“You’ll shit your brains out if you drink any more of that,” he said, returning the flask to Vanderslice. “It’s castor oil.”
Lieutenant Cuthbert strode toward the fire, attracting the attention of the other Associators who gathered around to see what was afoot.
“You’re in a hurry,” Adam Swift remarked in his decidedly Irish drawl. He had been one of the first to sign up when the Associators were established, and was Cuthbert’s de facto second-in-command.
“We’re going home.” Cuthbert quickly hushed the cries of relief. “I heard it from one of the whores, who learned it from one of Washington’s aides, who heard the general talking to the other officers.”
Conversation burst out between members of the regiment as they began making plans for what they’d do once they were back home. Marcus shivered as the cold whistled through his coat. Philadelphia was no home to him. He would have to find another regiment to join—and soon. Maybe he would have to change his name again. If Washington was breaking up their winter camp and sending everyone back home, Marcus would need somewhere to go.
“You coming with us, Doc?” Swift elbowed Marcus in the ribs.
Marcus smiled and nodded, but there was a cold knot in his stomach. He didn’t have any skills that would be useful in Philadelphia. There wouldn’t be farm work until spring.
“Of course Doc is coming. He’s going to hang a shingle outside German Gerty’s and sell his medical services,” Cuthbert said. “I’ll stand outside and testify to your skill.” He held up his thumb.
“Let me see that.” Marcus stood, his cold joints creaking at the change in position. What he wouldn’t give for some of Tom Buckland’s liniment to soothe the ache in his bones.
Obediently, Cuthbert offered his hand to Marcus. Marcus looked at it closely, pushing up Cuthbert’s sleeve to examine the arm as well. At Princeton, Cuthbert had grabbed the wrong end of a gun brush, and some of the wire had become embedded in his thumb. It was still angry and red, but not nearly as swollen as it had been.
“No red streaks. That’s good—no infection.” Marcus probed the skin around the wound. There was a bit of discharge, but not much. “You must have the constitution of an ox, Lieutenant.”
“You there!” A small, elderly man in a wig that was at least forty years out of style pointed in Marcus’s direction. “Who are you?”
“Galen Chauncey,” Marcus said as confidently as he could. Cuthbert cut him a shrewd glance.
“You are the regimental surgeon for these men?” The longer the man’s sentences, the more evident his German accent became, all the th’s turning into soft d’s.
Sensing a potential crisis, Cuthbert turned on his considerable charm. “How can I help, Mr. . . . ?”
“Dr. Otto,” the man said, planting his feet wide. “This is a Pennsylvania company, ja?”
“Yes,” Cuthbert admitted.
“I am chief surgeon for the Pennsylvania companies, and I do not know this man.” Otto sized up Marcus from head to toe. “He does not look like one of us. That shirt is very odd.”
“Doc’s not odd. He’s a Yankee, that’s all,” said Swift.
Marcus glared at him. That was not something he wanted officers to know.
“Doc?” Otto’s voice rose.
“Not exactly,” Marcus said hastily. “I learned some tricks of healing from a friend back home, that’s all.”
“Tricks?” Otto’s voice was now as high as his eyebrows.
“Skills,” Marcus corrected himself.
“If you are so skilled, then what are the healing properties of mercury?” Otto demanded.
“Treating lesions on the skin,” Marcus said, happy to remember some of what he’d learned from Tom’s medical books.
“And why would you administer calomel and jalap?”
“To purge the bowels,” Marcus replied promptly.
“You know of Dr. Rush’s methods, I see. And what do you know of Dr. Sutton?” Dr. Otto’s dark eyes fixed intently on Marcus.
“I know he charges too much for ordinary people to afford his services,” Marcus said, tired of the inquisition. He pushed up his sleeve. The puckered scar from his own inoculation was still visible on his arm, and likely would be for his whole life. “And I know his method works. Any other questions?”
“No.” Otto blinked. “You will come with me.”
“Why?” Marcus asked warily.