Free The Lord of Opium by Nancy Farmer Page A

possible to do anything in this place without being found out? Cienfuegos must have spread the story. “I was curious about her, that’s all,” he said. “I’d like to go now.”
    “Would you mind if I stayed?” The music teacher picked up the guitar.
    “Not at all.”
    “You should visit the drug factory,” said Mr. Ortega, “keep up with the family business. It’s bursting at the seams now because they can’t export the opium. The dust alone in that place would knock you on your nachas .”
    “That can’t be good for the workers,” said Matt.
    “They’re eejits,” the music teacher said. “They don’t know when they’re stoned.”

10
    NURSE FIONA
    M att didn’t go to the opium factory. Eusebio’s reaction to the music bothered him too much, and he told Daft Donald to drive to the hospital. He had no good memories of the place and didn’t want to go there now, but he had to learn more about the microchipping process.
    The hospital was set apart from other buildings. It was a gray, windowless place surrounded by a wasteland of sand and thorny vines. Dust had drifted over its front steps as though no one had gone inside for a long time. But the door wasn’t locked. The smell in the waiting room was sickly sweet and medicinal at the same time, and it stirred terrible images from Matt’s past. For the first time in weeks he felt his lungs close up. Bad air! his mind screamed as he reached for his asthma inhaler. He staggered outside and collapsed on the dusty steps.
    Daft Donald, who had been waiting in the car, rushed over.“Find help,” Matt managed to gasp. The bodyguard nodded and ran inside.
    It took Daft Donald a few minutes to return, and by that time Matt felt slightly better. A woman in a nurse’s uniform knelt beside him. “Dear me, young master. You want to be lying down.” She had the same lilting accent as Tam Lin.
    “Not in the hospital,” said Matt.
    “No indeed! It’s like a bloody crypt in there,” the nurse said. She and Daft Donald carried the boy to the car, although Matt said he felt well enough to walk. “I’ll see you back to your own good bed, laddie. It’ll be a fair treat getting out of that hospital, I can tell you,” the nurse confided. “All the doctors gone, only the odd gardener coming in with a cut, the halls deserted except for those bloody zombies. Scrub, scrub, scrub, that’s all they ever do. It’s a wonder the floor hasn’t eroded.”
    By the time they arrived back at the hacienda, Matt had learned a lot about the nurse, whose name was Fiona. He knew where she’d gone to school, her first and second husbands’ names, her father’s occupation (punter, whatever that was), her mother’s problems with varicose veins. On and on the one-sided conversation flowed until Matt was quite bewildered.
    “You’re the first Real Person I’ve seen in donkey’s years,” Fiona warbled, tucking Matt into bed. “ ‘Look after the hospital,’ they said, going off to that party they threw for the old man’s funeral. The doctors, the head nurses, the lab technicians left me behind because I’m at the bottom of the heap. No vacations for Fiona. She’s only a dishwasher. ‘We’ll be right back,’ they said. And didn’t they drink poisoned wine at that party! It just shows that good luck has a way of turning on you. Foo! There’s a fair pong in this room. Would you mind if I opened a window?”
    By now Celia had been alerted as to Matt’s illness. Shebustled in with home remedies and a tray of food. Between them, the two women set up a bed table and soon had Matt propped against pillows.
    “Where’s Waitress?” Matt asked.
    “Don’t you remember? You sent her to be retrained,” Celia said.
    A whisper of alarm touched Matt’s nerves. “She’ll be back, won’t she?”
    “Of course. Eventually.” Celia left.
    “Here comes the choo-choo train going to the station,” Fiona said brightly. She held up a spoonful of mashed potatoes.
    “I can