“Am I …leaving too?”, asked Mortigus.
“ Yes, my dear, they will take you far from here to make you feel good again. And after a bit of time, you’ll be here again, I promise, they promise too!” said the mom, glancing between her child and the doctors.
“ We’ll see you soon, Morti, now be brave and keep your heart strong. We’ll miss you.”, added the father. Mortigus felt like on the verge of tears, yet his body had nothing to offer. The assistant already was boarding a wagon and laying Mortigus on a quilt over the sturdy wood boards. The boy peaked his head over the boards at the back of the wagon, taking a last look at his family’s farm and at his parents. His mother seemed to have run inside, too pained to bear to look at the wagon leaving. The doctor finally boarded the front of the wagon, hit a board twice with his crane, and grabbed the lead rope of the horses. The wagon began moving away from Mortigus’ home, the wooden roof obscuring the melting sun, the father standing stiff among the gate polls. As with every clop, the wagon would slightly shake and the farm would get smaller and smaller, only a dot of it left in Mortigus’ eyes.
The wagon would continue to move forward, leaving Arcut in its dust, together with that wooden farm. Mortigus was staying half-asleep, not saying a word, trying to think yet nothing he could concentrate on. Too many feelings were feeling his body, whisked together by confusion, all emotions too strong individually to leave any distinct taste of an idea. He couldn’t process anything beyond this wagon, a wagon like his father’s, which would often take him through Arcut. Mortigus enjoyed such rides, it felt truly unique from just walking through the village, a new view on this land he called home. Mortigus clenched harder on the boards of the doctors’ wagon, the single thing he felt familiar. Overwhelmed, yet lacking the strength to react to any of his emotions. Light slowly faded away from his eyes, the world and its problems fading away as Mortigus let the memories of his father’s calm him. Memories were part of his body just as much as the bones and flesh, the heart and his fingers, as at that moment, nothing felt closer to him than his memories. With a last glance, he saw the assistant wrap a blanket over him then took a place near the front of the wagon with the doctor.
Daylight brought Mortigus out of his sleep. The wagon was no longer shaking hard, but the hooves were still clicking. The boy’s eyes were getting rid of circles of sparkles, letting the outlines of stone buildings appear. The assistant and the doctor’s dark silhouettes to the front, houses to the left and right, and a rock road behind. Mortigus found himself in a strange place, yet he felt he had seen it before. The narrow streets, houses built resting on common walls, the sun struggling to pierce the narrow lines between buildings until it would finally reach above their tiled roofs. “A city”, Mortigus muttered to himself. His parents had described such places before bedtime. Even a small part of the boy could remember his only visit here as a toddler, to have his name put in a book, at least to his understanding. Cities are supposed to manage villages but villagers only got few occasions in their entire lifetime to visit their head city, yet Mortigus was in the middle of it all. Though he was awestruck, Motrigus felt he should shift his focus to the two strangers that were driving the wagon. He could now clearly see the doctor still holding the lead rope, humming along a melody of a weird tempo, the mask giving the sound an uncanny reverb and tone, unobtrusive to the assistant. Meanwhile the assistant was writing into a book, but the little writing that could be found on the covers was unintelligible for Mortigus, and the symbols etched into the cover were of little clue to what the book contained. The black-colored pen suddenly stopped, and the assistant closed the book, as his gaze turned promptly to the boy.
“Good morning, Mortigus! Your breathing was normal when we entered the city so I wasn’t too worried but I am still glad to see you conscious.”, the assistant told the slightly frightened boy, before turning their head to address the doctor. “He seems to have awakened, sir. Should I deliver another injection?”
“Ah, happy to hear the news! I apologise if the road felt bumpy, boy, the horses cannot avoid all the holes the city council forgets to fix. Rhit, wait a bit until we reach the wall’s check-point, we will stop for a bit there anyway.”
“Understood, sir.” responded the assistant.
Mortigus was shaking during this brief exchange, finally processing the situation. He really was not accompanied by his parents but rather two strangers of such extrincity that even a city boy wouldn’t understand, let alone a farmer helper like Mortigus. The assistant moved closer, telling the boy a temperature check was in order. Mortigus got goosebumps but his voice was blocked from anxiety, his body felt too weak to fight back. The assistant pulled a flat object from a pocket and placed it on the boy’s forehead. A cold, metallic sensation spread in the area of the object, which lasted perhaps a minute, before the assistant pulled away. Mortigus eyes could only express fear and confusion.
“Temperature is in the higher yield of an acceptable temperature, surprisingly good given your condition.” the assistant said, looking at the object.
The boy, weakened by sickness and fright, didn’t respond to the assistant’s statement. His mind jumped too quickly from one sensation to another, too unsure how to react to the situation. Shortly, the wagon reached a gate of thick, flat iron bars, as tall as four people, near it a group of soldiers in chainmail, with a sheathed sword on their hip. A few metres away was another entrance, much smaller, with a few people waiting in a line, as soldiers were talking to the first in line. One soldier was also carrying a long weapon on their back, a metal tub connected to a wooden handle, and approached the doctor. The soldier demanded to see a travelling permit, to which the doctor stepped down from the driver seat, following him to the side of the wagon. The assistant took the opportunity to prepare the needle and to look again for the boy’s veins. The boy instinctively squirmed a bit but the assistant succeeded in using the injection. While the assistant was getting the needle out, the boy finally worked up enough courage to mutter a few words.
“Uhh, mister Rhit? Can I …call you that?”
“Oh, yes, you may. You must have heard the doctor saying my name, I apologise for the rude behaviour of not introducing myself sooner.”
”Thank …you. Is this a city? Why did you…bring me here?”
“Ah, you remember what a city is from when you were registered? Or you’ve been to one even after that? Well, that isn’t too relevant. Yes, this is the Bana city, but we’ve simply passing through for supplies. We’re bringing you to our laboratory…hmm.” Rhit paused for a bit, in an attempt to pick their words better. “We’re bringing you to what can be called our home, there we’ll save you from your illness.”
“Oh, I see. Why are my parents not here, too?”
“I apologise, but they could not come with us, their farm can’t be left unattended. Even more so, they wouldn’t have space to share in the wagon without being dangerously close to your illness. They entrusted us with your care and I hope you can trust us too. It’s for the good of your family.”
“They trust you… I will try to do so.” Mortigus' uncertainty was palpable in his voice,his eyes still avoiding to look directly at the masked assistant. “Why do you… and the doctor say that word so often? The <apologi
” You mean “<apologise
Upon finishing their monologue, Rhit saw a slightly overwhelmed look on the boy’s face.
“Would you look at that, I bombarded you with my bumblings. Try to rest, the injection will make you feel sleepy again. The plants in the solution are meant to help with mental strain as well, but your body and mind still need you to rest again. The doctor is coming back, and I’ll take the spot in front of the wagon, but the doctor will take good care of you, you understand?”
A not-so enthusiastic head nod from Mortigus confirmed he understood. The doctor jumped on the wagon, gesturing something to the assistant. As the assistant shook the lead rope to start the horses, the gate started rising half-way. The doctor started humming yet again, his back setting into the wood board of the wagon, his cane resting on the floor. Mortigus drank a bit from a clay bottle given by the assistant to calm his nerves. The water had a slight sweet taste and didn’t trigger the soreness in his throat. The wagon moved forward passing the gate, now the walls rising behind it. Mortigus took another glance to the great city, before resting his head onto a soft sack, drifting yet again into sleep.
Another day passed, along which the doctor or the assistant would regularly wake the boy, administer infections and try to feed him properly. They moved methodically, yet they didn’t feel cold to interact to, welcoming any attempt of Mortigus to asking questions. Mortigus still found difficulties in understanding their answer, but he could feel his worries diminish slightly, growing to understand and trust them little by little. With a new sunrise, their wagon trip would come to a halt, finally reaching the outskirts of a smaller city built not too far from a vast forest of deciduous trees. The horses breathed heavily as the rope signalled them to stop in front of a large inn of 3 floors, the base and chimney made of carefully pieced-together stones. The upper floors were made of wood planks, giving it a unique look among any other city building. The front door was still closed, but Mortigus could see a pole with a sign hanging above it, on the sign being a beak mask of similar appearance to the doctor’s, accompanied by what seems like a bottle with an unidentifiable liquid.
“Finally, my back was getting too stiff from the wagon, age really cuts short your travels. The office seems quiet, do the others think it is okay to be slacking in my absence.” remarked the doctor jokingly, while doing some stretches in his surprisingly flexible outfit.
The assistant proceeded to take Mortigus in their arms, climbing down the wagon and stepping toward the inn’s door. The doctor hits the door twice with his cane, a bit more harshly than usual, which is followed by a sudden creak. Opening the door can be seen a similarly dressed person of even taller height than the doctor, yet with a mask of different design than either the doctor or Rhit, the beak being shorter and pointing lower. The welcoming committee also included an orange tabby cat with a leather collar, a plague doctor logo hanging on it as well. The tall plague doctor bows slightly as they gesture for them to enter. The doctor goes right in and goes to the right of the welcoming committee, whispering something to the tall figure. The assistant entered as well, stopping in the middle of the room. The base floor of the doctors’ office was quite spacious, probably not divided into more than three rooms, with the entrance directly connected to the biggest room, more similar to a shop. The room was filled with various flasks and tools placed on stacks, coupled by labels on the shelves for most of them. A smooth wood counter, long as half the room, was placed parallel to the north wall, on which were installed a few shelves filled with items as well, but many accompanied by price tags. A few illustrations of the human body and anatomy were hung in glass cases like paintings on the walls. The windows would let enough light pass through the glass flask on a stack, painting the floorboards in a colourful light. The place seemed nearly immaculate, specks of dust being spotted only on the top of the item stacks. Before Mortigus could look for more details in this new environment like no other, the doctor finished his silent discussion.
“Rhit, please take Mortigus to the operation room, our colleagues have been sanitising the table and tools, reason why our welcoming party was so silent. They predicted well though, the boy needs the treatment soon, I fear willpower alone will not work for much longer. Proceed accordingly and wait for the arrival of the main doctors.”
Rhit nodded as they moved their arms to make one of their hands free. Taking a few corridors, the assistant holding Mortigus began to pass through doors and stairways downwards, the claustrophobic feeling making the sick boy cling hard to the assistant. Candles inside wall lamps would illuminate the sunlight-depraved space of the doctor’s basement, revealing the smooth stone walls with few crevices and slashes around the knee level. The smells were of a unique odour, as if the candles were burning with a special, strong aroma, trying their best to cover a humid, deep stench of unknown origin. The silent atmosphere, interrupted regularly by the assistant’s firm steps, was as if all sound touching the walls would die, and together with it any echo never born. The two continued their descent for a bit until Rhit stopped in front of a door with no window, reinforced with metal bars. A heavy lock, slightly rusted from the humid corridor, was hanging already open on the door’s handle, signalling Rhit to not hesitate entering. A large, eerie chamber would reveal itself, covered in the white light of bizarre torches with sunlight flames, which would be absorbed by the pitch-black tiled floor. A massive table in the centre hooked Mortigus’ attention, the wood slab being surrounded by small stands filled with equipment and three lamps with peculiar flames looming over the table. Cables would dangle on the side of the table and a few glowing symbols stood out on the margins.
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