193. [POLSKA] The Surgeon's Assistant

No match for a factory floor, but the operating room was plenty spacious in its own right. A near-perfect cube in shape, it was brightly lit by multiple bulbs of incandescent light with no discernible fuel source.

Most of these 'light bulbs' were angled and pointed into the center of the room, where the patient had already been scrubbed and draped. Zacarias lay on a reclining bed, covered by surgical drapes and conked out on ether (one of the rare few ways a soul could actually 'sleep' mid-cycle). Only his right shoulder remained exposed, along with several markings in bright-colored dye.

Renna leaned closer to study the markings. That bar flaring out from the neck must represent the clavicle. And that little 'bracket' shaped like a ladle must be… the acromion of the scapula?

"Step away from the patient, please."

A sonorous and gentle voice, full of authority and carrying perhaps just the hint of a threat. Renna stepped back as she was asked and met the surgeon's kindly smile with performative deference.

"Thank you," Gladiolus said calmly. "The first thing you need to respect, Miss Sandvik, is the absolute inviolability of my surgical field. Come. Let's get you properly scrubbed in before you get any closer to the patient."

To scrub in was a lengthy ordeal on its own, enough to worry a time-conscious Yaksha. The local expert, however, wouldn't let her cut any corners, as he directed her through every step: soap, rinse, soap again, clean the fingernails (actually, skip this step because I don't have nails), another rinse, dry off with sterile towels, then finally slip into a surgical gown, just as white and spotless as Gladiolus's if a little on the baggy side for a diminutive frog woman.

All in all, the ritual had a strangely calming and bracing effect on Renna. Not unlike locking in for a session of potion-brewing. That didn't stop her, however, from peppering her mentor with more questions.

"You wonder if infection control is relevant for a Wayfaring patient?" Gladiolus paraphrased one such question. "You're right that any acute complication from the procedure would be cleared away by one instance of reconstitution. In that sense, perhaps our strict observance of protocol is largely a waste of time. But I'm of the opinion surgery is as much about repetition and consistency as it is about knowledge and skill. And besides…"

The master surgeon trailed off, prompting Renna to look up from the task of gowning herself. As such, she saw it clear as 'day'. The contraction of a tiger's formidable set of jaws as a kindly smile twisted into a crooked sneer.

"Besides, we of the medical profession are [Oathbound] in the literal sense of the word. I for one hold myself to that [Oath] with the rigor my patients expect and deserve. And it's this exacting rigor that so elevates the act of Br—"

This time, the surgeon didn't so much trail off as cut himself off abruptly. As if the thought hadn't even belonged to him. The crooked smile too had untwisted itself. Back to the kindly, meticulous, and conscientious doctor.

Of course, the strange shift in demeanor didn't escape Renna's notice. Nor the fixation on rigorous [Oaths] and how that might 'elevate' the act of… what? But that was also when Renna finished feeding her webbed hands through the sleeves of her gown, which then prompted Gladiolus to approach the operating table.

"Good. Let us begin."

The indicated procedure, as Renna learned, was called 'subacromial decompression'. Through years of Zacarias mis- and overusing his shoulder, the space between the anterior edge of the shoulder blade and the head of the humerus had narrowed. Which in turn had caused impingement and inflammation of the rotator cuff tendon.

Much like natural aging, it was a 'chronic' condition beyond repair through reconstitution. The solution, therefore, was to permanently alter the anatomy of Zacarias's shoulder joint, thereby widening the subacromial space and allowing the inflammation to heal.

Renna paid close attention to Gladiolus's every move. Her interest wasn't purely academic, for she also wanted to be able to protect her friend at the first sign of medical malpractice. To the surgeon's credit, he talked through his every step, seeming to take his duty as mentor just as seriously as all other aspects of his work.

"We make a longitudinal incision over the deltoid, at the inferior border of the acromion and in line with the clavicle. This should give us a sufficient view of the subacromial space, including any swelling and osteophytes that are causing the narrowing. Now, Miss Sandvik, as my assistant, I'd like you to anticipate my every move and facilitate them with the tools at your disposal. Do you think you can do that?"

Even as he spoke, Gladiolus had already cut into Zacarias's shoulder. SCALPEL was a razor-thin blade upon a metallic handle, comically small in a hulking tiger's hand. Skin, fat, then muscle parted with an almost elastic release, like parchment pulled apart at full stretch.

Unlike torn paper, however, the patient bled—fresh, lurid blood instantly pooling under the surgeon's knife. The blood obscured the surgical field, and as such, Renna knew exactly what was needed of her. She dabbed with a cotton gauze, soaking up the blood and clearing the view.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"Good."

Gladiolus showed his appreciation with a soft murmur. Behind the lens, his eyes squinted in pleasure—the tiger alternative to a purr. Despite sharing the same academic interest, Renna couldn't help but shudder slightly. Whether he noticed the reaction or not, the surgeon went on with his mentoring.

"These are retractors," Gladiolus said, handing Renna a pair of instruments with curved, dull blades. "I'd like you to pull on either side of the tissues and fix the edges in place. Hold the window open, if you will."

Said window showed a glistening landscape of flesh and bone. An all but voyeuristic display of a man's living anatomy. Renna was fascinated by the sight, to be sure, but hers was nothing compared to the sheer fervor that emanated from the surgeon beside her.

Gladiolus's face maintained a mask of professionalism, but his whole body had tensed. The ripples that had soaked into his person now rose up in whorls, agitated by memory and desire. Discovery, triumph, control. There was something almost animalistic about the way Gladiolus ere'Branagh loved and savored the nuts and bolts of his trade.

And for at least one Ksana, Renna saw the source of her own sense of foreboding. For one Ksana, Gladiolus's already towering frame all but doubled in size, enveloped as it was by a furry, slouching shadow. Eyes that shone in the night and pierced through the day. Claws large and sharp enough to rip apart the very world at its seams.

The moment passed without incident, and the surgeon never slowed his work. Already, he'd moved onto the next, crucial part of the procedure. That of removing the problem itself. To that end, he produced a third tool from his tray, one that made Renna suppress a gasp of recognition.

"This is what I call the gouge."

The tool came as a mismatched pair. One had a handle attached to a blade with a shallow depression—a shovel. The other was quite literally a hammer, designed to knock the blade against a solid surface, much like a—

"Chisel," Renna found herself murmuring. "You mean to chip away the outgrown portion of Zacarias's bone, like a sculptor might with a stone bust."

"Precisely," Gladiolus said with another appreciative squint of the eyes. "All I need you to do is hold the retractors. This shouldn't take a minute."

The sculptor got to work. But whether because he was too meticulous, or perhaps because the patient himself proved to be a tough stone to crack, a finished product did not materialize with the promised expediency.

A minute passed, then another. Every strike against Zacarias's shoulder blade, every scrape of its pulverized debris. They grated against Renna's senses, both physical and ripple-borne. Holding the retractors as asked, she was forced to watch as fresh blood continued to pool, closing down the 'window' with every drop.

This isn't malpractice per se, she found herself musing. But it's testing my patience all the same. This is one doctor who perhaps enjoys his work too much.

"May I?"

The question hung in the air for a second or two, like ripples looking for somewhere to settle. Gladiolus did not give a verbal answer, but he nevertheless offered up the gouge-and-hammer combo, presenting them handle-first.

"I only need this one," Renna said and took only the gouge. Gladiolus took another beat to study her, his face showing the hint of another smile. He then put the hammer away and grabbed the retractors with both hands.

Roles switched, surgeon and assistant peered into their window with renewed purpose. Renna gripped the gouge with both of her webbed hands, then dug its blade into Zacarias's bone, just at the 'root' of his nagging injury.

[Auxiliary Technique: ELEMENTAL SURGE]

And that was that. The osteophytes that had crowded the subacromial space blew away altogether, reduced to powder by the most finely tuned [Surge] of Renna's Wayfaring career. For that was who she was. A Wayfarer before a thief, a smuggler, or a surgeon's assistant.

"Impressive," Gladiolus spoke softly. The appreciative pleasure was already gone from his voice. He was back to all-business, a trusted doctor of his community before a Wayfarer with his own zealous disinhibitions. The shadowed claws never showed themselves again.

For the rest of the procedure, Gladiolus resumed his role as surgeon and mentor. He sutured the dissected tissues, shutting the window layer by layer. All the while, his words to his assistant were of a purely didactic nature. He made no more comment of her unusual 'surgical' technique.

As Gladiolus put in the final stitches on Zacarias's skin, he left Renna with some post-operative instructions.

"I'd like you to monitor the patient until he wakes up. Tell him to keep the site clean and avoid strenuous exercise, at the very least until his next reconstitution. As for me, you'll excuse me if I slip away first. I've got to get a taste of Madam Tully's stew before the cycle runs out. You understand."

Renna did understand and even believed the man. At least partially. Yet, she also suspected that the impending end to the cycle meant something very particular to a KL-74 Night-sider. For one thing, he certainly hadn't accrued all that Karma by being an upstanding citizen of Duskpool.

Renna kept the thoughts to herself. For now. She studied Zacarias's sleeping visage—wearing just the slightest frown to show that perhaps he'd been at least partially aware of the strange 'battle' that had taken place inside his shoulder. Behind the two of them, a wooden door swung and shut with a heavy thud.

The Night was nearly up, and Renna had learned quite a lot. Perhaps more than the three previous cycles combined. But that didn't mean she had to stop here. There was more for her to unearth. An entire basement full of hidden knowledge, in fact.

And with that moment of quiet resolution, Renate Sandvik revealed herself to the Keeper of the Gloam. Two halves of a complete whole. Ready to resume Wayfaring in earnest.

[Oath registered: As long as there are secrets for me to dredge up, I will leave no stone unturned.]

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.