192. [POLSKA] The Doctor Will See You Now

One thing Serac and Zacko still needed to learn as Wayfarers: it paid to pay close attention to one's surroundings, even for details that might seem irrelevant in the moment.

Last Night, for example, as a hasty tabbycat led a pair of outrealmers to see a doctor, Renna had quietly studied the shape of Duskpool the city. She knew the main road from the factory took a winding climb up a steep hill, as roads on Mount Meru often did. She also recalled the endpoint of that climb: a towering bluff that overlooked the Sanzu River.

Which was why, as soon as Feverfew referred to the hospital as "that old gaff up on the Riverside Bluff", Renna knew exactly what to look for. She squish-pattered her way up the hill now, sans local guide yet sure of purpose and destination.

As it turned out, 'that old gaff' was something of a contradiction unto itself. Its imposing architecture (of a style unfamiliar to a freshly ascended Pretjordian) made it perhaps the most impressive landmark in all of Duskpool. Yet the utter lack of illumination made it impossible to make out until you were right at its doorstep. The building was large, dark, and chock full of ripples both fresh and ancient. Renna hesitated for only a Ksana before squish-pattering into its heavy wooden maw.

Inside the hospital, the lighting situation improved none. But Renna, like any Yaksha worth her salt, could read her way through unfamiliar corridors. As she walked, she noted the building's rundown condition, taking care to step around the grime.

Duskpool, as a city, was haunted by the phantoms of its glory days. Perhaps nowhere was that more apparent than here inside the labyrinthine halls of a hospital. Renna could well imagine, even without the help of ripples, nurses busying about the place and doctors gliding from room to room. Perhaps some of them, if Feverfew were to be believed, even stopped once in a while to consult a Day-side counterpart.

ToNight, however, only dilapidated walls and grimy floors remained. Upturned beds and scattered medical equipment, untouched for so long even the ripples had forsaken them. As much as Renna wished to stop for a closer look, now wasn't the time to cater to her scholarly side over her Wayfaring one.

Presently, the Yaksha followed a hallway to a dead end. Which was odd, since she'd definitely read signals of recent movement through these parts, and by at least several individuals at that. But as she studied the 'wall' that blocked her own passage, she soon realized it wasn't a dead end at all.

A metallic box, its entrance barred by layered doors, one latticed and the other solid. Renna pulled on a rusted handle and, with some effort, managed to slide both doors open.

Inside was another dead end—or rather, a rectangular space large enough to fit a good number of souls and perhaps one or two gurneys. Renna readily understood the box's function to be transport, meaning there must be a way—a device—by which to move it.

She soon found the likely candidate: a panel with a vertical series of faded labels and a lever that ran along the side. An intuitive design, its intent clear even for a freshly ascended Pretjordian. The labels corresponded to each level of the hospital, and the lever was used to direct the box to its next destination.

Now, Renna had a choice to make. Up or down? Her Wayfaring instincts—some of them perhaps rubbed off from a certain Rakshasa—said 'up'. But a hazy recollection of last Night's conversations, including the mention of 'morgue' and its subterranean implications, suggested 'down'.

She elected for the latter, pulling the lever as low as it would go. The box immediately rumbled and clanked to life, powered by some unknown mechanism Renna would be sure to investigate at the earliest opportunity. She made herself stand still and waited for the box to complete its move, unable to decide whether to narrow her eyes in caution or widen them in wonder.

The box eventually creaked to a stop, having traveled the approximate height of two corridors stacked together. Two levels into the basement, then?

Renna frowned, wondering if the box had run into some malfunction. She knew not how many levels deep the hospital went underground. What she did know—or rather, read from the ambient ripples—was the existence of a hollow channel just below her feet, separated by thick sheets of metal and other strange contraptions. Which, she would've assumed, meant the box could go a lot lower than this.

Time was short. The Yaksha put the spontaneous mystery on hold, refocusing instead on her 'delivery' mission. She grabbed the handle and pulled the doors open, inviting herself into yet another hallway, now of the basement variety.

Conventional wisdom would've expected an abandoned building to become darker and grimier deeper into its underground bowels. Reality turned out to be the opposite. Here at Level B2 of the Duskpool Infirmary, the hallways were squeaky clean and lit on either side by gas lamps. Even the walls showed fresh signs of repair and plastering. Someone had put in extensive effort to render the place functional and presentable. Proof, if nothing else, that a Night-sider could overcome the brutally short cycles to get some work done.

Renna slowed her squish-patter steps to better take in the changes. She'd been promised a 'morgue', but there wasn't a hint of death within these sterile corridors. The place was so clean, in fact, that there were barely any ripples for her to read.

She did the only thing she could and simply followed the lights. Eventually, they took her to a pair of familiar figures.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Young Oriole and slightly younger Caraway sat on wooden stools on either side of a door, looking as though they might be guarding the room's contents. They had their backs turned to each other, and both seemed to be making every effort to avoid eye contact. Another argument, then, one in which both of them lost.

Caraway was the one who had her eyes turned up the hallway. Said eyes lit up as they found the approaching figure of a pink frog woman.

"Renna!" The calico had an effortlessly friendly manner about her, not too unlike a Serac Edin. "How'd you manage to get all the way up here, then? Did Feverfew send you?"

Renna nodded, then gestured with the pot of stew in her webbed hands, bundled up in rags so as not to scald her skin. That prompted Oriole to turn and look, even as he sniffed the air greedily.

"Is that the old girl's hotchpotch?" he asked, his voice too taking on an audible purr. "May… may I have some?"

Caraway turned and gave him a slap upside the head, faster than lightning.

"It's obviously meant for the doc, ya dolt!"

"It's alright," Renna interjected in a mild croak. "Feverfew had me bring enough for all four of you." She then turned her gaze onto the 'guarded' door. "Is the doctor in there? And I presume Zacarias too?"

Oriole stood up eagerly to relieve Renna of her package. To his credit, he didn't forget to give a reply while he was at it.

"That's right. But I wouldn't go in there just yet, if I were you."

"Why?"

"He's getting things ready for an operation." This from Caraway. "And if there's one thing to know about Gladiolus, it's that he likes to keep his workspace spick and span!"

"An operation?" If Renna had been curious about this vaunted doctor before, she was now practically rapt with fascination. "For Zacarias's shoulder you mean?"

Oriole nodded, even as his eyes brimmed with tears. He'd just burnt his cat tongue on hot stew.

"That's right," he said again, voice slightly strained. He then swallowed his mouthful to add, "Isn't Gladiolus amazing? He barely needed a second look at Zacko to know exactly what was wrong with him. Says it's a simple fix. One cycle should be more than enough to finish the surgery."

Renna's fascination was tempered by a not insignificant dose of caution.

"This doctor," she mused aloud, "you trust him?"

For a moment, Oriole merely stared back with a blank expression, one Zacarias might've characterized as 'unicellular'. He then looked almost offended as he came to his neighbor's defense.

"With my life. If there's one thing to know about Gladiolus, it's that he's an even better doctor than a Wayfarer. And he ain't a slouch at neither, innit?"

Oriole, normally so careful to affect a 'sophisticated' air, dipped back into the local dialect for one second. He himself looked a little embarrassed about it, but then Caraway graced him with a nod of approval.

"It's true what Ori says." The calico put aside her differences with the ginger tabby. "Gladiolus isn't always around, but whenever he is, we Duskpoolers are better off for it. You can trust him, Renna. He'll do right by yer Manusya friend."

The Yaksha wasn't about to argue with the local wisdom, especially when so vehemently expressed. She too gave a nod of understanding, despite being a little disappointed she wouldn't get to speak to this doctor of great repute. So, all I've managed to do toNight is befriend an old cook and deliver dinner to a couple of hungry souls. Perhaps the Nights really are too short to accomplish anything of real substance.

But that was when the door swung open, along with a sonorous yet gentle greeting from within.

"Is this the great Bubblegum I've heard so much about?"

[Designation: GLADIOLUS ere'BRANAGH]

The tiger's mountainous figure filled the entire doorframe, such that it was a wonder he'd fit through it in the first place. He was robed in a white surgical gown, as 'spick and span' as the rest of Level B2. Sitting precariously on his orange-and-black face was a pair of pince-nez glasses.

"Gladiolus!" Oriole yelped like a startled kitten. He then held out the half-eaten pot in his hands. "This is from Feverfew! Did you want me to set it down somewhere or—"

"In a minute, Mr Quinlan." The doctor gave a polite enough answer to the tabbycat, but his bespectacled eyes—devilishly curious and gleaming with Pathsight—remained fixed on the frog Yaksha about a third his size. He took a moment to consider something, then added, "As for you, Miss Sandvik. How would you like to scrub in? I've been meaning to train up an assistant, and something tells me you're the right candidate for the job."

Oriole, speechless, gaped from the tiger to the frog, once more looking rather unicellular. On the other side of the door, Caraway silently studied the 'candidate' with a curious look of her own. As for 'Miss Sandvik' herself…

If Renna had been fascinated by Gladiolus ere'Branagh before, she was now well and truly riveted by his presence. His mystery. His contradictions. For as soon as the doctor had stepped out to greet her, she'd been hit full in the face by a veritable avalanche of ripples.

Wheat stalks that swayed in the morning breeze. Shadowy claws sharper than a surgical instrument. Blood, guts, and entrails—all left to bake in the pitiless sun.

The man was a healer, yet he carried death with him everywhere he went. He was a Night-sider, yet he'd walked, lived, and killed in broad Daylight.

It was all Renna could do to suppress a smile. Well, it seemed not all hope was lost. This Night could well prove to be fruitful, after all.

"I'd love to," she answered the call in a mild croak. "I've been meaning to brush up on my surgical skills, and something tells me you're the right 'mentor' for me to shadow."

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