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Authors: Annelie Wendeberg
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the lie with another lie.
Moran’s final sentence kept ringing in my ears. You should be grateful for any man showing interest.
— day 40 —
G off stood behind me, hands clasped behind his back, feet on tiptoe, peeking over my shoulder. Even if we had been working together for twenty years, a woman for a superior would still shock him, I was certain.
The petri dish in my hand contained golden-brown beef broth gelatin adorned with wrinkly white splotches — colonies of the glanders germ. I held a fine metal lancet in the blue of the Bunsen burner’s flame. As soon as it glowed bright red, I drove it into the gelatin. A hiss and the lancet was cooled down. I picked off a small piece from one of the colonies, spread it onto fresh media, then took another bit from the exact same dot and released it into a test tube with water. The white clump fell from the lance’s tip and sank to the bottom. I stoppered the tube and flicked it until the germs were homogeneously mixed with the liquid, then rose to my feet.
Goff stepped aside, and I made for the six cages, sealed inside a glass cabinet. The mice within served as test subjects to ascertain that my pure cultures were indeed glanders germs and not contaminants. I drew the deadly liquid into a glass pipette, opened the hatch, and measured exactly two millilitres into each of the troughs. Once finished, I placed the contaminated equipment into a container filled with grain alcohol.
‘Can we expect the usual incubation time?’ asked Goff.
‘This is a fairly high dose. I believe the mice will display first symptoms much sooner, possibly within a few days instead of two weeks.’
Bacteriology laboratory, early 1900s. (5)
The germs had been obtained from the liver of a horse with glanders in its final stage. After testing various pure cultures on mice, I had found two that caused the typical symptoms. Now, it was only a matter of being certain, identifying glanders germs by the colour and shape of their colonies, and keeping them contaminant-free and alive. Meanwhile, we kept our ears open for any sheep or cattle infected with anthrax. We could then isolate bacteria from their spleens.
Soon, my laboratory would be the most dangerous in the British Empire. One of the workbenches was lined with twenty pear-shaped glass vessels stoppered with cotton wads, waiting to be used as storage containers for large amounts of fatal bacteria. With the gaslight reflecting off them, they resembled Christmas tree decorations.
Around the room were other, much larger flasks, all tightly sealed so as not to let the alcohol escape into air. I had explained to Goff that large amounts of grain alcohol were needed as a safety measure. If we contaminated ourselves accidentally, we could disinfect our hands with it, or even soak and burn our clothes if necessary. Although I had told him the truth, I had certainly not revealed the most interesting part.
The maid served a light supper of beef soup and sandwiches. Moriarty and I took it in his study, next to the fireplace. His posture was stiff, his shoulders slightly drawn up, and he repeatedly rubbed his eyes and neck. I avoided looking directly into his face.
‘Mr Goff reported on your success with the isolation of glanders germs. Congratulations, Dr Kronberg.’ His voice was monotonous and strained.
The isolation of glanders had been simple enough, not too great a leap for a bacteriologist. I wondered whether he still regretted the loss of his battle for the Plague, but then wiped the thought away. Surely this defeat had not brought about his foul mood. So then, what had?
‘Thank you,’ I answered in the same neutral tone.
‘The next thing I want you to do is test the germs’ storage tolerance. How long can we keep them, and how does the duration of storage influence the infection rate?’
I had already planned on testing storage conditions. His background knowledge and how he placed the puzzle pieces of bacteriology and
Moran’s final sentence kept ringing in my ears. You should be grateful for any man showing interest.
— day 40 —
G off stood behind me, hands clasped behind his back, feet on tiptoe, peeking over my shoulder. Even if we had been working together for twenty years, a woman for a superior would still shock him, I was certain.
The petri dish in my hand contained golden-brown beef broth gelatin adorned with wrinkly white splotches — colonies of the glanders germ. I held a fine metal lancet in the blue of the Bunsen burner’s flame. As soon as it glowed bright red, I drove it into the gelatin. A hiss and the lancet was cooled down. I picked off a small piece from one of the colonies, spread it onto fresh media, then took another bit from the exact same dot and released it into a test tube with water. The white clump fell from the lance’s tip and sank to the bottom. I stoppered the tube and flicked it until the germs were homogeneously mixed with the liquid, then rose to my feet.
Goff stepped aside, and I made for the six cages, sealed inside a glass cabinet. The mice within served as test subjects to ascertain that my pure cultures were indeed glanders germs and not contaminants. I drew the deadly liquid into a glass pipette, opened the hatch, and measured exactly two millilitres into each of the troughs. Once finished, I placed the contaminated equipment into a container filled with grain alcohol.
‘Can we expect the usual incubation time?’ asked Goff.
‘This is a fairly high dose. I believe the mice will display first symptoms much sooner, possibly within a few days instead of two weeks.’
Bacteriology laboratory, early 1900s. (5)
The germs had been obtained from the liver of a horse with glanders in its final stage. After testing various pure cultures on mice, I had found two that caused the typical symptoms. Now, it was only a matter of being certain, identifying glanders germs by the colour and shape of their colonies, and keeping them contaminant-free and alive. Meanwhile, we kept our ears open for any sheep or cattle infected with anthrax. We could then isolate bacteria from their spleens.
Soon, my laboratory would be the most dangerous in the British Empire. One of the workbenches was lined with twenty pear-shaped glass vessels stoppered with cotton wads, waiting to be used as storage containers for large amounts of fatal bacteria. With the gaslight reflecting off them, they resembled Christmas tree decorations.
Around the room were other, much larger flasks, all tightly sealed so as not to let the alcohol escape into air. I had explained to Goff that large amounts of grain alcohol were needed as a safety measure. If we contaminated ourselves accidentally, we could disinfect our hands with it, or even soak and burn our clothes if necessary. Although I had told him the truth, I had certainly not revealed the most interesting part.
The maid served a light supper of beef soup and sandwiches. Moriarty and I took it in his study, next to the fireplace. His posture was stiff, his shoulders slightly drawn up, and he repeatedly rubbed his eyes and neck. I avoided looking directly into his face.
‘Mr Goff reported on your success with the isolation of glanders germs. Congratulations, Dr Kronberg.’ His voice was monotonous and strained.
The isolation of glanders had been simple enough, not too great a leap for a bacteriologist. I wondered whether he still regretted the loss of his battle for the Plague, but then wiped the thought away. Surely this defeat had not brought about his foul mood. So then, what had?
‘Thank you,’ I answered in the same neutral tone.
‘The next thing I want you to do is test the germs’ storage tolerance. How long can we keep them, and how does the duration of storage influence the infection rate?’
I had already planned on testing storage conditions. His background knowledge and how he placed the puzzle pieces of bacteriology and
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