Seeing the two of them with vicious smiles made me sense something strange.
I looked around, wondering what it was, and noticed that the patient lying right next to me had finally opened his eyes.
Haha.
Well, I'll be damned. The darkest place is under the candlestick, as they say.
When did he wake up?
Did he possibly hear our conversation?
"Is this a situation where we need to… 'silence' him?"
Ah, this isn't me.
It's Liston.
It might seem like a natural follow-up, but it's not me.
"Who…?"
"Just wondering if he heard."
Liston looked intently at the patient, that is, the student.
His pupils were shaking uncontrollably.
Common sense dictates, does it make sense for doctors to talk about corpse supply and then mention 'silencing' someone?
It's the kind of talk that would be hard to understand.
So he should be a bit startled…
Maybe it's due to instinctual fear.
Or perhaps because the people who come here are quite smart themselves.
"What happened?"
"Haha, this friend."
"I just woke up now, really."
"Right, that seems believable enough."
If this is an act, he deserves an award.
It probably is an act.
Anyway, I became sure nothing would come of it.
Thus, our student was spared.
Well, this was just a trivial matter.
From now on, we had to do our best to prevent London from being submerged in that green poison.
It was an absolutely impossible task for an ordinary doctor.
Especially if you're Asian like me? There's a 100% chance they'd tell you to eat it yourself right in front of them.
"Let's call the police first."
"Yes."
But I'm not alone.
I have Liston.
And this Liston is only controllable by me.
'Ah, and the Director.'
Now that I think about it, what's the connection between the Director and Liston?
He was being really snippety…
If it were the usual Liston, he would have already painted his fists red with blood.
Most doctors, no matter how good their physique or how trained they are, don't actually get into fights, but isn't this guy also a master of facial reconstruction?
'How did he survive?'
Maybe the Director is a master too?
No, that can't be.
While it's said that skill can sometimes overcome strength…
Against Liston's level of strength, skill and all that are useless.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Ah, nothing. Nothing."
"Anyway, since we called the police… let's get this guy washed up from his shit first."
"Ah, yes."
"Don't you do it. A professor doesn't do this. Hey, don't you have a friend?"
He calls the patient's friend, who is not hospital staff.
This is the 19th century for you.
Things like patient sheets…
If you don't pay extra, the patient's guardian or the patient themselves have to change them.
The problem is that it's an era where there's a strong doubt about whether patients or doctors must use clean sheets, so most beds are rotting.
Compared to that, well…
"Yes, I have one."
"Ah, good. Call him. Can you get up? Does he need to keep this [IV] in?"
"He should be able to eat by mouth now."
"Then pull it out."
"Yes."
"Ugh."
This guy's situation is good.
It feels a bit strange to say things are good or bad to a guy who just yesterday ate arsenic, got poisoned, wandered near the River Styx, and came back…
But hey, his sheet is clean, right?
Even though his pants are a mess from shitting himself, the IV team, hardened by the Seine plague, saved his life.
On top of that, he's surrounded by medical staff who, due to their hygiene obsession, wash their hands before doing anything.
One might be blasé about the former, but the latter is truly amazing.
Even if you go to a 21st-century university hospital, they don't wash this obsessively.
"Don't move for a second. Is it bleeding?"
"Yes, yes. Ugh! Ugh!"
"I'm not trying to hurt you, I need to suture it so it bleeds less."
"Yes, yes!"
Anyway, I removed the needle, and Liston used that brief moment to suture it.
It was just one stitch.
But it was a stitch closing a punctured vein, so it couldn't be called easy.
The fact that this is possible shows that Liston's talent and effort as a surgeon are no joke.
If taught well, he'll achieve even more than I did.
Although he's already a bit old…
'Surely he won't die young or anything, right?'
You might think thirty is not that old, but the average lifespan in the 19th century hovers around the 40s.
Nobles sometimes live much longer, and the average lifespan itself is severely cut down by infant mortality…
But if you see people who are forty, you'd be really surprised.
Just looking at their faces, they seem almost sixty.
Liston too… he looked like he was clearly well past forty.
'Well, I'll have to manage him slowly and use him for a long, long time.'
Liston's talent is precious, but the thought of losing this万能 (all-purpose) knife, sharper than a scalpel, makes my heart ache.
That can't happen.
It must not happen.
I'll protect you, Liston.
"Aaaagh!"
"I'm not trying to hurt you, I have to apply pressure so it doesn't bleed."
"Agh."
"If you look at me with such suspicious eyes, I might really press down hard."
"Gulp."
See.
The place I punctured is the neck.
The most common site for central venous catheter insertion is the subclavian vein, and if that's not feasible, we go for the femoral vein or the jugular vein…
Subclavian vein…
'I could hit it blindfolded.'
That is, if I had the proper equipment.
But what do we have here…?
Even the needle is something roughly sharpened, almost like an awl; am I supposed to stab under the clavicle with this…
Meaning, stab the chest?
If the lung gets punctured whoosh…
The patient's life goes whoosh to heaven or hell.
The femoral vein is in a similar situation, so as a last resort, we adopted the method of making a small incision in the neck and inserting it into the jugular vein.
Since it's more superficial than you think, it's good, but the downside is exactly this point.
"I… I can't breathe."
"Uh huh. Hold on."
Since the place we need to press is the neck, sometimes breathing gets blocked like this.
"Ghk, ghk."
"Uh… just a bit. Just 2 minutes."
"Ghuuu…"
The only saving grace is that it's not a complete blockage.
It's probably about 70% pressed.
"Done."
"Whew."
"Now, get him washed up."
"Yes, yes!"
The patient's friends standing behind immediately obeyed Liston's command as if it were a command from the god of death.
They had reason to.
They had just seen him, upon arrival, holding a needle in one hand and mercilessly pressing their friend's neck with the other.
"Be careful not to splash the dirty water on his neck. If you get affected by the miasma there, your friend will die."
"Yes, yes! Please save us!"
"Your friend will die."
"Yes, yes!"
It might seem like I'm giving too many warnings, but it's not excessive at all.
It's because 19th-century hygiene concepts are truly something else.
Many think it's okay as long as there's no smell…
Even though I said to wash him, there's a high chance they would just splash some water and call it okay if the big chunks are gone.
Of course, since our pro hygiene fanatic Joseph went with them, that probably won't happen.
"Ah, perfect timing."
While we sent them off to wash the patient, the police arrived.
It was the same police officer who came before.
He seemed quite high-ranking; when I asked, they said he was roughly equivalent to a department head.
Since it's a death related to the previous Jamie case, the police seemed to be paying attention too.
In fact, if it were an ordinary poor person murder case, unless someone confessed, they often wouldn't even conduct a proper investigation.
No, I heard they really just dump the bodies…
"I heard you found out something."
"That's right. Well, let's go to that lecture hall first."
"Let's do that."
The police, along with Liston and me, headed to the lecture hall lined with arsenic products.
Colin was standing guard in front.
"No one entered."
"Good job."
"It was nothing."
After praising the guy, we opened the lecture hall door.
It might just be a feeling, but it felt like a greenish gas was spewing out towards us.
It probably would have been real if we hadn't left the windows open…
"This… this must be very expensive. Could it be related to the robbery reported yesterday?"
"Robbery? This was legitimately sponsored through legal means."
"Sponsored… Anyway, tell me."
"A student who was in here showed symptoms of arsenic poisoning yesterday. Two of them. One is the guy who was out front; he recovered quickly. The other just regained consciousness and is getting his shit wiped off."
"His shit…?"
Seeing the police officer looked confused, I added an explanation.
If this were France, I should have kept my mouth shut until the end, but this is London, right?
I help the police with investigations, prevent nobles from losing their balls, and am scheduled to give another anatomy show for the future queen.
The police, knowing my reputation well, listened silently.
"Diarrhea is also a symptom of arsenic poisoning."
"Ah… I heard that can happen during treatment too."
Tch.
Did I almost hit him?
No matter how great my reputation is, hitting a police officer would change things, wouldn't it?
I barely held back.
"Y-yes, that's right. But that symptom definitely occurs in poisoning too. These were kids with no prior illnesses, and the symptoms appeared, so shouldn't we consider it poisoning, not a treatment side effect?"
Well…
It wasn't impossible to make him understand properly.
If Liston locked the door and lectured for days on end, it might work.
But should I do that for one police officer?
Even Liston, Blundell, and my students haven't grasped the concept clearly yet.
My time and effort clearly should be dedicated to them.
"Hmm, that sounds plausible."
"One of them almost died. It's not treatment."
Liston backed me up.
With the words of London's best physician and its rising star, the police officer was wavering.
But he wasn't completely swayed.
"So, are you saying all these arsenic products are dangerous?"
"That's right. We need to ban all of this."
"Ban… Do you think that's possible…?"
The police officer's words left me dumbfounded.
What? People are dying, why can't we ban it?!
'No, no… White phosphorus matches were only banned in London too…'
My wandering mind returned in an instant.
Not because the situation changed, but because I suddenly understood this era.
19th century London.
The ultimate champion of capitalism.
Even if people die, if the wealthy can make a lot of money…
"But people are dying because of this?"
"When have people *not* been dying? But… nobles could die too, I suppose. The dresses are dangerous too, is that it? According to you."
"Ah, yes. Nobles could die, that's the point."
"But to prove this, we'll probably need a more certain method…"
"A certain method?"
If such a thing existed, I would have done it already.
Just as I was about to make a disgruntled face, the police officer continued.
"It just so happens that Lord Jamie has his hands in this business. Do you think a powerful noble would be swayed by just these words?"
"Ah."
It really had to be Lord Jamie.
He's the guy whose balls were cut off because his prostate was bothering him.
He's a man very far from scientific thinking.
He'd probably only back down if a incident of that magnitude occurred…
"Moreover, it's so trendy in Paris that the nobles are really interested. I'm sorry… but all I can do is tell people I know to be careful…"
We need to give him a shock like when his balls were wrongly cut…
"I see. Hmm."
Huh?
"Wait a moment."
Just as the police officer and Liston were about to resign themselves, a devilish idea popped into my head.
It's so devilish it's a problem…
"Is there… a method? By ordinary means…"
"Just wait and see. My junior here is unusually cunning."
I nodded at Liston's words.
I should be angry normally, but this was different.
"Are there no… convicts on death row?"
"Huh?"
"Let's dress them up. In the dresses."
"Oh."
The police officer nodded with a slightly surprised face, avoiding my eyes.
Liston?
Liston also took a step back.