“Swollen lymph nodes, multiple red patches on his body, pain in his internal organs…” The nurse answered tremblingly, “He said it felt like swallowing a burning coal. Though I can’t confirm he’s fully lucid right now, he specifically asked for you, saying you once cured his headaches.”
“Take me to him.” Perl stood up, pulled off her bloodstained gloves and tossed them to the ground, retrieved a fresh pair from the leather bag on the table and put them on, then pulled up her mask again. “As for you all, dispose of those three rats, then find out who’s in charge of sanitation and have them pack their things and get out.”
Perl’s voice remained calm, but everyone in the operating room tensed up, carefully listening to every instruction.
Even Perl herself didn’t notice that her eyes above the mask had lost their gentleness, her usually relaxed brows now knit tightly together. The doctor who always treated people warmly seemed on the verge of an outburst, as if she might slit someone’s throat with her scalpel.
She could tolerate rats appearing in her home, but rats in her clinic, on her operating table—that was an entirely different matter.
Two
Perl pushed open the door to the temporary treatment room, and the sight before her made her heart sink.
A short but sturdy man lay on the cold iron bed, his breathing heavy like a broken bellows. He twisted his body into strange positions, as if fighting an invisible enemy. Hearing the door open, he turned his head and stared at Perl with bloodshot eyes.
Beside him was his wife, frantic and helpless, able only to keep patting her husband’s body, as if that could drive the sickness away.
In this era, ordinary people could rely only on doctors. Mages could barely save themselves, and the gods were too far away.
Beyond the heavy breathing and the everyday noise from outside the window, Perl thought she heard the squeaking of rats. She instinctively glanced toward the corner of the room, but it was just her imagination.
“Next time, remember to tell me the patient’s name,” Perl said to the nurse beside her. “And especially if I’ve treated them before.”
She walked quickly to the bedside, her doctor’s instincts taking over immediately.
“Mr. Helmut, how are you feeling?”
“I feel like there’s fire burning inside me,” Helmut’s voice rasped like dry leaves rubbing together. “I feel like I’m melting from the inside out.”
Helmut’s mouth was covered in wart-like growths, like the surface of deep-sea shellfish, and the words that came out were garbled and unclear. His face was ashen, his lips a waxy yellow, his eyes bulging as if they might burst at any moment, constantly streaming tears.
The most terrifying part was his neck—the swollen lymph nodes made his throat bulge outward like a hamster’s cheeks. This mutation-like symptom was horrifying, even nauseating.
Perl lifted his shirt, and just as the nurse had said, dense spots covered his entire body like an unfinished puzzle. Dark marks were spreading near his armpits and ribs. Perl touched them gently, and even without applying pressure, the patient let out a pained whimper.
And his body temperature was truly high. Even without measuring, Perl could feel the burning fire inside him.
“Doctor, what’s wrong with him?” his wife asked anxiously, tears welling in her eyes.
“Did it start with symptoms similar to his old headaches?”
“I don’t know… He just… his whole body hurts. It’s completely different from his old headaches,” she said helplessly. “Doctor, what are we supposed to do?”
“I’ll prepare antipyretics and painkillers. Have him drink plenty of water, but don’t let him eat anything.” Perl suddenly thought of something and turned to shout to the nurse by the door, “Go prepare ice! Even if you have to go to the black market, get it!”
The nurse hurried out, nearly stumbling, but quickly regained her balance and continued carrying out the order.
“Water… I’m so thirsty…” Helmut, hearing the word water, eagerly made his request.
But the moment he opened his mouth, he began vomiting violently. The first mouthful landed directly on Perl’s clean black surgical coat, but she showed no sign of disgust. Instead, she merely gestured for the wife to grab the waste bin while gently rubbing the patient’s back.
Helmut kept vomiting until only bile came up, then lay back down as if all his strength was spent. He panted heavily, his clothes soaked with sweat, wracked by violent shivers.
Perl examined his lymph nodes again—they were even bigger now, hard as stone.
“The situation has changed. I need to make an incision to drain the abscess.” Perl stood up, opened her leather bag, and took out her most trusted scalpel. “Help me hold his arm down as best you can.”
She leaned in, pressing her elbow against the patient’s shoulder, holding his cheek to expose the abscess beneath the blade, and made a quick cross-shaped incision. The lymph node oozed bloody pus like an overripe fruit. Perl repeated the same procedure on another node, but the first one quickly turned to mush like rotten mud.
After the pus drained, the lymph nodes swelled up again rapidly, emitting a nauseating stench.
Helmut began to struggle in agony, craning his neck backward repeatedly, trying to give the swelling more room. But soon he was exhausted again and curled in on himself, as if something were pressing down on him. His breathing became short and irregular, and he couldn’t even manage a groan.
“Rats… rats… rats…”
From his fragmented ravings, Perl heard the word that had been haunting her mind.
“What now? Doctor?” came that helpless plea again, the wife staring at Perl in despair.
This time, Perl could only remain silent.
Then Helmut suffocated to death. This man who hauled cargo at the port and occasionally resold shoddy goods for meager profit died on Perl’s bed. Though he had no children, he had a deeply beloved wife who stayed by his bedside until the very end.
Perl remembered everything about every patient—it helped her devise better treatment plans. But this time, all that memory was useless.
Helmut’s wife began to sob quietly, the sound echoing through the silent room like a mournful dirge.
“Doctor, is there still hope?” She still clung to her last illusion.
“…I’m sorry. It’s over.” Perl’s voice was as light as a feather.
The door opened again, and the nurse came in carrying a metal bucket of ice. She immediately understood what had happened in the room—the stench of death was too thick to ignore. She stood still for a moment, then slowly walked to the bedside, gently set the ice bucket on the floor, and lowered her head in silent mourning alongside Perl before the deceased.
That was all they could do for him now.
—————————
Perl’s morning premonition had been right. The weather was indeed terrible.
Thick clouds blocked the last light of the setting sun, and a drizzling rain shrouded the world in gloom. Dense fog rolled in, and the streets were swallowed by a lifeless iron gray, suffocating like being trapped in mud. She almost missed the summer heat.
Perl hadn’t brought an umbrella. Raindrops bounced off her black felt hat, dripped onto her shoulders, then slid down her cloak toward the ground. She had finished her work for the day—or rather, given herself a break, postponing the surgery originally scheduled for the evening. Judging by the mud caked on her leather shoes, she had been walking in a hurry.
Under the streetlights along the road, figures in white robes wandered like ghosts. They stood in twos and threes at intersections, holding long halberds, watching every passerby with wary eyes.
“Doctor, how was your day?” Troy looked at Perl with some awkwardness.
She was holding a box in one hand and a small black umbrella in the other, clearly about to head out when she happened to run into Perl coming home.
Her face was flushed from recent exertion, a few patches of her thin dress soaked with sweat, and she wore milky-white rubber gloves, as if she’d just finished some kind of work.
The two stood facing each other across the curtain of rain—one under the eaves, one on the cobblestone road, the rain separating them like a veil.
“Helmut is dead,” Perl said quietly.
“Who?” Troy didn’t register at first.
“One of my patients.”
“That’s a shame,” Troy opened her umbrella and walked toward Perl in the rain. “How did he die?”
“High fever, swollen lymph nodes, red and black patches all over his body…” Perl stopped mid-sentence, because she saw what was in Troy’s box.
It was an entire box of rats, caught by whatever method Troy had used.
The rats were covered in blood, with dark black marks around their mouths, just like the spots on Helmut’s body.
Perl quickly counted—thirteen in total. No wonder Troy was drenched in sweat. This was hardly easy work.
“I also fired everyone in charge of sanitation at the clinic today,” Perl sighed. “Because three rats got into the operating room. They might have been competent back in my father’s day, but they’re too old now. I gave them severance pay, and I’ll find replacements tomorrow.”
“Those are scary eyes…” Troy muttered under her breath.
“But since I don’t pay your wages, I don’t have the right to fire you either. And if I did kick you out of this house, with your current skills you’d easily find better work.” Perl shrugged. “Is this all of them?”
“Yeah, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
“I spent the whole day making sure there were no nests around the house. Those creatures, for some reason, wouldn’t stay put in the sewers. It was like they were crawling out to escape something, even though they were hungry and exhausted,” Troy explained. “While catching them, I noticed they were running all wobbly, like they’d been sneaking sips of brandy.”
Perl listened to the explanation while pulling a small drawstring cloth pouch from inside her coat. Wearing gloves, she picked up one rat from the box and put it inside.
“You can go dispose of the rest. I’ll keep this one for research.” Perl clipped the pouch onto the small hook on the back of her cloak.
“Perhaps you won’t need your wisdom for this,” Troy said, walking past Perl first. “Today’s morning paper is on the dining table. Since Mr. Bremer passed away, you’ve been less and less interested in the news.”
“Once you get to a certain age, you’ll find that the news is just the same things happening over and over.”
“You’re only twenty-six, and I’m only seventeen!” Troy waved her little umbrella indignantly. “Even combined, we’re not old!”
“Age has nothing to do with years.”
“But Doctor, ever since you went from assistant to attending physician, and I went from the assistant’s assistant to the attending physician’s assistant, I feel like something’s been off about you.” Troy widened her eyes, speaking seriously.
“Off how?”
“The old you wouldn’t have fired those poor cleaners without investigating first. I wish you’d be a little more tolerant of others… and of yourself, too.”
“In the clinic, I have to be.” Perl reached out and draped her arm over Troy’s shoulder, whispering in her ear, “That’s the Bremer family clinic. As his adopted daughter, I have to do exactly what Bremer did. Don’t forget, we’re still living in his house. Who knows when that doctor might come back. Don’t let him hear anyone speaking ill of him when he does.”
“Pfft…” Troy burst out laughing at Perl’s words. She set down the box and hugged Perl back with her free arm.
“You haven’t cooked dinner yet, have you?”
“Nope.”
“Then go clean up and change. We’ll head into town and find a restaurant for dinner.” Perl’s voice became much lighter. “The weather’s awful, and some bad things happened today. Only good food can lift my spirits.”