It was a rather bitter winter in the human year if 1893, and it took its toll on the boy one night while he and the Madame were out on a case.
They returned home unscathed that night, and decided to have their customary cup of 'tea'*, as they do after a success on the battlefield. After that, they retired upstairs, me inclusive, for the night.
All seemed normal until approximately 4:27 am, when I awoke to a desperate shaking of my shoulder. Needless to say, I was disgruntled with the interruption of energy restoration. However, I was curious; it was very unlike the Madame to even enter my room, never mind at this time.
"What it is? Is someone invading the household? Should I fetch my grenades?" I asked her, somewhat eagerly.
"No Strax, no grenades!" she replied with a hint of urgency and panic.
"Voltage mines then?"
"Strax, silence! It's...Jenny."
The Madame explained how the boy's breathing had become painful and laboured during the night, and she required a medical overview. It was a disgrace for me to have to help others, but I couldn't disobey direct orders from one of a higher rank.
Indeed, the boy was making strange wheezing noises, even for a human. My medical scanner (Madame demanded for me to keep it, not obliterate it) indicated that the boy had a bacterial infection of the chest, natively known as TB, or tuberculosis.
Unfortunately, my advanced medical knowledge came to the boy's aid. I scoured the house for the necessary ingredients for a temporary treatment. No help from Madame though, who remained by the boy's bedside, watching her like a worried child. There is a time and place for everything, and if she wanted to help the boy, she needed to help me.
Half an hour later, I had a weak anti-biotic loaded and ready in a syringe. Madame didn't really like the notion of an injection, but acquiesced. She seemed to wince as the needle was inserted, which still puzzles me now. Maybe Silurian nerve receptors are partially telepathic?
The Madame didn't sleep for the rest of the night. She was still by the boy's bedside when I arrived home from medical-supply-shopping that morning as well. She wasn't particularly happy when I assigned her the task of making a meal for the boy, as she seemed to fear for his health even more after a tired (and pained) consumption. The Madame did try and pawn off the task to me, but I had the very valid reason of being busy with concocting a treatment (that, and a miniscule understanding of the 'kitchen' functions. I've still yet to find the 'on' switch).
It was mid-afternoon before I had all the necessary doses prepared. The Madame still looked pained when the treatment was injected, and looked the same every injection time for the rest of the day.
Human recovery is terribly slow, and the boy was no exception. The Madame kept pestering me everyday if the treatment was taking effect, and by day 3 my patience with the reptile was wearing thin. Luckily, the boy had gained stable consciousness now and was a distraction to Madame's mind and energy.
Unfortunately, within a week, the boy was up and about again. I cannot stress enough how being a nurse is such a bitter punishment. The boy and the Madame do not perceive this the way I do though. During harpoon practice, the boy approached me.
"Strax?"
"Yes? What is it, boy?"
"...Thank you."
I still cannot decipher this strange mammal behaviour, but it seems it's not just limited to humans; Madame did something similar later on that day. It seems I have still much to learn about my position in this household.
Soldier's Footnotes: *A strange human beverage. It is basically dried leaves with hot water, sugar and milk. Milk is the primary excretion of Earth animals called 'cows'. Cows also produce other food-stuffs such as cheese, yoghurt, beef and leather. I can report that leather has the most interesting taste of all 'cow' products.
Human Notes: I'm sorry, I'm not about to research what's included in TB treatment. Just...use your imagination. Oh, and feel free to leave a review or suggestion. Both are appreciated!