The Emerald Key - By Christopher Dinsdale Page 0,42

at Jamie, her face flashing concern and hope at the same time.

“Good luck.”

Jamie bent over. “Hopefully there will be two of us when I return. Keep an eye on that baby bear of ours.”

“I will.”

Jamie retraced his steps back through the warehouses. The stench had risen to an almost unbearable level by the time he’d circled around the final building and found the entranceway to the quarantine station. There were not one but three massive buildings stretching out towards the bank of the St. Lawrence. Guarding the fenced perimeter of the buildings was a company of armed servicemen. As Jamie approached, the soldier guarding the main gate stepped forward.

“Good day, son,” he said, in English. “How can I help you?”

“Are armed guards really necessary for a quarantine station?” asked Jamie. “Most are too sick to walk, let alone try to escape.”

The soldier guffawed as if that was the funniest joke he had ever heard. “We’re not here to keep the sick imprisoned. We’re to keep the locals under control. There has been more than one threat to burn down the entire quarantine station along with the hundreds of sick inside. Wouldn’t want that to happen now, would we?”

Jamie was stunned. “Are you serious? That would be mass murder!”

“Some in town would claim the sick Irish have already committed mass murder on us Canadians. We’ve had over a thousand people die this year in Montreal alone of typhoid and cholera. Thousands more have died in the rest of the colony! So yes, considering it’s the immigrants bringing the sickness to Canada, some would rather not have any immigrants on our land, if you get my meaning. Have you just arrived here yourself?”

“Actually, I am a new arrival, but I’m healthy.”

“Can I see your papers?”

Jamie passed him the papers Officer Keates had passed on to him before leaving the ship.

“Everything seems to be in order.”

“I’m looking for my brother who arrived in Montreal on a ship a week or two ago. Can you help me find him?”

“Not me, but I can point you in the direction of someone who can. See that small building beside the next gate? There should be someone inside who can access the records of new arrivals.”

Jamie thanked the officer and walked along the perimeter of the fence to the small administrative office building. As he made his way along the fence, he glanced over to the entrance of one of the quarantined buildings. He shuddered as he saw rows upon rows of the sick and dying. The lines of cots were full, so many of the quarantined simply made makeshift beds out of straw and lay on the floor. The pungent smell of death wafting from the fenced-in misery was mixed with the sobs, groans, and screams of the still living. He could see only a handful of brave nurses trying their best to care for the overwhelming number of quarantined immigrants.

“Out of the way, boy!”

Jamie stepped sideways as a large horse-drawn cart rumbled by. Behind the driver, the wooden cart was piled high with a mound of canvas-covered cargo. The cart hit a bump and a waxy arm suddenly dangled out over its wooden side. Jamie turned away, bent over, and took several slow, deep breaths, fighting with all his might not to be sick.

“Ryan is still alive,” he whispered, fighting for control.

He slowly straightened himself, took the final steps toward the office, and opened the door. At the far end of the office, a bespectacled bookkeeper was scribbling notes into a thick-bound book. A ring of stubbly grey hair crowned his intense face. He glanced up from his paperwork.

“May I help you, son?”

“I truly hope so,” replied Jamie. “I’ve just arrived from Ireland and I’m trying to track down my brother. He arrived in Montreal about two weeks ago.”

The administrator stared at him over his spectacles. “And you believe he is here in quarantine?”

“Actually, I’m not sure. All I know is that he arrived two weeks ago, and I thought quarantine would be as good a place as any to start looking for him.”

“Well, let’s see what I can do. His name, please?”

“Ryan Galway.”

“And any other tidbits of information that might help me narrow down the search?”

“I know he was on board the Carpathia.”

The clerk’s eyebrows rose. “The Carpathia?”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down Jamie’s spine. “Do you know of the ship?”

“It ran into quite a severe storm during the crossing. I heard it’s being repaired here in Montreal before it can return