Two months passed by in a blur. There was a cadence to his life where a tenuous balance formed between earning money at the Clinic, and training in the Labyrinth. As business grew, it became harder to find the energy to delve in the Labyrinth, let alone craft new items in the forge as he had envisioned.
He was earning 3500 Denars a month with rent and Diallo’s loan totalling 2100 D’s. It was a bit more than what he was earning as a partner at Savta’s clinic, but he didn’t need to pay rent back then. Here in the Outer City with poorer patients, it was a respectable sum to earn each month.
Exill leaned back on the stool after packaging the last of his anti-inflammatory paste.
‘I need an apprentice.’
He often wondered how Luna was doing, and one of their last conversations had been about her fruitless search for an apprentice. If she found it so difficult, how hard would it be for him? A ‘wanted’ ad had been posted in the Market noticeboard several weeks ago but had yet to interview anyone.
Meanwhile, Envy had been an unmitigated disaster in the Clinic. She would scare patients off and mix up medication, or simply overcharge customers. It was obvious she didn’t want to be here.
Last he heard, she was out there in the Labyrinth, teaming up with Grundle, his former bald-headed companion, and a fresh newbie wolfman who fawned over her day and night.
‘I must be jealous they are out there having fun, while I am stuck here all alone…’ A rare twinge of longing plucked at his heart.
Aside from freeing up time to delve the Labyrinth, there were other benefits to acquiring an apprentice. There was a whole forge in the backroom, gathering dust simply because he didn’t have the energy at the end of the day. To do any decent work, you needed at least four hours of uninterrupted time… hours he couldn’t spare. There were a lot of tools to manufacture and experiments to try.
The front doorbell chimed at that moment, indicating a new patient had arrived.
“Excuse me…” a tenebrous voice called out from the lobby.
He walked out of the treatment room to find a lanky adolescent nervously fumbling with a pouch slung over one shoulder. The lad seemed relieved when his eyes met Exill.
“Hi, excuse me, I-I’m here to interview for the apprentice position, could you lead me to your Master?”
Exill opened his mouth to correct the boy but stopped. He instead motioned him into the treatment room, pulling up a stool for him to sit on. After pausing for a moment, the Witchdoctor revised his earlier decision. “Hi, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I am Witchdoctor Exill, and this is my Clinic.”
The boy’s eyes widened at the unintentional faux pas, and looked at him anew, scrutinizing him. “I’m Welthan, 19 years old and Herbalist by trade. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you sir. Here is my Card.”
Welthan was a human with Herbalist and Forager as his professions. Exill surmised the boy lived in the outskirts and made a living foraging ingredients from the nearby forest. He displayed his own Card for the boy to inspect.
“By golly, we’re the same age! I’m sorry Master Exill… b-but… I don’t see how this is going to work out. I can’t tell my ma and pa that I’m apprenticed to someone my age, beggin’ your pardon sir. When would I possibly inherit and take over your business?”
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Exill felt his heart drop at this news. So this was why Luna was having so much trouble finding apprentices. Unless they were men trying to climb into her pants, there was no reason for them to be subservient to her. After some thought, he took out a large copper coin and handed it to Welthan.
“You’re right, I’m sorry for wasting your time and may the Spirit of the World guide you safely in your travels.”
He didn’t know how customary it was in this world to pay interviewees a token amount for their time, but Welthan appeared more than grateful. The lanky boy bowed several times while he left the Clinic.
‘I’ll have to take that ‘Wanted’ notice down, or rumours might spread I’m handing out coin for nothing.’ Exill sighed as he collected his medicine bag and closed the store. He would take this opportunity to remove the Market Ad and drop by Diallo’s to check up on a slave who had difficulty eating.
Flipping the ‘Open’ sign on the Clinic door, he walked into the crowded bustling square as the mid-afternoon sun shone gently down.
***
Diallo made some notes on a clay tablet as he handed the pouch for his assistant to count. “That marks your fifth instalment. You’re halfway there. Ivar, lead the Witchdoctor to that Herbalist in row C.”
Exill’s heart sunk at the mention of row C, and he followed the hunched assistant into the fetid warehouse. Waves of stench and groans assaulted his senses while he passed by countless cages.
The reason for his reluctance was a particular young woman, covered in burn scars who would claw at him whenever he passed that row of cages. She would beg for him to take her as a slave, or otherwise sit there in a catatonic state while he tiptoed past. Thankfully it was the latter today, and she sat in the fouled cage with a faraway look in her eyes.
“Here is the Herbalist, he hasn’t been eating for two days.”
Exill motioned to the assistant and two guards, familiar with their procedure and how violent the slaves could turn at the drop of a pin. “I’ll need him out of the cage and restrained. Do you have something to keep his mouth open while I inspect?”
The Assistant looked pleased as he had anticipated the request. He held up a face plate with a racking mechanism connected by leather straps. Exill stood motionless while the guards dragged the slave to a nearby anchor point where they chained his limbs.
The Assistant inserted the leather straps into the patient’s mouth and slowly twisted it open as the enslaved Herbalist screamed hoarsely in pain. Exill carefully shut the noise out. If this precaution wasn’t taken, he would likely lose his fingers in the man’s mouth.
Once ready, a tiny amount of mana was channelled to his fingertip and summoned ‘light’, softly illuminating the slave’s mouth. A putrid stench wafted up as he witnessed the state of the man’s mouth. The gums were red and swollen and two jagged black stumps of his molars were visible.
‘I hate this freaking job.’
He hated dentistry with a passion. Even back on Earth he was afraid of dentists and the sound of whirring drills. It was a veritable nightmare in this primitive world.
Exill had once asked Old Savta, “Why can’t you just regrow the teeth instead of extracting them?” She had explained, “The rot must be removed. If you simply grow new teeth around it without extraction, the rot will remain and corrupt anew.”
He had thought it an apt metaphor for society at the time but didn’t find it so amusing now. Not when his target for extraction were black stumps that would be easily crushed under his pliers, making it impossible to pull out.
“Please calm down. You will feel a slight cut on your chin then the lower part of your face should grow numb. I need you to be quiet and make a noise only if you start to feel pain again.”
Exill channelled the smallest amount of mana into the scalpel and made a light nick on the man’s chin, causing the tongue to loll out. He was always careful when paralyzing the face because the literature wasn’t clear what effects paralysis would have on the brain. He adjusted the head sideways to keep the airways clear.
The Witchdoctor spent over forty minutes extracting the teeth and cleaning up after the surgery. Sweating heavily, he handed the awed assistant a satchel of pain and anti-inflammatory medication.
“Mix this with water and feed him twice a day, though you should only give him water today.”
He turned to leave with a soft sigh. It would likely take the rest of the day for the stench to leave his clothes. Carefully carrying his bloodied tools, he strode towards the exit where there was a clean water trough. That was when a claw struck out, knocking his tools to the ground. The enchanted scalpel ricocheted off his boot and lay to rest against his assailant’s cell.