleri that he would get her, her manager Giancarlo Di Petri and her makeup artist Rosabella out of the village and to safety. How could that possibly be done?