Chapter 4.10: The Medical Improv Players

Date: De Saturnus, Umbra Luna, 3rd Moon of Alkahest, 1864

 Location: Grand Hall, Royal Court of Vienna, Austria

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Upon reaching the two shipmates, I found Captain Swift as pallid as a phantom and shallow of breath.  Ms. Windrush’s wild gesticulations had caught the attention of some of the surrounding guests, and some began to gather toward us. I placed two fingers beneath Swift’s jaw, but his pulse was barely sped and nothing was swollen. For the barest instance I met his eyes and made a startling discovery: Captain Swift was in no way ill. He was panicked.

Something (or more accurately someone) in the room had set his nerves ablaze. I feared that if anyone else were to examine him closely they would discover this, and I would not let my Captain come to awkward questioning in such a sensitive public area.

“Stand away!” I commanded to the crowd (oh, how long it’s been since I’ve been able to speak with such authority) “I am Chief Physician for this man, and I can diagnose his affliction instantly: he is under the throes of Apoplectic Benzenic Hypersphyxia!” No one in hearing distance seemed to understand what that meant (most likely because I invented it at that moment), but they gave us space none the less.

“It is common among Airshipmen who cross the Atlantic–the differing atmospheres and harsh winds of the sea facilitate the dyspepsia of the third and fourth humors, producing an excess of orange bile, which upon landing of course causes an inversed influx of intubated heliotropes.”

At that moment I recognized one of the onlookers to be the court physician. He looked doubtful at my words, and was indeed the only person with the ability to defraud me. So I looked him in the eye with a harshness and said

“Surely you’ve read the works of Herr Mueller, celebrated Prussian Chirurgeon?”

The man flustered and agreed quickly under the judging gaze of his peers. Ms. Windrush and I hoisted the Captain between our shoulders and all but drug him away.