“Rat... mutant... things,” repeated Rasen. “I see. Well, I’ll see what I can do.” He paused. “You were trying to clean the well? That’s very good of you. Come on, this way.”
"Got training," Pieter said curtly. "I can help with the details."
“Well, thank you, but I think I can manage myself,” said the doctor, evidently sceptical of ‘Rudiger’s’ claim.
Leading the way inside, the doctor opened the door into the now-familiar, dingy room with the scarred wooden table and the cabinet of instruments. Setting out a needle, thread, a bottle of amber liquid, a clean cloth, a pair of long-handled tweezers and a roll of bandage, he turned back to his sudden guests, gesturing for Raffy to sit up on the table. Inspecting the youth’s wounds, the man gave a whistling intake of breath through his teeth.
“Dear gods, they’re all over you,” he said. Turning around, he picked up the bottle and cloth. “Right, you had best take off your clothes. Perhaps the rest of you could wait outside?”
One by one, he cleaned their wounds, a few requiring stitches or bandages to halt the bleeding: he seemed less than impressed by Pieter’s poultice, peeling the stinking mess away and throwing it out without a word. Rat-bites stinging from the spirits he had swabbed over the cuts, they filtered back out one by one into the corridor, the doctor following last.
“I’ve done what I can, but you seem to have managed to avoid serious harm in the first place,” said Rasen. “If these are
rat-bites, though, there’s a strong chance that you could have fleas, or some other vermin of the blood. They’ll hide in your clothes, so make sure to get them properly cleaned, as well as yourself. And avoid... touching things, particularly other people, until you have.”
“Before you go, however – you said there were tunnels
? In the well? That the sickness was related to these, ah, mutants? Has the Captain dealt with them?”
As before, those being seen to by the doctor may halve their current Wounds deficit, rounding up.