"Hello, Patrick. Yes, quite a nice evening for talking the pet out for a stroll. You don't mind if I tag along won't you?" Ross then turned, without waiting for a response, and began walking towards the lights of the town.

Patrick ran to keep up with him, petrified that the Admiral might hurt the dog or might devise some evil punishment as recompense for breaking the rules.

The Admiral shook his head. "Stop looking so scared. Nothing bad is going to happen. I'm not going to punish you for trying to save an innocent animal."

"But, the threats, and the fights with the wooden swords. You said you would hurt the dog," said Patrick. He did not like the calm and friendly way Ross was talking to him. In the past, it always preceded hurt by practice sword.

"Don't be so dramatic. I just said those things to keep you in line. Didn't want you to jump in the water and drown trying to swim home or some other stupid thing you might do."

Patrick wanted to thurst his arms in the Admiral's face and show him the deep scarlet bruises on there, but he settled on asking, "What about the wooden swords? Was that also to keep me in line?"

Ross waved a hand, as to disregard what the young man had said, "Learning a deadly art is no pleasant thing. I thought you knew that by now, or were you not training to be a peacekeeper? Easy way to earn a death if you do not know your way around a blade."

Ross looked at the boy and saw the reticence in his eyes. "Alright, then, I'll prove I'm not quite so dastardly. Let's go find an animal doctor and see if we can get your little mutt on its feet. Or you could always run off when I turn my back."

Patrick thought about it, but when he looked down at the dog in his arms, his heart hurt. It was a strange thing, as the dog and his pack had killed the poor doctor's horse and were in the process of killing Patrick himself, but the young man still felt an intense shame and guilt at abandoning a defenseless creature.

"Fine," he said to Ross. "But I want answers as well. You did not tell me anything about what happened on the beach."

"What's to tell?" Ross asked as they began walking together. "You were on the ship. Do I have to explain death and warfare to you?"

"No." Patrick thought back on the desperate figures on the ground, stumbling over themselves in their hurry to make it back to the ship. In the great current of the river, a few more were lost, and more still as they climbed over each other on the nets, inadvertently knocking others down in their panic.

"But what were you doing there? If you were sent by the King or the Duke or anybody who is in charge, why aren't we sailing to Livingston and helping out?"

"I'm sure we'll put up quite the fight, a ship that barely floats just enough gunpowder to shoot a couple of dozen muskets, and just enough men that we'd have to place the muskets on tripods. Enough questions for now. Let's go find a healer." said Ross.

They walked back to town. The streets were lit by the gas lamps, giving a warm orange glow to the stones, which the insects duly appreciated as they crowded around each lamp. Fewer people were on the street now, with most of the respectable folk deciding to call it a night. After asking around, and finding mostly drunks, and having to decipher their slurred words, Ross figured out where an animal doctor could be found.

He pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket, and, after looking around, made a quick sketch with a bit of coal. Patrick took a look and realized it was a vague map of the town and its surroundings. They took a turn into a street smaller than most, bunched up between bigger and more successful buildings. The Admiral had to bend down not to hit his head at one point and had the darndest time squeezing through the corridor.

Finally, and with some difficulty for neither of them had the foresight to bring a lamp, they found the sign for the doctor, a circle with a large dot in the middle of it, called the Eye of Knowledge. Above it was a painting of a chicken.

"Well," Ross said while looking at the drawing, "It's not a dog, or perhaps it's a very mangled dog that the doctor saved, but this might just be the animal doctor. Either way, we're in capable hands." He pulled on the door, and as they stepped inside the small room, a bell rang, triggered by the door.

The Admiral wasted no time in finding a chair, moving it as it was resting in the left corner, facing both the exit and the connecting hallway that led to the back rooms where the doctor was perhaps hiding. Patrick saw only the one chair in the small waiting room, he stood awkwardly, still holding the sleeping dog in his arms.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Ross relit his pipe and kept busy by creating smoke circles. The edges of his golden-green coat touched the floor, dragging through the dust present there.

After some time the doctor came to see them. Doctor Lowery, dressed in trousers and a white frock stained with an assortment of liquids, ranging from blood to medician alcohol. She pulled her hair pack, setting it in a tail, and nodded a greeting before grabbing the dog and leaving through the hallway and into the back rooms.

The Admiral chuckled and signaled with his head for the boy to follow the doctor. Ross followed at his own pace, feeling the walls with his hands and picking at any chipping paint.

Dr. Lowery set the hound down on a table and began prodding at the dog with a metal appendage, stopping at times to make disapproving noises and sneak back glares towards Patrick.

"If you're a dog fighter, you've got about 5 seconds to walk or you'll be crawling away." She said, producing a scalpel from somewhere and holding it above Patrick's right ear.

"No, I wouldn't do something so nasty. He's a war hound. Most of the injuries were from my horse falling on him. Honest, he attacked me." said Patrick quickly, closing his right eye as he leaned away from the blade.

The doctor laughed suddenly and ruffled Patrick's hair. "I was only joking you big dope. Your dog's got the stink of magic all over him. Poor little beast probably couldn't help tearing you apart even if he had been opposed to the idea. That's what this pendant on his collar's for." She tapped a metal pendant studded into the collar, being careful to only touch it with the scalped. "Not that war hounds need all this fancy magicking, they love killing as much as any other prey animal, training or no training. Don't touch that pendant by the way. It doesn't look too dangerous, but you never know what traps they add in there to hurt the enemy."

"Can you do anything for him?" asked Patrick.

"Of course. I'm a damned good doctor, human or otherwise, did you not see the sign?"

"It's nighttime."

The doctor turned the dog on its side with one hand, while picking up a syringe from a nearby drawer with the other.

"Well, get a lamp next time," she said.

The Admiral took this opportunity to make his way into the room. He nodded at the doctor who was too busy with the dog to notice and then began picking up random vials and inspecting them by the lamplight.

"Hand me that red-brown vial. The one that says energizer on the label." the doctor said without turning around. Ross did so, and twisted to peek at the dog over the doctor's shoulder.

"How long will this take?" asked Ross. "He doesn't look too rough. I figure a strong tea will have him walking in no time."

"Hmm." the doctor said, pulling a basin from the lower shelf, then picking a large bottle with a silvery liquid inside, and dumping the liquid in the basin. She looked at her scalpel and shook her head.

"Give me your knife," she instructed the Admiral.

Ross raised his eyebrows but dutifully went to his belt and unhooked the knife sitting there, handing it over to the doctor.

"Stand back a few feet." Dr. Lowery continued. "You never know with these cursed objects how much they disagree with being taken off their host."

Next, she made quick work of the collar, severing it with the knife. The doctor picked up the collar swiftly with a gloved hand and deposited it in the basin. Once it hit the silver liquid the collar released an acrid, sickening smoke, making the inside of the basin rattle and the liquid bubble uncontrollably. The doctor slammed a lid down on top of the basin and tied it shut with a length of rope. After a few seconds of wild swinging around, the basin stop moving and the smoke vanished.

"Well," the doctor smiled. "That's that." She then proceeded to rub some disinfectant on the dog's flank and then bandage the worst wounds. "He'll be just fine, just don't let him run around too much, so he doesn't open his wounds. He'll wake up soon, you don't have to carry him anymore." She rubbed the dog between the ears. "Does he have a name?"

Ross looked at Patrick and Patrick shrugged. "Not fully decided yet."

"Name him Milton, after the poet," said Doctor Lowery.

Patrick had no idea what she was talking about.

"The nutjob who thought he had been resurrected after walking all the way through hell?" the Admiral asked, all of a sudden doubting the doctor's qualifications.

"Well, the dog looks like he's been through hell." She glared at Ross. "Or I could just keep him since your story is hard to believe anyway. You might be dogfighters for all I know."

The Admiral snorted. "Look at my uniform, woman. What would an Admiral need to fight dogs for, and you said yourself he's a war hound. You don't think we're putting those in the pits, do you? They're quite expensive to train and enchant."

"Don't talk to me about uniform you royal bootlicker. You bring a wounded animal to me and act outraged when I question the wounds?"

Patrick wanted to vanish into the wall. "Thank you for your help, doctor. I appreciate it, truly." He said word for word what his grandfather once taught him to be polite when buying groceries from Old Lady Agatha.

Lowery picked up Milton, shoved him, not unkindly, into Patrick's arms. "You can pay me now," she said, turning to the Admiral. The man pretended not to hear and they just stared at each other silently, until he finally relented and dug into his pockets.

Once outside in the small street, Ross turned and stuck the tip of his boot against the closing door, earning an angry growl from the doctor. "What?" she hissed.

"Can you point us towards the Mayor's house? There's some business I simply must discuss with him."

"Mayor Lyndon's house is the big opulent one, built off taxes that should have gone to hiring two town doctors. Sorry for being an ass, kid. You can come back for a check-up on the dog, no charge. Just tell His Majesty's brown-noser to stay home. Good night."