After around ten minutes of direct pressure to Saphiria’s laceration, hemostasis was achieved. The bleeding finally stopped. Only now could wound exploration begin.

Although Dimitry wished for a cleaner environment to work in than a forest floor, he doubted there were more pathogenic microorganisms here than at his clinic in a Ravenfall alley. It would suffice. He rinsed his hands with boiled water to remove excess microbes and gently peeled the bloodied portion of Saphiria’s cloak to reveal the contaminated laceration underneath.

Slender arm in the air, Saphiria watched the cloth tear away. “Must I hold up my hand for long?”

Dimitry nodded. “It’s harder for your heart to pump blood upwards, meaning there’s less to bleed out from your wounds. No point in losing more blood than necessary, right?”

Her straight face made deciphering whether she believed him difficult. Patient compliance that came from understanding rather than blind trust was best, but when faced with a traumatic laceration that traveled from behind the shoulder to the elbow, either was fine.

Pressing a thumb to both sides of the wound, Dimitry pulled back skin for an inside look. A scarlet ravine with blood pooling over a yellow base showed subcutaneous fat exposure. The depth of injury necessitated stitches.

Sat on his head, Precious leaned in. “Yuck.”

“It’s not too bad,” he said. “Looks a lot worse when you see the muscle and bone bulging out underneath.”

An icy wind blew raven hair into Saphiria’s face, which she struggled to brush away with a single hand. “Will this take much longer?”

“Not really, but if your arm is getting numb, feel free to move it around a bit.”

Dimitry reached into his bag for a bottle of crudely distilled alcohol. Aqua vitae, as the people of this world called it. He blotted the transparent liquid onto loose fabric to disinfect his hands and prepared another to drag alongside the gash, careful to avoid leaking ethanol into the wound itself. On contact, alcohol killed healthy cells too.

Indigo eyes no longer overflowing with hostility, but curiosity, Saphiria fixated on his movements. “What’s that for?”

“I’m cleaning the gunk outside the cut so that when I flush out the insides, it doesn’t get recontaminated.”

“I see.”

Discovering a person who was open to novel ideas rather than rejecting them outright brought a smile to Dimitry’s face.

Precious jumped off his head to hover above. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I don’t know many things, but this is the one thing I’m sure of.”

Dimitry assumed that organic chemistry functioned identically on all planets; only exceptional microorganisms could survive high purity ethanol. Despite the broadened range of human phenotypes in this world, the fundamental biology was probably the same. That logic applied to pathogens too.

After disinfecting the surrounding skin, Dimitry turned his attention to the laceration’s innards. A long and narrow injury like Saphiria’s made wound irrigation the perfect solution, and he had the perfect tool: boiled water. It would flow through the cut, flushing away debris, stale blood, and parasitic microbes.

“If you’re a barber-surgeon,” Precious said, “where are your prayer books and astrology charts?”

“Prayers are only good when the procedure fails. No comment on the astrology charts though.”

“Zerans would murder you if they heard you say that.”

Dimitry poured boiled water into the girl’s wound. “Well, you don’t come across as particularly pious, so I’m not too worried.”

Precious giggled. “That’s because a pious faerie is a dead faerie. But how about her?”

Motionless, Saphiria watched Dimitry’s movements with utmost care.

Dimitry took a moment to decide between continuous and interrupted sutures. The former was quicker and simpler to perform, while the latter allowed for easier fluid drainage and held better under duress. Given that Saphiria navigated unhygienic environments and was nimble enough to dispatch two wolf monsters on her own, the sturdier option was better. He disinfected some thread and a curved needle.

“This will hurt a bit… or a lot,” Dimitry warned.

Saphiria winced as the needle pierced her skin. “It’s not bad.”

“I respect your bravery.” He tied the first suture and cut away the excess thread with a pair of scissors. Dimitry’s gaze moved down her arm.

A gold bracelet embedded with a brilliant purple gem wrapped around her wrist. Collecting gemstones and minerals on Earth, Dimitry recognized the jewel at once. Although inclusions mired the clarity and an unsteady hand botched the cut, the sapphire would doubtless fetch an absurd price.

Dimitry smirked. Sapphires were a fitting gem for someone named Saphiria.

“I was wondering,” Saphiria said. “How did a faerie like you learn to cast illumina?”

Landing on the girl’s shoulder, Precious’s tiny legs swung back and forth as if she were an infant sat on a highchair. “Oh, so you can string together more than three words. Do you really want to know?”

“And how are you capable of speech? And why do you wear clothes?”

“What will you give me if I tell you?”

Saphiria glared at the faerie. “Your life.”

Dimitry tied another suture on her arm. Although it would be a shame if the faerie died, he agreed with Saphiria. Who was Precious? Were her abilities unique? “Answer her questions.”

“And what will you give—”

“Did you forget our promise?”

Precious puffed up her cheeks. “Let’s just say they are a gift from an old, old friend. Good enough?”

“No, but it’s a start,” Dimitry focused on the half-closed laceration on Saphiria’s arm.

“Well, that’s all you’ll get until I see the goods.” Precious fiddled with the plant fiber hair tie that kept her golden ponytail together. “Fent first, chat later.”

Dimitry hooked the needle into Saphiria’s skin and scooped it through her flesh. Tonight’s events confirmed his suspicions. While invisall allowed him to evade anyone Delphine asked to tail him, leaving Ravenfall alone would fling him into a hostile and unforgiving place where disaster lurked around every corner. He would have been dead was it not for Saphiria.

Although he dreaded returning to the brothel where soul-draining work and insufferable assholes awaited, he had to endure to bide time for preparation. Dimitry needed to learn about everything and anything: magic, fundamental truths, combat. Supplies like vol, food, horses, and money were similarly important. Without them, death was always a step away.

“All done.” Dimitry finished the last suture and snipped the thread with crude scissors.

Saphiria held her arm out beside the fire. A pale finger traced the railroad pattern. “Was this necessary?”

Watching her recontaminate her skin, Dimitry sighed. “Sutures keep the skin closed while the wound heals so that bacteria and viruses can’t get inside.”

“What are viruses and bacteria?”

He recalled when Samuel and Arnest asked a similar question. The knowledge didn’t help them survive. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Tell me.” There was an uncharacteristic spark in her otherwise vacant eyes.

“All around, in the dirt, in the water, and in the air, there are these tiny bugs that want to invade your body. That’s where disease comes from. Just a while ago, I used distilled alcohol to kill the ones living on your skin and my tools.”

Saphiria leaned forward. “What’s alcohol?”

“That’s a tough question; there are so many types out there. The most common one is ethanol. It’s what you find in ale.”

Her eyes traveled up as if in deep contemplation and fixed back onto Dimitry. “What does it look like?”

“It looks exactly like water, but if you had a cup of ethanol, it’d be lighter than a cup of water.” Dimitry’s hands moved up and down as if imitating a scale. Although having pure ethanol was impossible under normal atmospheric conditions, he kept it simple. “They smell different, too.”

“How do you take ethanol out of ale?”

“It has a lower boiling point, so you can evapora—”

“There you go, making things up again,” Precious said. “He just makes it up as he goes.”

Like someone who remembered a sad truth, curiosity drained from Saphiria’s face. She stood. “I… have to go check on the oxen.”

Dimitry stared at Precious. He finally found someone interested in science, but the faerie had to ruin the moment.

“Sorry, did I do that?”

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t choose to be this way, you know.”

After a half day’s journey, the ox-drawn cart reached a decrepit bridge leading to their destination—Vael. The village roads were uneven with shallow trenches flanking either side. Every dirt ditch contained rotted butchered animal remains, discarded food, and feces, their accumulated stenches blending to produce one more vile than any sewage plant.

Disorderly houses with tiles sliding from their roofs filled all except the market square, which played host to several dozen stalls. Aside from the occasional merchant or traveler, those who roamed counter to counter wore battered tunics and gowns. Rickety cart wheels creaked past them and halted beside the manor at the village’s rear.

“Stay inside,” Dimitry spoke to his cloak.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Precious wriggled, stuck between cured leather and human skin. “Just keep me away from those Zeran freaks.”

Satisfied, he turned to face Saphiria. “What now?”

“We wait.”

Beyond the rusted iron gate, a man in a bright blue tunic emerged from the manor and strolled closer. He lifted a metal strip from the gate clasp and pushed it open.

“I assume this is a delivery from Baroness Delp—Lady Delphine?” The man walked past Dimitry and pulled up the cart’s wooden cover. “Young master isn’t home right now, so I will examine the goods myself.” He peeled back the preservia blanket and nodded at the exposed mound of body parts. Among them, Samuel and Arnest’s.

Something sank within Dimitry’s stomach. Was he going to watch someone buy his friends’ organs without so much as a word? The men he dissected personally? Although stopping the transaction was foolish, the least he could do was learn the rationale behind the madness.

“Excuse me.” Dimitry placed his hand on the side of the cart. He avoided looking directly into the storage compartment.

“What?”

“The organs… do they have a use?” Dimitry asked.

The man scowled at Saphiria. Saphiria looked at Dimitry, pleading with her eyes for him to stop asking so many questions.

Dimitry’s heart dropped. He didn’t want to trouble Saphiria; she had enough problems of her own. “I ask because I’m the one who prepared them. I’m trying to perfect my craft, you see.”

The man turned to him. “Ah, are you the new butcher?”

“That’s me.” Dimitry didn’t let his discomfort show.

Careful not to dirty his blue tunic, the man grabbed a severed arm from the top of the pile and held it to the sunlight. “The quality this time is quite good. The joints are neatly severed, and there are no chunks of flesh missing. I am impressed by your devotion, if not slightly perturbed.”

“I could do better if I knew their purpose.”

The man placed the limb back inside and paused. “That’s something you’ll have to ask the master yourself, but unfortunately, he’s away on business at the moment.” He withdrew a silver gadot from his pouch and pressed it into Dimitry’s hand. “Buy yourself some ale while we carry the cargo inside.”

Dimitry glanced at Saphiria, who nodded back. Guess that meant he had some free time. He headed towards the market.

Giving away cadavers without the consent of their owners was reprehensible. Dimitry knew that. But they haunted him as if he was the corpses’ protector and keeper. A weight lifted from his shoulders now that they were gone, but an uneasy emptiness remained in its place.

“You were this close to convincing him,” the voice emanating from Dimitry’s tunic said.

“You can tell that much?”

“My many talents know no bounds.”

“Good. Now add them to your resume, below ‘annoying’ and ‘does nothing useful’.”

“My what? Making up words again, Dumitry?”

The market came into view. An abundance of horses indicated people traveled from afar to purchase supplies. A stall with bark strips lying across its counter stood out.

Dimitry wandered closer. Who the hell bought bark? Whether driven by cynicism or curiosity, he approached the stall.

“How do ye, sir.” The man beneath a thin fabric rubbed his hands. “Interested?”

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”

“This here is the finest willow bark you’ll find in the whole Amalthean Kingdom, sir.”

Dimitry raised an eyebrow. “And it’s used for…?”

The man at the counter picked up a brown and green strip, bobbing it up and down. “You put it in hot water and drink it. The tea it makes is a medicine that makes pains and maladies go away.”

Willow bark? During his undergraduate education, Dimitry read about it; something related to pharmacology. What was it? The vendor said hot water, which meant the active ingredient was a water-soluble compound. Could it be an acid? A base? Polar-covalent?

“What exactly does it alleviate?”

“All sorts of maladies, sir. Some people use it for headaches, others for aching joints.”

Aching joints, headaches?

Dimitry’s eyes shot open.

That was it! He remembered. It contained a precursor for acetylsalicylic acid!

Aspirin!

Could Dimitry pioneer aspirin in this world? On Earth, it was one of the most popular medicines of all time. As long as willow bark was around, he had a medical breakthrough and a potential moneymaker for when he established his practice.

The issue was converting the precursor compound in willow bark into Aspirin, but that was a problem for another time. Simple extract was good enough for now; it had similar properties.

Dimitry slammed five coppers and one silver onto the counter. “Give me as much as that’ll buy.”

This was no time to haggle. It was a time for experimentation.

“Yessir!” The elated merchant filled Dimitry’s bag with willow bark.

He wandered off to a secluded spot. Precious sat on his shoulder, a tuft of Dimitry’s dirty blonde hair in hand, polishing her wings while they waited for Saphiria.

An opportunity to think.

Dimitry could extract the active compounds in willow bark with boiling water, but the solubility would be too low, and it would take up too much space. Would alcohol be better? Maybe aqua vitae could—

“You know he ripped you off, right?”

“Did he now?”

“Yep, I can smell the merchant’s excitement all the way from here.”

“I’m happy for him." Dimitry grinned. "I've got my own things to be excited about."