“How peculiar.” Doctor Itzali said, as his head swayed left and right to observe the sutured wound. Just as he tried to touch the stitches again, Corco slapped his hand away.
“Don't touch that, weirdo. What are you, twelve?” Annoyed, Corco put away the bloodied bandage. “It's been three days now. How are you still surprised?”
“Who would come up with a technique like that?” The doctor's eyes were still transfixed by the king's shoddy workmanship.
“Using needle and thread to close a wound is not that far-fetched, is it? Since the body is broken, you repair it. Simple.”
“And yet no one has considered such a strategy before,” Itzali said with a frown, unhappy with his own answer.
“Oh, they have, I'm sure. What I've done isn't anything rare or special. Throughout history, I can guarantee you countless people have tried to save a life in a similar manner. Just that results will be... less than satisfactory. Unless you know exactly what you're doing.”
“'Less than satisfactory'?” At last the doctor looked up, and a glint of curiosity replaced his previous frown.
“As in 'death'.” Corco nodded as he smeared more of the doctor's antipyretic paste on the wound.
“Even with all of that knowledge, you would still rely on the techniques of the great Chutwa doctors, would you, young master?” Although his tone was inquisitive, a small smile formed around the doctor's mouth.
“Physician, heal thyself,” Corco said to the self-satisfied Itzali, to erase his smile and replace it by a confused look.
“Excuse me?”
“Just an old saying from way back home,” the king remembered another life. “Honestly though, your Moonwart is not a bad bit of medicine to rely on. I'm not an actual doctor, so I'll trust your judgment on stuff like this. Lo and behold: The swelling's been reduced quite a bit.”
“Young master, how can you not be considered a doctor? This master had assumed you an esteemed colleague since long ago.”
With a sad smile, Corco took the fresh bandages off the windowsill. Soaked in alcohol and cooked in boiling water, they should at least not make the injury any worse.
“I mean, my theoretical knowledge is solid for the people here, that's true. There's just not enough time to learn and practice all of it. I also lack proper training. That's why I'm here to recruit some Chutwa doctors: I need someone to replace me. I've heard the Chutwa Empire produces by far the best physicians in the world.”
He wasn't lying. Although the Chutwa were an arrogant and irrational lot, their knowledge of medicine was second to none in the world, only eclipsed by their knowledge of cultivation. Of course, cultivation was far less interesting to Corco than medicine.
“You flatter the great ancestors,” Itzali said as he suppressed a tiny smile. “Your own northern Empire seem to have much to offer yourself.”
For now, the King of the South thought it more prudent to keep Itzali in the dark about his true origin. They were finally getting along. If he admitted to rule over some barbarian pirate nation, he would only ruin the harmony.
“True, but much of it is theoretical, and a lot is focused on wounds, rather than illness. That's another reason to come here: The Chutwa style of medicine, very herbal and focused on the eradication of symptoms through long-term therapy, is a perfect match with my more immediate, more scientific approach. If we combine the two, we will push medicine hundreds of years ahead.”
Although the king could tell from Itzali's newest frown that the doctor disliked his confident attitude, it appeared like the harsh wound had humbled the physician. At least now he showed the manners he had lacked before and held back on his arrogance.
“So this is why young master has come here to Hueatlan at this time in particular. No wonder. But how did young master know about the grand herbal bazaar of the east coast?”
“...herbal bazaar?” Corco asked with a blank stare.
“It appears as if luck smiles on young master, truly,” Itzali smiled like an old man who watched his clumsy grandson. “How else could it be that young master arrived here by pure chance, just during harvest season?”
Under heavy groans, the doctor righted his body, to make it easier for Corco to get around his torso and apply the fresh bandage. While the king worked, Itzali continued his explanation.
“Every year in the middle of winter, Hueatlan generates great wealth for itself. During this time, the surrounding hills offer several rare and precious medicinal herbs. None of them can be found anywhere else within the empire, yet their efficacy is outstanding. From all over the eastern lands, great doctors will make the trip during to Hueatlan this time of year. All of them come visit the herbal bazaar, ready to spend their wealth on medicine. In fact, there should only be two days left until the bazaar begins.”
While the doctor was talking, Corco had finished up the bandage.
“About time my luck turned around, huh?” he murmured to himself while he washed his hands.
“Anyways,” Corco continued with a clap of his hands, still cool from the wash. “These bandages are gonna be fine for a while. There might be an itch, but it's best you don't touch the wound, like, at all. Seriously, if you do the same crap like on the first night again I'm gonna bind your hands to your ears. Tomorrow we'll change bandages another time and see how everything looks. If there's any discomfort, please-”
The doctor king's explanation was interrupted by a knock from the door.
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“The flowing water sect!” Itzali shrunk back on the bed.
“Don't move, and don't make a sound,” Corco whispered with narrowed eyes. With his knife in one hand and his pistol in the other, he stepped up to the door. Although his own people were placed around the inn by now, there was little reason to be careless.
“Who's there?” he asked in his rough Chutwa accent.
“My name is Lamina. This servant is a maid under Lady Yasimi.”
Right away, Corco's face eased. By the time his head turned to the doctor, it sported a smile.
“Well then, Doc. Turns out, some plans are working out. You still wanna live? Then you better shape up. We're going on a little journey.”
----------------------------------------
This had been the most pointless work they had ever done for the great Swordsaint.
“Why would great men such as us be forced to waste our time here?” Tlahua asked. Another sip of tea might be enough to calm him down. It did not help.
“Hmm,” Chichian answered, still in his meditative pose on the other side of the table.
“What sort of task is this for such a great cultivator? This hero should be back at the flower mound, to through his limits and reach the heavens.”
Impotent in the face of his master's orders, Tlahua slammed the cup onto the table to spill some of the precious tea.
“Hm.”
“Yes, of course. One could cultivate in this spot as well, but is this not an enormous waste? This hero wishes to avoid a counter reaction from a faulty method. To be honest, it seems foolish to cultivate like this, without calm and without safety.” Although he insulted his companion, the Swordsaints hunting dog still remained stoic and pretended to cultivate like before.
“Hm.”
Showoff.
“If only we could catch that doctor's body soon and return home.”
“Hm”
“Truly, the sword saint's special plans with the city and its bazaar are understood, as is this Doctor Itzali's part in the plans. Even so, this sort of work could have taken over in a much simpler fashion, by much simpler minds.”
“Shhh.” At last, Tlahua had managed to coax a different reaction out of the dog, even if it still was no word.
“Of course, of course,” the cultivator waved off as he emptied his cup. “'Do not talk about master's plan'. Still, even if our goals are known, this local lord would be hard pressed to resist. What can he do in front of the sect's might?”
Annoyed, Tlahua slammed the empty cup back onto the table. A tiny crack formed in the fragile porcelain, but the cultivator didn't care. Just like all the times before, some tottering servant would come, apologize for their shoddy products, and bring him a new one.
However, before he could get his new tea cup or managed to stop his companion's incessant cultivation, his keen ears picked up a strange piece of conversation.
“Weirdos, the lot,” he heard a rough voice in the distance.
“Huh? What're you mumbling?” Across the street from his spot in the tea house, he could see two laborers in cheap dress walk down the street.
“You're not gonna believe this. I've seen two guys just climb down the backside of that inn there,” one of the workers pointed at the establishment they had been guarding for four days. “One of them was even bleeding. I'm sure they are heroes on the run! It's like in my mawmaw's stories!”
“No way! Like when you saw that insect ghost? Remember what happened there?”
“No, I'm telling you, that locust queen's ghost really was there! And this time it's true too! You can go look for yourself...”
Although the two laborers were still engrossed in their talks, Tlahua no longer cared. There was work to be done. Energized by the prospect of a return home to the Flower Mound, the cultivator jumped up and rushed across the table. The rest of their porcelain tea set lost its life under his charge.
“Brother! Hey, Brother Chichian!”
“Hm.”
“Ah, screw it!”
Determined to not fail his mission, Tlahua grabbed the dog by the shoulder and dragged him along, towards the back of the shabby inn the doctor and his apprentice had disappeared into.
Soon after, the dog stopped his pretend cultivation and the weight on his arm lightened as Chichian ran for himself.
About damn time. Don't show off when we got work to do!
When the two had rounded half the inn, they saw the rope let down from the building's upper floor. Since it still swung in the still morning air, they couldn't have gone far.
“Brother Chichian, we need to know the way.”
“Hm.”
Reinforced by a nod, the eloquent Chichian dropped down on all fours, and began to sniff first the rope, then the ground right beneath it. Even the clean stone slabs of the Chutwa City, still felt dirty to name. But then again, he wasn't really much of a dog himself.
“Quick!” he urged, and in response, the dog stood up and ran into the morning sun. As soon as they had crossed a single street, Tlahua understood.
“Wait, over there? I know where they are going! Follow me, I know a short cut.”
This was the very reason he had been chosen for this mission alongside the dog: Since he had been born in Hueatlan, he knew the city better than even its lord! How else could a great cultivator like himself be degraded with such menial work?
However, when they ran into the secret alley to cut off their targets, they were stuck. Right in the middle of the street stood a cart with a donkey at its front, while another commoner loaded the back with sacks of sort.
“Move, peasants!”
“Deepest apologies, master! This mortal will move right away.”
Rather than make way, the commoner decided to bow and grovel, frozen in front of the sect's might. Although it felt right, they didn't have time for this nonsense. After a swift jump to the side, he kicked off the building and thus leapt over the cart, the dog still stuck behind the cart. Without pause, he landed on his feet and continued his sprint alone, always closer towards his goal: Chatra Huemac's manor. If he was right, this was where the doctor was headed.
And indeed: When he found the court sprawl before him, two shadowy figures limped towards its gate.
“Stop them,” he called, but the two unseemly doctors managed to slip into the door right before they could reach them. Annoyed, Tlahua stared after their backs. They couldn't fail like this, not when they were this close. What would the Swordsaint do if they didn't bring home results?
“You, guards! Open the way! These two are criminals wanted by Swordsaint Tlaloc! Dare stand against the might of the Flowing Water Sect and perish!”
“No dice, bandit,” the guard spat on the ground. “These men carry the Chatra's official seal. Chatra Huemac does not surrender his own guests. Whatever trouble you might have with them, it can wait until they leave the lord's mansion once again. You and your ilk have no power. Not here on the Chatra's land.”
Annoyed, Tlahua stared past the open fate, where the two doctors had already disappeared around a corner. If only he had more porcelain to smash! Although he didn't want to admit it, they had failed. Somehow, the risky maneuver by the doctors had caught them by surprise and paid off. Who would expect them to carry the favor of the local lord? Maybe they could force their way in, but Huemac had his own cultivators, so they wouldn't get far and waste their lives on nothing but pride.
Either way, they didn't have the clout to rid themselves of the nuisance. Only the combined weight of the sect would be enough to move the stubborn Huemac. When he heard the panting dog arrive behind him, Tlahua turned, a grim smile on his face. This was perfect. They would show this 'Chatra' who the real ruler around Hueatlan was.