A medical emergency

[fadingworld]

A deep navy cloak hides his features and the more ornate tunic the courtesan usually wears to greet his clients. Mal hunches his shoulders and slides through the crowds hoping to avoid notice. He keeps his head down until he reaches the home of the doctor and wraps smartly on the door. "Open up," he calls in a voice that expects to be listened to.

How much time did he have? He could not have a client bleeding out. Not this one. Not one who had come to him for help, to be treated privately.

Comments

[fadingworld]

Mal keeps his hood drawn up, naming a prominent Duke. "There was an assassination attempt. He came to me." He leans back against the wall.

His laugh is low and musical. "It is not within my usual daily duties but I am not upset by the sight of blood."

[mandragoraspiritus]

"What was the nature of the assassination attempt? Poison?" He needs to know this to know what sort of equipment to bring.

"Why you? Would not such a prominent person have his own physicians at his beck and call?" No matter the circumstance, it is how it is now, and this humble barber-surgeon will come and help. But he would like to know just what those circumstances are.

[fadingworld]

"He thinks it was poison, he said he felt a dart." Mal isn't going to give the Duke's secrets away. Nor his fears. "He was out when it happened and the Rose Thorn was closest. Besides it would arouse more curiosity if his physician was seen coming into his lodgings."

[mandragoraspiritus]

The barber-surgeon hums to himself at that, slipping some more vials of liquid and packets of powders into his satchel, this that could help counter what he suspects most likely that an assassin would use.

"Come along, then," he tells the young man, heading out and then down the street after having locked his door, not bothering to wait for the man to show the way. He already knows the way. As they walk it becomes clear that the scent of herbs hadn't come from the clinic but rather from the surgeon himself.

[fadingworld]

It's a pleasant smell, a contrast to the perfumes that Mal typically wears when he is working. A street away from the Rose Thorn he taps the man's arm and leads the way down an alley. "A back way in," he explains. "Unless you wish to come through the front doors posing as a client."

[mandragoraspiritus]

"I have gone through those door before, as the barber-surgeon that I am. But, I suppose when dealing with the rich and mighty that it isn't an option. Discretion before all else." He heaves a sigh, folding his hands round the strap of his satchel. "Very well, then, lead the way to my patient.

[fadingworld]

"But never to visit me," Mal says lightly, smiling under his hood. "Another time I might be offended."

Keep him alive at all costs.

There will be eyes watching them, Mal knows. Enzo will be waiting for a report. He leads the way up the servants stairs, throwing his hood back when they reach the back entrance to his room. He listens at the door. It was all quiet.

"Step in. and let me know whatI can do." He announces them to the sweating Duke on the bed and goes to take the Duke's hand reassuring him that help had come.

[mandragoraspiritus]

"Ah, this is not a place I go to for enjoyment, I assure you. Only for work when my help is needed."

Once inside the lavish room the courtesan ceases to matter, now that there is a patient to attend. He goes to the side of the bed, leaning over the Duke, hands with fingernails long enough to appear almost clawlike going straight to work. He takes in the pale, clammy skin, feeling the pulse, and when gently lifting an eyelid and leaning in to study the pupil's reactions he also breathes in deeply through his nose, smelling the poison on the man's labored breath as his body metabolizes it.

"Ah, yes..." His tone is grave, but there is also some satisfaction there at being able to identify the issue. "You. Young man." He snaps his fingers at the courtesan. "Bring me a pot of boiling water. Then we will need ice, as much as you can find."

[fadingworld]

Mal hides his amusement at being ordered around with a sweeping bow. In this room he's used to being in sole charge of what is going. "I will be right back."

He rumples his hair and steps into the corridor going to attend to it personally. This would not be his most unusual request. He is soon back, taking it from the servant at the door and imperiously requesting for ice to brought until he says otherwise.

Careful not to spill a drop he brings it to the bed. "How is he?"