The manor was empty, as always. Frankenstein had poured his blood and sweat into keeping the lived-in portion clean. He had also taken three adjoining rooms, at the opposite end from his Master's living quarters, and turned them into a laboratory. He mostly focused on the flora and fauna of Lukedonia, and how it had evolved differently from the rest of the world; being closed off and not exposed to humans interference, there were some varieties of plants that he could utilize more efficiently to make medicines…as well as whole new species he could investigate to his heart's content.
He did not experiment on people, any longer.
Therefore, the rooms were not strictly speaking set up to treat patients. He instead had Muzaka place the girl in a bedroom, while he hastily asked Gejutel to condescend to starting a fire in the hearth. At least the chimney was sound and he had made sure it would work properly. There were some parts of the manor that were in a rather deplorable state, but he tried to keep up on any major repairs. He slipped into his nearby office, and came back wearing a robe over his clothes, had his hair tied back properly and covered, and was wheeling in a cart of various supplies.
Most of which were for him, and not for the patient. He mixed equal parts alcohol and distilled water in a basin, scrubbing his hands to sanitize them, before he moved anywhere near an injured person. He also stated plainly that, aside from Muzaka, anyone else approaching an injury should always think about protecting the wound from contaminants.
Loosening the tunic, which he suspected his Master had created from power, Frankenstein looked at the rough bandaging. Aside from maybe rinsing the wound, it was clear that Muzaka had done nothing at all. Undoing this binding, carefully pulling it away, Frankenstein noted that this girl breathing steadily, and did not wake up at all, despite being undressed. Frowning, gently probing the wound, the doctor felt and her ribs and breastbone. "Hmm, she was hit with an arrow, correct? Ah, I saw the battlefield and assumed it was like that. And then…" He looked up, his eyes fixing on Muzaka. "…you pulled the arrow out?"
Muzaka nodded. "I did!" He said, softly. "Ashlyn…" He looked at her, worrying about her, and it was clearly he struggled for some moments. Finally, with a sigh, he gritted his teeth. "…is half human. I thought she was human, though. But, that may only be because she is still so young. As of now, she is only twelve years of age."
"Does she bleed?" Frankenstein asked, looking back at her. "It is important to know if she does, because that means she will lose nutrients faster."
Muzaka shifted. "She didn't say so. I doubt it."
"Well, she's right around the age a human female would start. It can be later, though." Frankenstein pulled over a chair, thinking about the wound. "This is going to be hard on you, Muzaka, but I am going to have to open up this wound. Because, I believe there is something inside her body, which is preventing her from healing. Although your race does heal almost instantly, she is very small and if there is some metal in the wound…then that will slow down and can even stop regeneration altogether." He looked over. "Regeneration is, after all, the regrowth of cells from the atomic level. Your body, when cut open, will seal the cut seamlessly; the cells bond together as if no damage was sustained. If an arm is hacked off, your body will regrow the arm, starting from the bone, and then the muscles, tissues, veins, and external epidermis."
Muzaka swallowed, and he easily understood what Frankenstein was driving at. "Her wound started to heal, but she kept on bleeding. You think some small piece of the arrow is inside her body, and that it is injuring her over and over?" His hands clenched. "Normally, if something is broken off inside my body, such as during combat, it is evicted first. My body pushes out all things alike…"
"Ho? I would very much like the see that someday." Frankenstein smiled at him. "Ah, for research purposes, of course! Km. But, this does not have to be a solid piece of matter. Like a splinter. That would be ideal, because I could just pluck it out and she would then heal. But, if a liquid form of metal had been applied, then particles of metal…too small to see with the eyes ordinarily…embed themselves into the pockets of the tissues. They are sharp, and cut where they embed. They also leach into the body. In humans, it is debilitating and death occurs in a matter of hours or days. But, in werewolves, from what I have observed, it can be treated…if not terribly politely."
Turning to the wound, Frankenstein selected a scalpel and sliced open the entire area, making a much bigger wound than the one made by the arrow. Blood rushed up and the skin struggled to heal, but he applied clamps to the edges, to hold the wound open.
It was clearly hard for Muzaka to see this, and he clenched and unclenched his hands, his teeth gritted.
Lowering a lens over his eyes, Frankenstein bent to look into the wound. Her collarbone was not broken, and her lung had not been clipped. Her heart, thankfully, was also intact. However, the flesh was not repairing itself round the path the arrow had taken.
"Brace yourself." Frankenstein said, although he did not look at Muzaka. Quickly, with an expert flex of his long fingers, the doctor excised a good portion of flesh. Setting this aside in a metal basin, he turned back to the wound. Bright pink tissue was already growing over where he had excised from, and he smile. "That's it, Ashlyn!" He encouraged the girl. "You're doing great." Again, he sliced off some of the inner tissue, working around her heart and bones, until all the discoloured flesh was in the basin, and not in her body.
Letting out a sigh, he turned his bloody hands to the alcohol mixture and scrubbed them clean. To make sure that no particles of metal on his hands would go back into the wound as he closed it. He did not need to stitch it, but instead, using plaster strips to hold the upper layer together. The clamps he discarded, to be sanitized later on.
"Next comes the more 'delicate' part." Frankenstein looked at Muzaka. "You are this child's biological father? Then, in that case, you should be able to give her blood. No, not by biting, either." He picked up a glass bottle, with a hose at the opening, which ended in a needle. "It's only a pin-prick, so I'm sure you can put up with it. But, is her mother is not available, then you are the only one who can exchange blood with her."
"Exchange blood?" Muzaka looked uneasy. "Why? Won't her blood regrow?"
"Because she's half human, and also, because she's only twelve years old. You, who are several thousand years old, have time to your advantage." Frankenstein replied. "Although she is regenerating, it is only around ten percent of what you would be able to do. If it had been her neck and not her chest, she would not have survived. In fact," He looked at the girl. "I am not at all clear on why she is alive right now. Aside from her being half werewolf, and even then, as you can see, the tissues were dead to begin with."
The metal basin, where the excised flesh was laying, was not a nice thing to see. The flesh was darkened, almost black in places, and it had a rancid smell to it.
Muzaka seated himself, sweat on his brow. He seemed to find the concept of exchanging blood more anxiety provoking that it needed to be. But, he tolerated the actual procedure very well, and it was over before he even realized it. Inverting the glass bottle, Frankenstein adjusted the much thinner hose he had hooked up to the opening, and allowed the blood to flow into the girl's body.
After a few seconds, her pallid cheeks flushed and she took a fuller breath. She even stirred and opened her eyes. Disorientation was normal, but she smiled when Muzaka spoke to her. She seemed to be content with that, and just held his hand until the transfusion was over.
After cleaning up his equipment, Frankenstein leaned heavily on the wall down form the room. Again, even with non-humans, it had been successful! For him, it was further proof that he was right. He had lost so many patients from blood loss. Stupid accidents, the time it took to get to anyone even remotely skilled at medicine. Outside of Salerno, there were not even any people asking if it could be done, let alone how to do it. He had been resident at the Schola Medica Salernitana for some time, but, elsewhere, it was treated as if medical treatment were bizarre and otherworldly.
And, because of the church spouting a bunch of disgusting nonsense, it was actually illegal to cut the body in most of the western world!
They had even likened him to the Devil, not because of Dark Spear, but because he had hacked open a man's body and cured him of an otherwise fatal condition. Ridiculous stories about old men summoning up demons; and what the hell was a demon, anyway? Some intermediary spirit? No one who was in pain, who was sick and scared of the crumbling in their own bodies, wanted to hear that! He, who was no longer mortal, was just supposed to sit there and watch people die? Then what the hell was the point of tending to the sick? It was faster to just put them down. But, that was also against 'God's will'.
Frankenstein had turned his back on any such ridiculous cult fixation with a non-reciprocal God, when he had been only thirteen years old. His mentor had suggested that, as they had that inevitable philosophical discussion on the origins of life and death, he got an take a look at what was happening in the square. Germany, where he had been born and raised all those thirteen years, had never struck him as a remarkably intolerable place; he had never feared to walk the streets in any town, no matter how dark or filthy, because he had been a wealthy young man. Healthy. Intelligent. Capable of acting in his own defence. And, he had watched, horror-struck, from the audience, as the priests lead some woman to the Stackle.
A large brick platform, with a wooden post in the centre. Kindling in bundles. The cloying sent of oil. And a woman, wearing a torn and blood stained dress, half mad from confinement and interrogation, whose only crime had been making medicine for her sick mother.
Those who had not watched, who had looked away, had been cursed at and considered abnormal.
Those who had cheered and celebrated her bashing her brains out against the post, had been considered normal.
Frankenstein had cut all ties with the church and the main bulk of humans, devoting himself to the consumption of books, and he had been lucky enough to find a few hidden treasures. His mentor had sent him off to school, and he had devoted himself to medicine and researching all methods of prolonging the lives of humans. Starting with animals, and then with humans bound to die anyway. He had cut them open, investigating every last fibre. When he had come across the Nobles for the first time, his curiosity had been piqued…some ageless race of sentient people?
Only to be utterly crushed and betrayed when they had offered no aid.
A presence came to be near him, and he thought for a moment it was his Master, but when he turned, he saw that it was the Lord. Turning to look at him, Frankenstein wondered absently how many thousands of years this man had lived; it seemed remarkable, when he did not look passed eighteen or so. Compared to humans, who barely lived passed fifty or sixty years of age, he was altogether too perfect. Could this man, for he was a man, really understand even one millionth of the emotions of a human?
The Lord smiled, a quiet, knowing little smile. "Well, at the very least, I offer you my respects." He said, as if he knew everything that had been thought about him. Although he did have his moments of pure idiocy, he was the Lord, after all. "Do you regret coming to Lukedonia?"
"No. I do not." Frankenstein replied. With conviction. "You know, I don't blame nobles for not interfering with humans. It was disappointing. But, it was that you said both 'stay' and 'go' at the same time." He turned, looking at his hands. "I've killed hundreds of people. I've also saves hundreds of people. That's my worth, if you really want me to sum it up. What I 'give back'. So much has been done, my soul exclaimed; more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation." Chuckling, he shook his head. "Well, that was several decades ago, but I meant it."
"Frankenstein, your skills are really very amazing." The Lord replied, moving to stand beside him; he looked out the tiny mullioned window, which was at the end of the hall, perhaps four feet from him. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to compile this knowledge. Time, it passes. It is always moving. Although at this time, you can only live here, in the future there may come a time when this knowledge it needed by many humans. And you, also, are a human being. Well, I just thought it was something you might find amusing. Oh, and if you ever want my blood…just let me know." He laughed, as if it was just another one of his jokes, but he was so dead serious that it cast a heavy tension on the air around him.
Taking a deep breath, hooking his hands up behind him, Frankenstein smiled. "Illumination?" He chuckled, turning away from the Lord, as he now needed to go and wait upon his master. "Well, that is true. I am human. And humans are unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves – such a friend ought to be – do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures."