The Timeless Library

43. Beneath the Mask

"A raise?" one of the councilmen slammed his hands on the table. "People out there are dying, and you come here asking for a raise?"

"Precisely because they are dying is why I demand a raise," the doctor said. "I am all too aware of your situation, sirs. You cannot hire general practitioners for the job, for you would put their regular patients at risk. Of the available doctors that remain, few are brave enough to face this new illness headfirst. With good reason, too-we all have families, sirs. A wife, children. I very much wish to see my son grow into a man, but here I am still, risking my life in your name."

"It is your civic duty," another of the councilmen attempted to counter. "We are aware of the risks, certainly, but that is why we cover the cost of all personal protective equipment and-"

"And you think that's enough?" The doctor laughed with derision at the seated men. "If that fully guaranteed our health, sir, I think you would have fewer doctors disappearing on you." He waved his cane at them. "We are the front line in this war against the invisible enemy. If you truly care about your citizens, the least you can do is stop funneling their hard-earned money into useless ventures to embellish your political name, and instead provide an incentive to keep us soldiers in the game. Because, sirs, I think about my family often, and the more I do, the less I can guarantee that this paltry sum you provide will keep me in the game much longer. As much as I wish the best for our citizens, my own loved ones come first. And I have no reputation to tarnish, unlike you, sirs."

A third councilman-the oldest, from the looks of it-pinched his brow in frustration. "You drive a hard bargain."

"It's not a bargain at all-it's extortion!" another exclaimed, causing the doctor to huff.

"If that is how you see it, I will politely resign from this position and-"

"Let's not be hasty, now," the oldest councilman said. "I think we can all agree to grant you a generous increase of ten percent-"

"Thirty percent. This is my life I am putting on the line-"

"That is preposterous! We cannot-"

"-my life, and my wife's, and my son's. Thrice the risk demands thrice the payment-"

"You have our sympathy, but that does not excuse-"

"-I know it fits your budget. I'm worth the three doctors that haven't shown up for the job. I've seen the reports-I make the reports-"

"Enough!"

Silence fell. Every man in the room turned his attention to the one who had last spoken.

"Twenty percent. That's as far as we'll go."

"Make it twenty-five, and we have a deal."

"Fine, twenty-five, but payment will be provided one month in advance, instead of two. All other clauses of your present contract will still apply."

The doctor knew when to stop pushing his luck. "Very well. I accept, if only out of concern for my fellow citizens. With payments like these, if I don't approach the infected, nobody will." He tapped the floor with his cane. "Let us proceed with the formalities quickly, then. My patients are dying as we speak."

Twenty minutes and twenty-five percent later, the doctor was walking out of the town hall with a new scroll in hand. He paused at the entryway, pristine blue skies overhead. Reaching into his pouch, he added fresh, fragrant herbs to the beak of the pointed mask, then brought it up to his face, tying its thick leather straps around the back of his head.

Once more he tapped his cane on the ground, and then he stepped onto the empty streets ahead. Whether he was smiling or frowning beneath the mask, only he could tell.