Elixir by Eric Walters

tea today, if you’re able. Tea and biscuits will perk up your spirits the way the walk should clear your head.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    DR. BANTING WASN ’ T QUITE RIGHT : the walk did help settle my stomach, but my head was still filled with images of the kennel. Maybe he was right about the cup of tea, though. It was only twenty after one—a full forty minutes before tea time—but I hoped that if I showed up early I might be able to have a biscuit to tide me over.
    As I climbed the stairs, I started to think about the kennel again … to think about that one dog with the oozing, stitched-up wound. I wondered if I’d ever get that picture to go away.
    There was a time when all I thought about was my father’s death. I would imagine how it happened, what he was thinking, how he was feeling. I’d wonder if he was in pain, or if he was thinking about me or my mother when he … when he … died. I thought I’d never be able to think of anything else. Now there were days when it didn’t even cross my mind. That suddenly made me feel guilty.
    The first faint strains of the dogs’ barking echoed down the stairs. The sound grew louder with each step I climbed. Now it was different, though. It wasn’t just dogs barking. It felt as if they were calling out to me, begging me to pet them, or fill up an overturned water bowl, or take them away.
    I walked along the corridor. Part of me wondered if I even had the strength to go past that door again to get to the lab. I fixed my gaze on the floor so I wouldn’t have to see it. I wasn’t going to look up until—What was that? It was voices, men’s voices. They seemed to be coming from around the corner, from the direction of Dr. Banting’s lab. I stopped dead in my tracks. The voices came again, louder, more angry. It was two men yelling! Who could it be and why were they arguing, and—I recognized one of the voices. It was Dr. Banting. But who could the second voice belong to? It was probably that terrible professor. What if I was right? What if he really was one of those vivisectionists, and he’d found out that I’d been in the kennel? Maybe they were arguing about me! My stomach tightened.
    Maybe I needed to get away, go and hide. That would be the best thing to do. Or at least the easiest. I couldn’t just do that, though. What if Dr. Banting needed help? I could at least run and get Mr. Mercer. I had to see.
    I took a deep breath. The increasingly loud voices, the dogs barking, the smell of urine, the heat—all of it swirled around me. I put my head down and walkedswiftly toward the lab, past the closed door of the kennel. Turning the corner, I saw that the lab door was partially open. I stopped. The two men were still screaming at each other. Maybe I should go away. How could I really help? I stood there, frozen, unable to go any farther and unable to flee.
    â€œDo you realize what you’ve done?” It was Dr. Banting’s voice.
    â€œIt isn’t just my fault!”
    â€œThat’s three whole weeks of research down the drain!” yelled Dr. Banting. “Three weeks lost because you didn’t sanitize the equipment correctly!”
    â€œI didn’t do it on purpose. You could have checked the equipment yourself. I’m your assistant, not your manservant!”
    Assistant … it wasn’t the professor … it was Mr. Best! It was Dr. Banting and Mr. Best fighting! Slowly, tentatively, I edged closer and peeked around the door. The two men were at the far end of the lab, standing toe to toe.
    â€œAll our work, all our calculations, everything is corrupt and faulted!” Dr. Banting shouted. “It’s all worthless!” He pounded his fist against the counter and a tray of beakers crashed to the floor with the terrible sound of smashing glass.
    â€œThere’s no need for you to throw a temper tantrum!” Mr. Best bellowed back.
    â€œMaybe