Chapter 171

Taken from the journal of Benjamin Garrick, physician. May 28th 1692, Sozopol The air hath been heavy with heat today. The townsfolk that dare to speak with me tell me that it is unusually warm for this time of year and the sea breeze hath done little to calm the temperatures. They are, of course, naturally accustomed to the coastal weather, yet I, an Englishman by birth, am more at home with the rain and overcast skies of London. More than once today I hath felt my shirt soaked from collar to hem as I tended the sick and bed-ridden but no amount of mine own discomfort hath forced me to wish for the cool of the night hours. I would endure the sun a thousand times over so not to face the night, for it brings with it an unnatural quiet that rattles me and yet I cannot determine neither rhyme nor reason for it. I suppose I should be thankful that those afflicted are calmer during the night hours. During the day, when consciousness cruelly allows them