Dexter silently berated himself as he realized he had forgotten to don the gloves he usually wore in front of visitors. This was certainly one of the most illustrious men ever to knock on his door, and the doctor knew he couldn't be impressed by the old slave brand. But perhaps, he thought with amusement, it would do the pompous whelp some good to be treated as an equal by a former slave.
"Shouldn't doctors always be ready to see a patient?" The young man demanded. "What if this had been an emergency? I could already be dead!"
"I trust that if your life had been in any real danger," Dexter said with a small smile, "you wouldn't have knocked. Besides, I'm not the sort of doctor who would have been able to save you from a life-threatening ailment or injury anyway. I do apologize for my unpreparedness, however; but my patients tend to make appointments ahead of time by way of courier."
But the well-dressed man had already made his way brusquely past the doctor and into the small house.
"I don't need help," he stated coldly. "My dear sister seems to think that I have a problem, that my attitude leaves something to be desired. Why, she's even implying that I'm going insane and that my behaviour is harming our family's reputation. I just need a little note from you, stating that I'm perfectly fine and that it is she who needs to see a doctor."
The old man looked at his patient sternly.
"It may be worth listening to your sister where you attitude is concerned, young man," he lectured. "As for whether or not your sanity is causing you to behave in such as way as to damage your family's social status -- well, we'll soon find out. I'm not about to send you off with a note without even examining --"
"I will of course pay you well." The younger man broke in.
The doctor was silent for a moment. He was indeed in need of money, and desperately. Ever since he had squandered away his gold paying for doctors and apothecaries to treat his illness, he had been living as a commoner, something he wasn't quite fond of. As far as he was concerned he deserved to live like nobility until the end of his days after he had been forced into slave labor as a child. But then, he thought slyly, if he made a regular patient of his visitor he would profit even more greatly in the long-term instead of making a few quick mizas off of the bribe he was being offered.
Fixing his new patient with a disapproving glare, he replied, "Don't you try to bribe me. I am not about to sacrifice my principals to help along my finances." He drew himself up proudly. "You will earn your note of good health from me, I am afraid, not buy it."
The arrogant youth didn't seem to have much experience being put in his place in this manner and seemed about to reply scathingly, but he was suddenly distracted by something, as he quickly covered his nose.
"By Rhysol, what have you been burning here? It smells disgusting! Open the window at once," he ordered.
The old doctor frowned grimly. This was the thing he had been dreading since his guest had arrived. "Ah, yes, the smell. I am terribly sorry about that, of course. I had a -- a guest over recently, and she -- she doesn't cook well." At this he couldn't help but smirk inwardly. "I'm afraid we'll just have to allow the fire to devour her 'meat'. I will, of course, offer a slight discount to compensate you for your discomfort." As he spoke these words he laced them, using a small amount of Djed, with very subtle, calming underlying messages, such as You can trust me and I am not dangerous. These assurances would hopefully go unnoticed except by the recipient's subconscious.
He quickly crossed to his bedside and threw open the small window.
"Now, then," he said, turning around to face his patient. "I believe I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Doctor Montgomery." He extended a hand to the man, who he learned was called Valerius, a member of the quite reputable Nitrozian family. "Please, lie down," Dexter said, gesturing to a long couch which the wealthier man was sure to find of inferior quality.
The doctor pulled two pieces of clean parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink from the supply chest in front of the fire. Then he walked stiffly, leaning heavily on his cane, to the armchair in front of the couch he had instructed his patient to occupy and sat down, setting the bottle of ink on a desk within arm's reach of the chair. With Valerius' consent Dexter copied down his age, height, and weight.
"Now," he adopted the soothing voice he always used to address patients and crossed one of his legs over the other, smoothing the parchment over his knee, "please, tell me about your sister. Why do you think she wants you to see me? What is your relationship with her like? Tell me about your day-to-day interactions with her. And please, if you feel like sharing anything else important about your life with me, do so. The help I can provide will only be as beneficial as you allow it to be."
He refilled his quill from the bottle of ink and poised it over the first piece of parchment. |