Stepping into the infirmary was like passing into a dismal corporate office run by hoarders of the bizarre. Leather binders (secured with twine) stacked fat and thick with papers in several precarious towers. Boxes and chests overflowed with poorly sorted medicaments: venomous thorned herbs, pulsing minerals, and the mutant, pickled organs of animals that had no equivalent on Earth. A dusty odor had seeped over all of it, into the very carpets and paneling over time. It lingered like sour onions, and it hinted coyly of a festering of mice.
The ‘Junior’ Scholar Tarrop of Waverton & Broox was sitting alone. Even though there were wooden partitions and delicate antique chairs about him to hint that this place routinely seated four or more: he looked cramped in the space. Open files were spilled over the goblin’s lap, and he was dressed in a sober costume of ill-fitting, subdued grays.
As the door groaned to announce his guests, the portly goblin laid down the thin metal wand he had been holding. The tool had been affixed at the end with a hybridized pair of spectacles, slash, magnifying glasses: at the opposite side of its handle.
“Ah. He is awake then,” the scholar smiled thinly. “Hello, big guy. It’s good to see you, truly.” His square-pupil eyes, once glimmering with calculation, now appeared dull.
Rhode ducked into the room as Fidelity Brand moved aside. He squeezed into the open space before the first cubicle, and a box of loose bottles jingled as they were disturbed at his feet.
“Yea,” Rhode scratched the stubble on his cheek and his eyes roved about suspiciously. “I mean, no big deal. Good to see you too, Tarrop.”
“Scholar Tarrop,” Fidelity crisply snapped, “the Hero, Rhode of Irving requires medical assessment. Am I awry in my understanding that second shift has begun? Why are you alone in operating this station?”
Without a hint of guile or cleverness, the scholar sedately (and vaguely) waved a stack of papers towards one of the walls. “We do have an army medic with us Ser, should you desire it. They will likely be making their rounds, now.”
“Not the generalists, Good Scholar, there should be at least one of the acolytes here at all times. Acolyte…” the officer snapped his finger impatiently. “I can never remember their names. We agreed that there would be continuous availability.”
Tarrop set his papers down carefully, sorting them into the stacks on his table. He looked up again at Brand with a probing expression, and then cleared his lap of his work. “The specialists of the Hornupant Priory are occupied, as their participation is necessary to the success of the ritual.”
A blank expression passed over Brand’s face. His mustache twitched.
“Oh, really?” Rhode injected. He hadn’t really spent much time thinking about what the kids did for the project.
Tarrop ignored the Hero, his eyes locked onto Brand. “Surely, you remember that, Ser.”
“Of course, Scholar Tarrop,” Fidelity shook his head slowly. “Yes. But what of Father Uod? I would assume he might be made available here in the interim.”
A pitying smile crept on the scholar’s face and he huffed out a breath.
“Ah. I suppose he is largely here in a… supervisory capacity, after all,” Fidelity trailed off. Chagrin had crept into his voice. “Is there truly no one to see to Goodman Irving’s care, then? Given his state –”
Rhode perked up. “What was wrong with my state?”
“Ser,” the scholar raised a hand. He lowered it slowly, and fidgeted. He averted his eyes with discomfort. “I will assure you that the big guy has already been taken care of sufficiently. The… Goodman of Selt has, I must admit, surpassed our every expectation in the matters of both diagnosis and treatment. Rhode will be fine.”
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“But –“
“But though I am loath to remind you, and it pains me, Ser – I regret I must ask that, and I say this respectfully, you must step outside.”
Thousand-Cut Brand stiffened, as if he had come under physical assault.
“For the privacy of the patient,” Tarrop whispered.
Rhode watched with confusion and uncertain dismay as the half-elven chin dipped – almost glacially slow. Then the black and orange livery, the elegant sword, and the mustachioed nobleman who wore them so admirably, all spun briskly about, and stalked out of the infirmary.
Tarrop sighed and deflated. He leaned back and produced two tall, identical porcelain jars from under his desk. He sniffed both of them, announced, “this one’s lunch,” and then spat into the other one. He replaced them underneath his workspace and stood upright.
“Uh,” Rhode pointed behind him. He changed his mind and pointed down towards the scholar’s meal storage routine, and then dismissed it to jerk his thumb back towards the door. Then since it was open, he leaned back and shut it just in case. “What’s going on?”
“I meant what I said, Rhode. You’re going to be fine. Between Brother Eloft’s ministrations, Goodwife Krevinkya’s tinctures, and Goodmiss Chyrna’s stitching, frankly you shouldn’t experience any discomfort or impairment at all. [Hibernate] will have helped you marginally, as well.”
The scholar carefully extracted himself from his enclosed workspace. He lifted a leg to step over a clouded glass jar and crouched over a pile of supplies in the back.
“Okay,” Rhode supplied.
The shuffling sound paused. “You did not crystalize any new levels, is that correct?”
“No. I’m just growing the ones I’ve got.”
Tarrop raised a vial to the light. It was clear, but refracted the light unnaturally and in unsettling colors. “We were only mostly sure. There was hope, but… I suppose this is as good a time as any to get you your mana potion, though.” The goblin turned it in his hand reverently. A scintillating prism of colors played over his face. “Ah, this is a good one. And it’s a double dose.”
Rhode reached out, and his optimization advice specialist placed the potent, stoppered concoction into his palm. The homunculus looked down, then up. “Did you hear that Yune got in trouble?”
Tarrop wove a torturous path back to his desk and sat back down with a ‘whumph’. “Yes. It was unfortunate.”
Rhode’s fingers closed gently around his potion. “It seems weird that she would get punished like that. I dunno. I thought you, you know, all of you, sort of encouraged that sort of thing.”
Tarrop raised his hands helplessly, and a pained smirk flickered on his face. “We are all a prisoner to our nature.”
“But what did they single her out for?” Rhode growled. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense to be mad, but –“
“Ah,” the scholar expelled. He ran his hand over his balding head and leaned back. His hands folded over his belly. “Rhode, perhaps it is rude for me to tell you this, but it is worse to keep you ignorant. You should know that Ser Fidelity Brand has been asked to adjust his responsibilities here at the Hero project.”
Rhode’s eyes widened. “Aw, no.”
“The day to day operations will no longer be under his administration. Instead he will be focused primarily on the physical security of this facility.”
Rhode slumped, his bulk leaned against the only nearby free stretch of wall. “They knocked him down to guard duty?”
“It is my sincere advice that you would not phrase the situation so indelicately when his lordship is present.” Tarrop’s eyes closed as his head tilted further. “But there is more. Rhode, allow me to tell you in no uncertain terms that working with you has been one of the highlights of my entire career. Indeed, though I did not know it ‘till now, this project will likely be remembered as the pinnacle of my life’s professional accomplishments.”
“Oh, no,” Rhode groaned.
“When you fell asleep in the vault, you inhaled a nearly lethal dose of poison. It was an accident of incomparable negligence. You spent three days recuperating, failed to resolve a weapon-art as we’d intended, and the material costs to restore you…”
“We were so eager to keep you well this time, and so, we went somewhat over-budget. It did not occur to us. And I – and we may have received certain other complaints as well. I will note it did not help our cause when it was revealed that you had declined to evolve your [Vigorous Ichor] to the rejuvenation lines at our own recommendation, an error I personally regret.”
Tarrop’s head rose and his eyes were clear.
“Yagget is indespensible. Rikva is a rising star. You must understand that Wavelton & Broox is a small institution, our foundations uncertain. We cannot afford to offend the court.”
“Salt and Ash precede you, my boy. I am blessed to have met you. I will try to come say goodbye if I can.”