Chapter XVIII: The Prince’s Remedy

Master Lamark, with his typical briskness, opened his leather physician's case and produced a slender blade and copper basin. Turning to his assistant, he gave the order, "Prepare to bleed the Crown Prince at once."

Joseph, rising slightly against his pillows, objected with resolve. "That shall not happen. I strictly forbid it."

Lamark, unshaken, regarded the ailing prince with the stern eye of a seasoned scholar. "Your Highness, I must insist. A prolonged fever is not to be trifled with—serious complications may follow."

Joseph reached for a nearby paring knife, more symbolic than threatening, prepared to defend himself if need be. But Lamark pressed further, his voice even: "Should you refuse proper medical attention, I will have no choice but to inform Her Majesty the Queen."

At that moment, salvation entered in the form of Dr. Larseny, who stepped through the door holding a cloudy glass bottle, his expression a blend of triumph and apology.

"Your Highness," he said, offering the vessel, "here is the medicine you requested… though I must confess, it may be somewhat impure."

Joseph took the bottle and, upon removing the cork, inhaled the pungent scent of spirits and bitterness. He smiled despite himself. "For a first attempt, Doctor, this is more than satisfactory. You have my thanks."

He turned then to Lamark. "Tell me, Master Lamark—if I were to submit to your method, how long would it take before my fever abates?"

The older man furrowed his brow and thought. "By tonight, if we are fortunate. If not, then perhaps by tomorrow morning."

Joseph raised the bottle of salicin, its contents derived from willow bark. "If I take this," he said calmly, "my fever will break within an hour."

Lamark stiffened, his pride pricked. "Your Highness, no known treatment can accomplish such a feat. Fever reduction takes time. Willow bark, even when consumed steadily, offers only modest results after days of use—assuming the patient's stomach endures it."

Joseph met his gaze evenly. "Then let us place a wager, if you are so certain. Should my fever fall within the hour, you will never attempt to bleed me again."

Lamark, surprised, considered the challenge. "And if it does not?"

"Then I shall submit myself to any course of treatment you deem necessary henceforth."

The elder physician paused a moment longer, then gave a grave nod. "Very well. We have a gentleman's agreement."

Joseph raised a silver spoon, filled it with the viscous extract, and swallowed it down in a single motion. He grimaced at the burning bitterness.

Lamark consulted his watch. "It is now twenty-one minutes past four."

Too restless to lie idle, Joseph sat up and began discussing the process of refining the extract with Dr. Larseny. Lamark, observing from nearby, could not help but admire the prince's astute reasoning and breadth of understanding.

To think—a Crown Prince, not yet fourteen, conversing fluently in the principles of heat extraction, precipitation, and alcohol distillation. If young Joseph had chosen a path in chemistry or medicine, Lamark thought, he would surely rival the greatest minds in Europe.

Yet, the seasoned scientist could not ignore what he believed: willow bark was an ancient folk remedy. The British had studied it extensively in recent decades, and its effects—though real—were mild, and always slow to manifest.

Still, Lamark kept quiet, fascinated by Joseph's grasp of laboratory principles.

As they spoke of rapid precipitation and potential alkali neutralization, Joseph rubbed his forehead and said casually, "I believe the fever has broken."

Lamark blinked, pulled out his watch again. It was 4:58 p.m.—thirty-seven minutes since the medicine had passed the prince's lips.

He stepped forward quickly and placed a palm against Joseph's brow. The skin was dry, the heat gone.

"Perna," he called, "bring me the thermometer."

She moved quickly, placing the glass rod in the prince's mouth. When she removed it, Lamark read the mercury line himself, his eyes narrowing, then widening in astonishment.

"Thirty-six point eight," he murmured.

He looked at Joseph, then at the bottle of medicine.

"Your Highness… you made this from willow bark? Truly?"

Joseph smiled faintly. "Yes. Purified. The base compound is called salicin."

Lamark stepped back, gripping the glass tube tightly. "Astounding… If this extract consistently produces such results, then Your Highness may have changed the course of modern medicine."

Joseph inclined his head. "You may attempt to reproduce it in the laboratory. Dr. Larseny will show you the process."

Lamark bowed deeply. "You have my deepest gratitude." And then, like a man seized by holy fire, he dashed for the door with Larseny in tow, already muttering equations and preparation steps beneath his breath.

Just before vanishing, he turned back. "Perna, remain here and attend to His Highness. Report to me at once should anything change."

"Yes, doctor."

Two Days Later

The fever did not return. Though Joseph still coughed from time to time, his condition had stabilized. With the worst behind him, he resumed his duties and appeared at the golden doors of the East Council Hall shortly before the Cabinet meeting.

It was not yet nine o'clock.

Inside, all the ministers had already assembled, and as Joseph entered, each man rose at once. Even Count Mono, Minister of the Interior, came quickly to his side.

"Your Highness," he said warmly, "thank you. The decree regarding Gizo was issued yesterday—there was no mention of riot or treason, as you advised."

Joseph nodded graciously. "Her Majesty agreed with my recommendation to resolve the matter quietly. I thank you for ensuring it was handled with discretion."

While Joseph still suspected that Gizo's actions might not have been entirely of his own design, now was not the time to press further. Once his own intelligence network was established, such questions could be investigated more precisely.

Count Mono now stood and addressed the room with outspread arms:

"Gentlemen, let us offer our congratulations to His Highness. Under his command, Paris's most disorderly district has been made peaceful. The Saint Antoine quarter is no longer a nest of vipers, but a place of law and safety! Truly, the Crown Prince is a son touched by divine grace!"

The council chamber erupted in applause.

Joseph remained composed, bowing slightly in return, though in his heart he knew that the applause, however pleasant, must never blind him. His work had only just begun.