The Autopsy

There could be no argument, the back of the Dwarfs skull was caved in by a hammer. Not one meant for war either, a carpenter’s hammer, a tool that everyone in Mythrite most likely owned. It did not narrow down any suspects, not that the guard had the ability to investigate anything these days. Regardless, with the autopsy complete, I could move on to more important procedures. I quickly made several shorthand notes on my findings and set them aside, ready to deliver to the guard should they ask any questions.
I grabbed a fresh stack of sketch paper from a small side desk and returned to the operating table, placing it in a neat pile. Picking up my scalpel I cut once again into the Dwarf’s chest, this time slicing across the initial incision to form a T shape. Despite sharpening the blade to a razor’s edge, the cut took substantial effort. Dwarf skin’s on average thicker than Human or Elf skin, making work like this more frustrating when an instrument snaps or chips. My time in Mythrite had taught me well though, I always had backup blades on hand when operating on a Dwarf. Once the second incision was formed, I continued the procedure to open the cavity.
My goal was to access the lungs. Nearly everyone who lived in Mythrite for more than a few months would start to develop small deposits of mithril in their lungs. A byproduct of the boom town. Of course, those that actively mined the mountains built up larger concentrations. Eventually, miners would develop “glitter-lung,” characterized by wheezing coughs and a tightness in the chest. It was this disease that first brought me to Mythrite. A cure had eluded so many for so long. But it wouldn’t elude me.
I sliced off a small cross section of the Dwarf’s lungs and placed it into a stone bowl, then placed the bowl over a small brazier. If there was the presence of trace amounts of mithril it would emit a slight greenish glow once heated to around 170 degrees. This property of mithril was well documented, although no natural philosopher had been able to determine exactly what caused it. My theory was that there is some chemical component that broke down due to the heat. Perhaps mithril itself isn’t its own discreet substace like iron or copper, but something more akin to steel, but naturally occurring. While the cross section heated I set about my workshop, tidying up several instruments and wiping down the unoccupied section of table. When I was done, I stepped back and waited, eyeing the corpse.
The Dwarf on the table unnerved me, it wasn’t anything about the body itself, I had worked with enough to cadavers in my long centuries of practice. It was the manner in which I obtained it. I didn’t believe in fate, and nothing priests claimed about the gods ever seemed logically consistent, but just stumbling over a fresh body when I needed one? That was unlikely. My research had progressed to a head with having a subject to perform some specific tests on. Specifically, I needed a set of mithril contaminated lungs. Before the goblin siege I had already anticipated this need, although I had not decided on a course of action. I did consider, though, hiring one of the less reputable townsfolk to dig up a recently deceased miner for my experiments. In fact, I had already set aside the money required to pay for such a service when I stumbled over a body myself. The section of the lung in the bowl began to emit a sickly green glow.
This is too good to be true. There was enough mithril in the Dwarf’s lungs to be useful after all. I seized my scalpel and once again cut into the Dwarf, this time taking off sizable chunks. After severing around fifteen ounces of material, I set them into a glass beaker. In theory, a lightly caustic solution with binding properties could potentially combine with the mithril, and then with the application of a second solution, congeal into a phlegm-like substance able to be coughed up. I devised solutions that under testing conditions performed admirably against steel dust. If my theory’s correct, and mithril is more like steel than iron, then the solutions should work then. However, there was a strict time table. If the first solution stayed in contact with the lungs for too long before the second solution neutralized it, it would cause irreparable damage to tissue. And if left even longer, destroy the lungs completely. Therefore this test would have to be timed perfectly.
I slowly poured the first solution I had prepared earlier into a copper bowl, and then placed the lung chunks into it. The liquid fizzed upon contact with the organic material. Stepping back, I flipped over the hourglass I had commissioned just for this experiment. Several gold pieces for a single purpose. Quite a sum. I set about tidying up the workshop once again as I waited.
Only a few moments past before I heard the heavy thuds of footsteps up the stairs to my door.
An out of breath guard burst through, slick with sweat. “Cormac, We need your help! The goblins. They mounted a major attack.” I sighed slowly, injuries due to the goblin attacks were getting all to common.
“I’m sure the guard medics can handle the situation.” I glance to the timekeeper, there was only about ten minutes of sand left in the top. If I left now I’d ruin the experiment. It would take weeks to synthesize more solution.
“They’ve done all they can, but several civilians are beyond their skill, they need a trained surgeon” the guard said.
“Look, I’m kind of busy here” I retorted, trying not to sound as terse as it actually did.
“Aravae asked for you by name.”
"Does she know someone injured?  I asked.
"She asked for you before she passed out from blood-loss."
A slight tingle rose up through my spine. Aravae was one of my only real friends here in Mythrite. I hadn’t come here to socialize. I had come here to work. But she’d be one of the only ones who could pull me from that work. I almost said I would go right then, but then I realized just how unfair that would be. Was I really about to give up an experiment which I was willing to put above some people’s lives, but not hers? The experiment would lead to hundreds, if not thousands of lives saved, not just one. And who was I to be willing to save one over another?
“Are you coming?” the guard asked. He stood partially in the doorway, half out into the night. “Cormac?”
I gave one last look at the timekeeper, then slowly shook my head. I had to help her. I just had to. It would be weeks before I could try this experiment again, but I could not stand by again. Not again.
The guard seemed off put by my reaction. “You’re not?”
I strode over to my doctor’s bag and snatched it up. “I wasn’t shaking my head at you. Let’s go.”