Chapter Two: Dying by Inches
A day, two days slipped by. Team One was taken off rotation until the situation was resolved…for good or ill. Sadly, it was becoming more and more likely that the 'resolution' would be a funeral. Parker showed no signs of improving; quite the reverse actually. By day two, he'd slipped from a rocky five on the Glasgow Scale to a rock-bottom three. The monitors on him had to be silenced, his readings were so low; the good doctor soon declared that the fallen Sergeant was brain-dead, but his body, supported by the machines, still breathed, if only just.
As if the readings weren't discouraging enough, Parker's stocky, but robust form was still and shrunken on the bed, his skin turning paler and paler; there was not even a trace of life in the expression on his face. By the end of the second day, his remnants of brown hair had more color than the rest of him and nothing anyone tried earned so much as a flicker of response.
In short, the situation looked, and felt, utterly hopeless; to top things off, they still had no idea why their Sergeant was in a coma. So it was that on the morning of the third day since Parker's collapse, Lance and Alanna Calvin prevailed upon Constable Wordsworth to 'accompany' them on an urgent errand that could not be delayed. Though they declared the errand urgent, they also insisted upon their temporary guardian stopping at their apartment on the way.
Wordy resisted the urge to grumble under his breath as the teenagers hauled him inside Sarge's apartment. He was wearing his uniform; they'd all learned pretty quickly that the nurses and doctors responded much more swiftly if they were in uniform versus their civilian clothes. As such, he really didn't see the point of the kids dragging him into the apartment just so the kids could change clothes. They could do that on their own.
Then Alanna hauled out a set of robes that looked fancy enough for a ball or a soiree or something…that were in his size. "No way," he baulked, warding off the robes with both hands. "Uh, uh, not a chance."
Lance crossed his arms, setting his jaw in a way that made Wordy's heart ache. It was Greg Parker's you-are-going-to-do-this expression on his much younger, full-haired nipote. Though the words weren't Sarge's; Sarge wasn't quite as blunt. "Don't be a baby, Wordy," the teen chided, "We need to make a good impression."
Alanna nodded her agreement with her brother's statement. "We're not giving up, not without one heck of a fight, anyway."
Wordy looked between them, now thoroughly confused. "Um, explanation, please? How the heck does wearing that," he pointed at the robes, "Make a good impression and who are we impressing?"
The pair traded looks and nods; then Alanna started off with, "We got to thinking yesterday."
"And it occurred to us that we hadn't explored all our options in the magical world," Lance put in.
"You mean, what, another hospital?" Wordy questioned, glancing between the teens and the robes Alanna was still holding.
To his surprise, both shook their heads. "Wizards are hardly the only magical race," Alanna informed the brunet.
"True, most of the other races pretty much keep to themselves," Lance admitted, but he kept going with, "But some races interact with wizards on a daily basis. We started wondering if maybe one of the other races might be able to figure out what's going on. That's the biggest problem, right?"
Wordy considered, turning the idea over in his head and poking it for holes. "Wouldn't any other races be more, I don't know, focused on healing their own people?"
They nodded, but Lance explained, "Specifically, we're thinking of the goblins. They have a very long history of researching magic, breaking curses, and they have their own brand of magic; just like any other non-human magical race. It's totally separate from wizarding magic and each type of magic has its own strengths and weaknesses."
"Okay…" Wordy said thoughtfully, "So they might catch stuff that the wizard Healers didn't? Or know more about what might cause something like this?" He sighed, regarding the robes with distaste. "I'm not going to win this, am I?"
To the kids' credit, they did look mildly regretful. "No," Alanna told him, "You really aren't."
Oh well…at least the robes were a rather fetching navy blue.
Lance led the way into Gringotts, his dress robes gleaming in the lighting of the marble lobby. His robes were cut in the style of the Old Narnian Kings, an elegant style that began with a light gray undershirt; the undershirt peeked from under the sleeve slits of the tunic he wore above it. The tunic itself was deep red and made of velvet with silver embroidery on it. The embroidery on the tunic's collar, while fancy, was minimalistic and stitched to look like ivy vines. A silver, twisted, two cord belt ran around the young man's waist, tied in the back, under the two-tone cape he wore. The cape was the same red as the tunic on the back and the same silver as the embroidery on the underside, adding a quiet emphasis to both colors; the cape fell almost to the floor, but cut off an inch before it could actually brush the ground. His tunic fell to mid-thigh, setting off his silvery hosen and black leather boots; the boots nearly came up to Lance's knee.
Behind him and to his right, Alanna strode in her own dress robes. Hers were the ladies' version of the Old Narnian Kings' formal attire, making it clear she was her brother's equal, both in peace and in war. Where her brother's clothing was red, hers was a lighter hue of blue; where his was silver, hers was cream.
Wordy, on Lance's left, felt awkward in his navy blue dress robes and he was more than a bit jealous of the kids' clothing, hosen notwithstanding. It would have been a lot easier to wear than robes, even if the blasted robes were cut for freedom of movement and a bit large to let him wear his uniform underneath.
Lance settled into line, head high, his posture screaming that he was of the old blood and used to being in charge. Alanna managed to affect a minor disdain for any wizard who sneered in Wordy's direction; his unfamiliarity with robes marked him as, at best, a Muggleborn in their eyes. It was perhaps fortunate that none of the sneering wizards realized he was Muggle; there would have been nigh mutiny from them. The goblin tellers were equally unimpressed with the haughty wizards; such behavior wasted time and therefore gold. Still, despite the sneering purebloods, the line moved relatively quickly, allowing the trio to reach the tellers in short order.
Lance, still in the lead, strode up to the open teller and, with a brief glance down at the nameplate, said, "Good morning, Teller Knifegrip; I am Lancelot Calvin, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin, and I would like to speak with my account manager."
The goblin eyed all three of them, his eyes resting the longest on Wordy. Then he bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Wait here, please," he requested, flipping the sign on his desk to 'Closed'. He hopped down from his chair and vanished through a door behind the counter. When he returned, he moved around the desk, saying, "Follow, please."
The group followed him through the warren of corridors until they reached a plain office door. The teller knocked upon the door, receiving an impatient, "Enter," from the other side of the door. The trio was led inside, the teller giving the goblin inside a bow before departing.
"Account Manager Silnok," Lance greeted the goblin behind the desk, "This is one of our cousin's subordinates, Auror Constable Wordsworth."
Silnok inclined his head in greeting to Wordy, who wasn't quite sure if he should offer a handshake or not. He opted to offer one; Silnok's face twisted in an unfamiliar way, but the goblin did accept the handshake. "Where is your honored cousin, Heir Calvin?" Silnok inquired.
The bombshell was dropped with no subtly or tact. "In the hospital on life-support, Account Manager Silnok," Lance reported flatly. Silnok reared back, shocked and horrified. "Three days ago, he collapsed and was discovered on the floor, already in a coma," Lance continued, the details shocking Wordy, who'd left them out of his own explanation to the kids; silently, the constable vowed to find out who'd been insensitive enough to give two kids the nitty-gritty details on their uncle's collapse…he and they would have words.
"Neither the techie Healers nor the magical Healers have been able to diagnosis what caused the coma and our cousin is rapidly slipping away," Lance explained quietly, adding, "My sister and I have already been urged to turn off life-support."
"They what?" Wordy demanded loudly without thinking, then hurriedly backed down with a much softer, "Sorry."
"No apology necessary, Constable Wordsworth," Silnok rumbled. "I was about to make the same exclamation myself." The goblin's gaze hardened as he regarded a nervous, but determined Lance. "You wish the Healers of the Goblin Nation to examine your cousin, Heir Calvin?"
"I do," Lance confirmed, inclining his head. "I am well aware this is outside your normal dealings…" he trailed off as Silnok waved a long-fingered hand.
"You forget, Heir Calvin, your family's status as Goblin-friend. Were it simply your request, this would have been more complicated, of course, but your cousin is accepted as a Calvin by Gringotts. As such, it is the Goblin Nation's honor to assist in any way possible." Silnok leaned back in his chair, expression turning thoughtful; ideas and plans already swirling behind his dark eyes. "Where is Sergeant Parker being treated?"
"Metro General," Wordy chipped in.
Silnok shot Wordy an appreciative look for his prompt response. "Indeed. I shall speak with our Healers and arrange for them to be sent as soon as may be. In the meantime, I shall also arrange for the paperwork to transfer Sergeant Parker to a magical facility." He lifted his hand before Wordy could protest. "This is not a reflection upon your tech hospital, Constable Wordsworth, but rather the acknowledgment that we may be dealing with matters magical, which would require magical treatment in any event."
Wordy subsided, still unhappy, but he understood Silnok's point.
Wordy surveyed his boss's form in the bed, still, silent, and oddly shrunken. It was as if everything that made the man who he was had disappeared, an idea that left Wordy shaken. He dropped his voice down to near a whisper and asked the kids, "Anything you guys can do?"
Understanding shown in Lance's face as he looked up; after all, it wouldn't be the first time the Calvin family magic had come through in a pinch or in the nick of time. But he had to shake his head in the negative. "We're not Healers, Uncle Wordy. We did try to get our magic to do something, but…" Now distress twisted the boy's face. "Our magic practically skittered away from him, that's why we started thinking about second opinions. Whatever this is, I'd bet my wand it's magical."
Wordy shivered. "No offense, kiddos, but sometimes, magic scares me." Especially if it could do this to his boss without leaving so much as a mark.
Eyes that were far, far too old looked up. "Sometimes," Alanna replied, "It scares us too."