The Physician's Deal

The broad shouldered caravan guard bit down hard on the wooden rod I gave him and let out a horrid moan. With a grinding pop, I snapped the two halves of his femur back into place; but the jagged tear in his flesh still needed to be dealt with. The caravan guard, who’s name I didn’t catch, griped the wooden table with stark white knuckles.
“Can you save the leg?” Asked the second caravan guard, brow furrowed. This one’s name was Declan… no, Decker.
“The break will heal if set. I need to stitch the gash, however.” I replied, already moving to grab the spool of silk thread from across my clinic. It wasn’t where it usually was, nor in other two places I’d think to put it. Damn, linen will have to do. I snatched the spool off the shelf and I shuffled back to the two guards.
“Take two of those planks there and cut them to equal length.” I commanded Decker, who nodded curtly and grabbed them off the top of a small pile stacked next to the empty fireplace. The winters get cold in these mountains; it helps to be prepared. And you never know when you may need to set a bone. “There is a saw out back.”
Decker strode out of the clinic and onto the muddy streets. The air, already starting to chill. With steady hands, despite my age, I threaded the bone needle and set to work mending the guard’s flesh. After three hundred years, you start to tune out the moans. Work like that needed to get done fast, not comfortably. A comfortable surgery is a deadly one while a fast surgery is a competent one. And I am nothing if not competent.
I was about halfway through my stitching when Decker pushed his way back inside, holding the fresh cut boards. The wounded caravan guard attempted to shift his weight to look back at him. “Do you want me to make this worse?” I said sardonically. He shook his head vigorously and settled back preparing for the next jab. I snapped my fingers at Decker, pausing from my needlework, “Place them there.” He did so without question, and a moment passed in tense silence, save for the gritting of teeth against wood.
“What did this?” I asked. My curiosity had been peaked ever since Decker drug his comrade, screaming and bleeding, into my clinic.
“Don’t worry, we killed the beast.” Replied Decker, as if reassuring his grandfather.
“I didn’t ask what you did with it, I asked what it was.” I stated, wiping the sweat from my forehead and most likely leaving a red smear.
Decker stares at me for just a moment, jaw clenching and unflinching, before replying. “An owlbear, juvenile, or so Martin tells us.”
“What did you do with the body?” My mind was already racing with how much I could learn from such a specimen. To that date, no natural philosopher had ever come close to determining how exactly the digestive structure of an owlbear is fully formed. The chance to study a juvenile would be – depending on how young a juvenile of course – simply invaluable to my work.
“What do you think we did? We left it. A waste of oil to burn anything that won’t come back.” Decker said.
“Where?” It took every effort to not clamp down tightly on the leg.
“Out along the ridge trail somewhere. Look, if you’re worried about similar creatures stalking through the streets at night, we’ve got it under control.” He thought I was old and fearful, I could hear it plain in his voice.
“Do not mistake me for some senile old man. I ask because I could use the corpse.” I snap. Decker, to his credit, at least had the sense to look ashamed. Taking the time to breath deeply, I refocused on finishing up the stitching. After a moment, I asked “What would it take for the caravan guard to deliver me the corpses of any monsters you encounter?”
“We’re not a delivery service.” replied Decker.
“As you can see, I am doing well for myself here, I can pay.” I hoped my near desperation wasn’t showing.
The second guard spoke up just as I tied the last knot, “Have anything for this pain?” I nod tersely and grab the two cut boards from the side of the table, and motioning for Decker to hold them in place, I began wrapping the splint tightly with cloth.
“I can give you some laudanum, take only two a day, and only with meals.” I said.
“You know, we caravan guards often receive minor injuries, not worth the attentions of a physician, mind you, on the job. It would be an immense help if we were to have something we could self administer.” The way Decker hesitated before self administer, and drawing out the a sound, made clear his intentions. He didn’t want to outright say it, but I knew what he wanted.
“I see.” I said carefully.
“We don’t need much, and I can’t guarantee every corpse, but I think we could work out a deal.” Decker finished nervously. Despite being out in the mountains, where the lawman doesn’t look over every shoulder. Opiate addictions can lose people jobs and status.
“Bring me the next creature you encounter, and I can guarantee a steady supply.” I said. With one final tug, I step back from the second caravan guard, my gristly work finished. I glance back to Decker. He shakes his head in silent agreement.
“I’ll get your laudanum.” I said to the second guard. I head back into my storeroom, looking until I find the right jar. I’ll need to restock soon, hopefully before the passes close in winter. Returning to the front I hand over the jar to the second guard, who was now standing with Decker’s assistance.
“Remember, no more than two a day.” I repeat. The guard nods.
As the two made their way to the door, Decker said “We can drop something off soon.” Once the two left I settled back into routine, cleaning the table and reorganizing the clinic. I needed some fresh water to clean the blood off the table, and so I stepped out into the dirty streets of Mythrite, heading to the well.
Mythrite; such an out of the way, inconsequential, and know-nothing of a town. No one of import lived here, and no one of import would want to. Completely perfect for what I was about to do.