They walked past the patients, Carroll explaining, “This young fellow has severe diarrhea, which I am afraid is cholera. We had a terrible outbreak years ago, and ten villagers died. Fortunately, no one else has fallen ill, and I am keeping him here so that he doesn’t infect the others…This next case is terribly sad and, unfortunately, terribly common. Cerebral malaria. There is little I can do for the boy. He will die soon. I want to give his family hope, so I let him stay here…This child has rabies. She was bitten by a mad dog, which many now think is the mode of transmission, although again, I am too far from the learning centers of Europe to know the current opinion.”

They stopped by the little girl’s bed. She lay twisted in tense contortions, her eyes open in frozen horror. Edgar was shocked to see that her hands had been tied behind her back.

“Why is she restrained?” he asked.

“The disease makes you mad. That is what it means; rabere is Latin for rage. Two days ago she tried to attack Miss Ma, so we had to restrain her.”

At the end of the room, they found an old woman. “And what is wrong with her?” Edgar asked, beginning to feel overwhelmed by the litany of diseases.

“This one?” the Doctor asked. He said something to the old woman in Shan and she sat up. “She is fine. She is the grandmother of one of the other patients, who is currently seated in the corner over there. When she comes to visit him, he lets her rest in the cot because she says it is so comfortable.”

“Doesn’t he need it?”

“He does, although he isn’t in immediate danger like the other patients.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Probably diabetic. I have a number of patients who come to see me because they are frightened when they notice that insects eat their urine, because of the sugar in it. Some of the Shan seem particularly unnerved, they say that it is the same as having their own bodies preyed upon. Another old diagnosis, also by ancient Brahmins. He doesn’t need to be in my little hospital, but it makes him feel better, and gives his grandmother a place to rest.”

Carroll spoke to the man, and then to Miss Ma. Finally he motioned to Edgar to follow him outside. They stood in the sunlight. It was early afternoon.

“I think we are done for today. I hope this has been worthwhile for you, Mr. Drake.”

“It was. Although I was a little taken aback at first, I must admit. It is not like an English surgery. It is not very private.”

“I don’t have much of a choice. Although, it is good that everyone can see that an English face can do more than look down a rifle.” He paused. “You were asking me about my political opinions yesterday, no? There—an opinion.” He laughed.

“Indeed,” said Edgar, slowly. “Despite the stories, I am still amazed—”

“About what, may I ask?”

Edgar watched as the patients drifted slowly out of the clinic. “That you have accomplished all this. That you have brought music here, medicine. It is hard to believe that you have never fought a battle.”

Anthony Carroll stared at him. “You believe that? You are quite innocent, my dear fellow.”

“Maybe, but the men on the steamer said you have never fired a shot.”

“Then you should be happy you have seen me in my surgery, and not when we question prisoners.”

A chill ran along Edgar’s spine. “Prisoners?”

The Doctor lowered his voice. “The dacoits are known to tear tongues from mouths. I am not above their rules…But it shouldn’t bother you. As you say, you are here for music.”

Edgar felt faint. “I…I didn’t think…”

They stared at each other.

Suddenly Carroll’s face broke into a wide grin, his eyes twinkling. “A joke, Mr. Drake, a joke. I warned you about discussing politics. You mustn’t be so earnest. Don’t worry, everyone leaves with their tongue intact.”

He slapped the tuner on the back. “You came to find me this morning,” he said. “Regarding the Erard, I imagine?”

“Regarding the Erard,” replied Edgar weakly. “But if now is not a good time for this, I understand. This has been quite a morning already…”

“Nonsense, this is the perfect time. For what is tuning if not another form of cure? Let us waste not another instant. I know that you have been waiting.”

14

The sun had risen high above the mountain, and it was hot despite the cool breeze that licked up from the river. Still slightly unnerved, Edgar returned to his room to collect his tools, and the Doctor led him up a narrow trail to a path that ran between the buildings and the mountainside. He was surprised he had taken Carroll’s jest so seriously, but the thought of finally seeing the Erard cheered him. Since arriving, he had wondered where it was kept, and would peer into open rooms as he took strolls through the compound. They stopped at a door, bolted with a heavy metal latch. Carroll took a small key from his pocket and fitted it into the lock.

The room was dark. The Doctor walked across the floor to the windows and opened them. Outside, the view spilled out over the camp, to the Salween drifting past, dark and brown. The piano was covered by a blanket made of the same material he had seen on many of the women, decorated with thin multicolored lines. The Doctor removed it with a flourish. “Here it is, Mr. Drake.” The Erard stood half in the light of the window, the smooth surface of its case almost liquid against the rough backdrop of the room.

Edgar walked forward and put his hand on the piano. For a moment he stood silent, looking only, and then began to shake his head. “Unbelievable,” he said. “Really…this is so…” He took a deep breath. “I suppose part of me still can’t believe this. I have known about this for over two months now, but I think I am as surprised as if I had just walked in from the jungle and seen it…I am sorry, I didn’t think I would be so affected. It is…beautiful…”

He stood at the keyboard. Sometimes he was so focused on the technical aspects of piano construction that he forgot how lovely the instruments could be. Many of the Erards built during the same period were ornately decorated with inlaid wood, carved legs, even a sculpted nameboard. This one was simpler. A dark brown mahogany veneer stretched into curved, feminine legs, so smooth that they seemed almost lascivious; now he could understand why there were those in England who insisted that piano legs be covered. The nameboard was decorated with a thin, elegant line of mother-of-pearl, curling at each end into a bouquet of flowers. The case was smooth, monochrome, the texture found only in the interlocking pieces of veneer.

He said at last, “I admire your taste, Doctor. How did you know to select this one? Or an Erard for that matter?”

“Or a piano for that matter, you should ask.”

Edgar chuckled. “Indeed. At times I suppose I am a bit singleminded. It seemed so fitting…”

“Well, I am touched by the sentiment. You and I think in a similar manner…There is something about a piano that is different from other instruments, something imposing, deserving of admiration. It is always a subject of much discussion among the Shan I know. They say it bestows honor to hear it played. It is also the most versatile of instruments, something I think anyone would enjoy.”

“And an Erard?”

“My request was actually not that specific. I did ask for an Erard, an older model. I might even have mentioned one from 1840, as I had heard somewhere that Liszt had once played one. But the War Office chose, or maybe I was just lucky and this was the only one for sale. I agree it is beautiful. I was hoping perhaps that you could educate me to more of its technical aspects.”

“Of course…only where can I start? I don’t want to bore you.”

“I appreciate your humility, Mr. Drake, but I am sure you won’t.”

“Very well then…but please stop me if I do.” Edgar ran his hand over the case. “An 1840 Erard grand, Doctor, built by Sebastien Erard’s Paris workshop, which makes it unusual, as most of the Erards you find in London are from the London workshop. Mahogany-veneered. It has a double-escapement repetition action– the action is the set of levers that lift a hammer to the strings. It is designed so that after the hammer hits the strings it can fall back, ‘escaping.’ The double-escapement action was an innovation developed by Erard, but is standard on pianos now. It is very slender on Erards, hence it is common for the hammers to go out of adjustment. The heads of the hammers are made of alternating leather and felt, much more difficult to work with than most other pianos, which are pounded felt only. Before I even examine it, I will wager that the voicing on this one is in terrible shape. I can’t imagine what the humidity has done to the felt covers on the hammers.