“Yesterday you ask me how I make ointment,” Pryce said after they exchanged pleasantries.
“Yes?” Fathom asked, eyes bright.
“Today, I teach you about microbiology!” Pryce said, pulling out a magnifying glass from his pocket.
“What is…micro-biology?”
“Micro is small, biology is life. Microbiology learn about small life,” Pryce explained. “This is magnifying glass, magnifying glass is made of glass. I use magnifying glass to see small things.”
“I can see small things…too,” Fathom said, unimpressed.
“Magnify means to make something small look bigger, and that is what magnifying glass does, it make small thing much bigger.”
“I…understand,” Fathom said, though he still seemed doubtful of the tool’s usefulness. “Dragon can make small thing look bigger too,” The dragon added, lifting two talons to point at his eyes.
“Yes, you – wait what?” Pryce started, looking up from the magnifying glass to stare at Fathom.
“Human no can make small thing look bigger?”
“No, humans cannot do that,” Pryce said drily, wondering how many ridiculous abilities dragons possessed. “Some birds can make small thing look bigger, but not humans.”
Fathom blinked in surprise, then asked, “Birds can say English words?”
“Some can, but they are not good at speaking English. Why do you ask?” Pryce said, looking up curiously. The question seemed like a non-sequitur.
“If bird not good at speaking English, how you know bird can make small thing look big?” Fathom asked in confusion.
“Oh,” Pryce said, “humans look at bird eyes using things like magnifying glass, bird eyes have thing that help make small thing look big.”
Fathom rumbled as he considered this while Pryce set up the glass to stand up on its own. “Look at leaf using magnifying glass,” Pryce said, demonstrating how to use the microscope by placing his head in front of it.
“Why I see leaf?” Fathom snorted derisively, though he still moved to see through the glass. “I see…hoh…” Fathom cut himself off with an odd huffing sound of realization.
“You see things you not see before, yes?” Pryce asked.
“…yes,” the dragon said, sounding surprised and a little shocked. That leaf in particular had some faint but very intricate patterns that could not have been seen without a magnifying glass.
“That magnifying glass makes thing look 4 times bigger, this means if you look at something one centimeter long it looks like it is four centimeters long,” Pryce explained, then belatedly wondered if the dragon could use telescopic sight to magnify the leaf even further. He’d ask about that later.
“I show you this so you understand magnification, so you understand this faster,” he said as he pulled off the protective cover of the microscope. Fathom seemed moderately interested in the device, though Pryce suspected that was because of the shiny metal parts.
“What does this make?”
“Not make, do,” Pryce corrected. “This let you see very small things.”
“Different from magnifying glass?
“Very small things,” Pryce emphasized. “Use like this,” Pryce said as he demonstrated, putting one eye against the eyepiece. “I put leaf under microscope,” he explained. To be more accurate it was a thin slice of a leaf, but that wasn’t important.
Fathom rumbled as he moved to use the microscope. Pryce felt that he was skeptical of looking at leaves, but knew better than to protest by now.
“Close your left eye,” Pryce suggested.
Fathom grumbled, but closed his eye. He had to hold his head at an odd angle so that his eye could hover a centimeter or two above the eyepiece, since it wasn’t exactly designed for draconic use in mind. “No see…” he grumbled before trailing off.
“Pretty cool, eh?” Pryce said smugly.
“What is…this?” Fathom asked, voice much more subdued compared to his usual mildly thunderous self.
“That is 40 times magnification. Let me show you 100 times magnification,” he said, lightly pushing the dragon’s head away from the microscope. Fathom seemed a bit stunned and did not resist, allowing Pryce to rotate out the lens and refocus the image. He repeated this for 400 times and 1000 times magnification, applying immersion oil for the last one.
“Here,” Pryce called out. “This is photo of leaf in microscope,” he said when Fathom tore his gaze away from the eyepiece, gesturing to the image in a textbook showing plant cells in great detail.
“Why small is this? What is this...rectangles?” Fathom asked, looking quite baffled.
“Correction: 'How small is this', and this is 400 times magnification, which means these rectangles are 400 times smaller than what you are seeing. These rectangles are ‘cells’, all life is cells,” Pryce said slowly and clearly. “You, me, raptor, all have many many cells inside,” he explained, gesturing as he did so.
“I…have rectangles inside me?” Fathom almost hissed as he looked down upon himself, as if he expected to see rectangles inside of him.
“No, animal cells like you and I have are round,” Pryce corrected, flipping the page to show an image of an animal cell. “Cells are smallest life, no life is smaller than cells.”
“You say…I am…not one?” Fathom asked in that uncertain tone.
“Not one?” Pryce asked, confused.
“Dragon is one, human is one, animal is one,” the dragon elaborated. “Cells are many, not one,” he protested almost plaintively.
“Yes and no?” Pryce shrugged, it wasn’t really ideal to have philosophical debates in limited English, but at least they were getting pretty close. He wondered if being ‘one’ was some part of dragon’s culture with how shaken Fathom seemed to be.
“Here, see this,” he said, filling a bucket with seawater and showing it to Fathom.
“…this is water,” Fathom said, sounding like he was expecting Pryce to show him some bizarre truth about water.
“Yes, but you not see what is in water,” Pryce said, holding up a finger.
“Water have cells? Water is alive?” Fathom hissed, eyes widening.
“No, no,” Pryce said, “Well, there are cells in saltwater, but they are not water,” he said as he placed a drop of water onto a glass slide and deftly slid it into place. “Look now,” he said after a few seconds of shifting the slide around. Normally he’d use the mechanical knobs to finely fix particularly interesting cells into place, but he didn’t need to for this example.
Fathom looked into the eyepiece again and his jaw dropped open. “This is…life? Small animals?” He asked as he looked at the countless little things squiggling around the water.
“Yes! These are very small animals, but not cells.”
“Not cells? But you say cells is all life.”
“Yes, these are not…one cells, these are small animals made of many many cells. The microscope is at 40 times magnification right now. There is small life everywhere,” Pryce gestured broadly.
“…small life is on sand? On trees? On me?” Fathom asked, becoming progressively more panicked as he looked to himself, as if he could see tiny creatures crawling all over him.
“Well, yes, but they are harmless, no hurt you,” Pryce said, waving his arms in what he hoped was a calming manner. He hoped he wasn’t turning the dragon into a germaphobe. “Small life is in past too, no hurt you.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“How big is small life? How big is cells?” Fathom demanded, only calmed a little.
“One micrometer is one millionth of a meter, which means one million micrometers is one meter. Plant cells are 10 to 100 micrometers long,” Pryce explained. “Small life in water is much bigger, I do not know how big,” Pryce said. “Smallest life is bacteria, bacteria is 1-10 micrometers long.”
Fathom paused. “How big is me cells?”
“Correction: How big are my cells? And I no see your cells, but your cells are animal cells, animal cells mostly 10 – 30 micrometers.”
Fathom narrowed his eyes, “Plant cells, bacteria, animal cells, different?”
“Yes, very different,” Pryce said. “Four types of life are plant, animal, bacteria, and fungi,” Pryce said, ignoring protists for now[1].
“Types?”
“Like…black rock and white rock, some rocks black, some rocks white, different types,” Pryce explained, drawing a circle around a pile of black rocks and a pile of white rocks, then one big circle around both. “Rocks. Rock is term, types are inside of terms.”
“What this make ointment?” Fathom asked, shifting impatiently.
“Correction: How this make ointment? And this is complicated, I teach fast,” Pryce explained placatingly. “Bacteria make illness, bacteria out of body go in body and – ”
“No. Dead things make illness,” Fathom interrupted, looking a bit confused.
Pryce considered his next words carefully. When germ theory was first proposed it had been…not taken kindly. People, including doctors, so firmly believed that bad smells – known as miasmas – were responsible for illness that they threw the doctor who pushed for washing hands into an insane asylum. “…dead things have many bacteria,” he said, slowly.
Fathom grumbled loudly and looked at the trees, then at the ocean, and finally at the microscope. “You…know things…I not know…” He finally said, sounding as if he were forcing out each word with great effort. “How bacteria make illness?”
Pryce smiled, glad to see that at least Fathom could put aside his pride. Many humans failed to do so, despite being ‘civilized’. “Bacteria from out of body go inside body, do damage.” Pryce paused, then explained, “Healthy is not sick. When you healthy, your body have many good bacteria, help body.”
“Many bacteria in me?” Fathom asked, flicking his third eyelid as he looked down at himself in evident distress. “You say I have many many animal cells, no say I have bacteria cells in me!”
“This bacteria good!” Pryce called out, trying to sound convincing.
“…How this make ointment?!” Fathom asked tiredly, having evidently accepted bacteria for now.
“Ok, uh…” Pryce said as he tried to formulate an explanation that wouldn’t give Fathom existential crisis. “Fungi are mushrooms, like this,” he said as he opened a biology textbook to his bookmarked page. “You know this?”
“Yes, I know things like this,” Fathom nodded. “Some bad taste, some good taste, some make I feel sick,” the dragon added a little resentfully.
“Correction: Make me feel sick,” Pryce said. He knew fungi were infamous for their (mostly non-existent) hallucinogenic properties, but he imagined with a shudder just how much havoc a hallucinating dragon would wreak. “Thing that make you feel sick if you eat is ‘poison’, some fungi are poisonous,” he added.
“Understand, some animals are poisonous.” Fathom said.
“Yes, you tell me later,” Pryce said, trying to stay on topic. “Fungi can kill bacteria, make…very very small things to kill bacteria,” he said, glossing over ‘chemicals’ for now. “I learn to take very very small things that kill bacteria, and put it in here,” he said, holding up the tube of ointment. “Very very small things that kill bacteria are ‘antibiotics’, antibiotics no kill human cells, only bacteria. This antibiotic I find is named ‘Penicillin’.”
“…complicated,” Fathom said, squinting and flattening his spines.
“Yes,” Pryce said, recalling the years he spent on isolating penicillin and then researching a way to mass-produce it.
“…penicillin in ointment help heal?” Fathom asked.
“Yes, thing that help heal is ‘medicine’. Penicillin is a type of medicine.”
“Question: Thing that help heal is ‘healer’?”
“Ah…like that, but no. Person that help heal is healer, thing that help heal is medicine,” Pryce clarified.
Fathom considered this information for a few moments. “You make antibiotic, make penicillin? Why not 50 million human make if it heal illness?”
“I find, other human help me, time from day I find to day antibiotic is used is 10 years,” Pryce answered, glad he had taught Fathom the meaning of ‘if’ earlier.
“Long time, why 10 years?” Fathom asked,
“…very, very, very complicated,” Pryce sighed.
“Illness kill many dragon, you protect, heal many many human?”
Pryce grimaced and looked away before answering. “…yes.”
“…why you sad?” Fathom asked, recognizing the emotion. “You…make mistake, heal bad human?” He asked.
Pretty good guess, but…“No.”
“Why?” Fathom pressed.
“…antibiotic take long time to make…” Pryce said, rubbing his eyes. “Island have very very bad sickness, many many people die.”
“…How many?” He asked, the first time Pryce had ever heard him say something softly.
“Five-hundred-forty-two thousand, six-hundred and thirty-nine,” Pryce said, reciting the numbers that were engraved upon his mind like the ridges of a lifelong scar, the numbers came steadily despite the quavering of his voice.
“…this is…number on chronometer?” Fathom asked quietly, and Pryce hung his head in answer. The silence between them grew, until Fathom broke it. “How many humans you heal?” He asked.
“…Millions, probably.” Pryce answered without raising his head. “I don’t know.”
Fathom was silent again, and Pryce was glad to have a few moments to compose himself before the next question. “You…have family?”
“No,” Pryce said, taking a deep breath and gathering himself. “Yes. I have…had friend, very very good friend,” he began. “Friend was named ‘Wright’…Wright had a child, child’s name was John. I…help take care of child,” Pryce paused for a moment before continuing. “Friend and his…mate Danielle get sick, die many years ago.”
“…child no die?” Fathom asked softly when Pryce did not continue.
Pryce shook his head, not answering. “Before friend die, I say to him I take care of John who was six years old. I…promised to protect his child,” Pryce said, speaking so quietly that Fathom had to stretch out his ear-spines to listen clearly.
“I find medicine 17 years ago, Wright died 12 years ago, very bad illness 10 years ago, I make antibiotic 7 years ago, I work too slow, many people die.” Pryce rattled off, his voice threatening to break. “John got sick. Friends got sick. They die 7 years ago. I not make medicine fast enough. So many people d-die.” The words were forced out shortly before his voice broke, and tears began to drip onto the sand.
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Fathom was at a loss.
Dragons were not social creatures, exactly. Their standing with regards to one another was of vital importance, but that did not mean they interacted with each other often; in fact, they barely ever did so except to trade, fight, or mate, with the latter being an exceptionally rare event. They rarely ever even had friends, with many dragons spending the majority of their lives alone.
Dragons never cried unless they had lost someone they had loved dearly, and they never shed their tears in front of another…at least not that Fathom had ever heard.
What he really didn’t understand was why Gharum would help raise another male’s hatchling – he was fairly certain this friend was male, but now didn’t seem like the time to ask – and why was he crying for people who were neither his ‘friends’ or his family?
Fathom tilted his head in thought. These humans were obviously very different from dragons, but to think they could be so backwards…or perhaps Gharum was strange, even for a human.
Or perhaps it was the number of dead that concerned Gharum? More than five-hundred thousand humans died, more than five hundred times that of every dragon in existence! Fathom tried and failed to even imagine that many dead dragons. If his failure had been responsible for so many dragons he had never met, then…he thought he could understand the human a little better.
“You…time you find medicine, make medicine, ten years. Is long time,” Fathom finally said.
Pryce looked up, but didn’t respond. The part of his eyes that were normally white were curiously reddened now.
“You say…’promise’, is thing you say you do in future, yes?”
Pryce made some odd noises, as if clearing his throat of obstruction before responding. “Yes…Promise is when you say you will do thing.” Pryce picked up a twig. “You do thing is ‘keeping promise’, no do thing is ‘breaking promise’. Is bad.”
Fathom nodded, “dragon have promise too, different types of promise.”
Pryce blinked, then straightened his back. Fathom was pretty sure that meant he was paying more attention.
“Type one of promise is stop when sunrise. Type two of promise is promise thing to do, like trade thing. Type three of promise is…no stop,” he explained. “You promise, type three?”
“Yes...?” The human said, slow and uncertain.
“You…you no make humans sick,” Fathom said, attempting to be reassuring.
“…When…when John get sick, he ask me to go see him.” Pryce lowered his head, “I not go see him, I work to make antibiotic,” he said, not meeting Fathoms eyes.
“You make antibiotic, give to him?”
“Yes, I…yes,” Pryce managed, faltering. “But I have no time to see him. I not there when he sick, I not there when he die.”
Fathom drew his head back, wincing. The death of a hatchling was a tragic thing indeed, and Pryce seemed to treat this one as his own. “Dragon promise is you do all thing you can, you do all thing you can, you not break promise,” Fathom said confidently. “You not can do things you not can do.”
Pryce heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. “Many people still die,” he said, but sounded a little less downcast.
“…Dragon think, if we…know dead dragon, dead dragon not…very dead,” Fathom said, not knowing the right words in English. “If Friend Wright live, he think you bad?”
“No,” Pryce answered instantly. “No…He not like that,” he said, a sad ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Then you good, other five-hundred forty-two thousand six-hundred thirty-eight people like crew, you do all thing you can to protect them.” Fathom concluded with an air of absolute finality.
“…Thank you, you help some.” Pryce said, dusting himself off. He watched as the spore pods bobbed across the sky, carried by a wayward gust of wind, and seemed to stand up straighter. “I am good now, what should I teach next?”
Fathom looked a little doubtful at his reassurance, but perked up when Pryce made his offer. “How you make mirror?”
Pryce smiled.
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[JOURNAL ENTRY]
Day 33,
When I look back upon my life, it seems my achievements are all obscured in the shadows of failure. I came to this island in part to get away from the admiration of the public eye, so when Fathom asked if protected many humans I vividly recalled those memories…for a moment I remembered how much I hated being paraded as a hero with so many dead.
I was…distressed at the time, but now that I recall the conversation Fathom seemed to ask some odd questions. He must be confused about humans and our customs; I should teach him those tomorrow.
What Fathom said to me today is nothing more than what I’ve said to myself, or at least nothing I haven't thought to myself. To be honest, I am heartened more by Fathom’s desire to comfort me rather than the force of his arguments, but I appreciate it all the same.
It is strange how much more comforting words can be when they come from another person.
Wound progress update: The wound has shrunk by another centimeter, and the discoloration around the edges of the wound has faded by a noticeable degree.