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Nothing, just the coolness from the liquid as the pain from the scraping faded. Silas took in a long breath. Just the stitching to go. Then he let out a shout. The sting from whatever the doctor pressed on Silas’s leg was intense. “Fuck.”
“Okay.” The doctor took away the pressure and dabbed. “That should do it.”
The stinging lessened but hung around, like an ember from a fire smouldered deep inside.
The doctor fiddled with something on the table. “Another drink, maybe?”
Silas didn’t hesitate and took three glugs. He twisted to look at the doctor. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
The doctor didn’t look up, glasses perched on the end of his warty nose. “Of course, my boy, wounds are scarcely different between humans and animals. I am sought after far and wide to operate on priceless livestock.” The doctor looked up, pushing his glasses to his eyes. “Compensated for travel too.”
“I came to you, don’t be getting any ideas.”
“Yes, yes. Lay back, please.”
Silas winced as the needle was pressed and pulled. The doctor all the while humming an annoying tune.
The doctor stepped back. “All done.”
Silas twisted to see the man admiring his work, then looked at the stitching. Not bad. A straight line, a little bloody, but closed up nicely.
The doctor placed a bottle of clear liquid on the table. “Clean it with this twice a day. I am sure you won’t be rolling around in the dirt like a pig, so there should be little chance of infection.” The doctor smiled. “Snip the middles and pull them out after two weeks if it looks like it’s healed. If it fills with pus, you must return with haste so I can clean out any infection. You could lose the leg otherwise.”
Silas slid off the bench and pulled up his trousers.
“Try not to stretch the wound for a few days. Best not ride that horse of yours. There is plenty of room in my stable if you wish to store it there.”
“How much?”
“Thirty gold. Five of that is for the stable, a fair price.”
Silas counted out the gold and put it on the bench.
“I’ll be staying in the tavern across the way.”
The doctor limped across the room. “Very well.”
Hopefully not the result of operating on himself.
Later in the afternoon, Silas sat alone at a table in the corner of the tavern. Three drunken old men slurred at each other at the bar. I wonder if they understand each other? Probably having completely different conversations.
A tavern girl appeared and worked her way toward Silas, pushing in stools and wiping down the tables. She looked just like Lucia. Pretty, long brown hair, dark eyes, smooth olive skin. Her hips swayed like Lucia’s too. He couldn’t look away.
She smiled as she approached. “Another ale, love?”
Sounds a little like her, that farmer twang. Silas choked on some spit as he tried to talk. “Ple –”
Her smile widened. “What’s that, love? Not sure we have that.”
Silas coughed and laughed. “Please.”
The girl sniggered and headed for the bar. Silas stared at her rump, each cheek moving up and down beneath her skirt. Like two squirrels fighting in a sack. He laughed to himself. He couldn’t remember when or who he’d heard that from, but he thought of it every time he saw a nice arse in a skirt.
The girl returned and placed the ale in front of him. “What’s your business round ’ere then?”
“Just passing through.”
“Off to Bulov, is it?”
